#everything is to taste. do not worry about measurements. we don’t need those round here.

[littlebirdy0301]

hello & welcome to Your One Unemployed Friend On A Random Weekday of Summer Break. today’s highlights include: cleaning the livingroom coffee table, applying to 1 (one) job, going to the grocery store for just arugula & parsley, almost washing the car, & making a dopeass salad in which I ate an entire cans worth of chickpeas

[xwing-baby]

New Opportunity (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: You and Javier fight over a new job opportunity as it threatens to take you away from him.

Warning: Angst, swearing, hints at smut (nothing descriptive), happy sad vibes, fem!reader (no y/n but use of pet names)

Word count: 2.6k

A/n: I will never give Javi a break, I refuse. Sorry baby but you’re too fun to hurt...

--

“Hey pretty girl,” Javi smirked as you walked into the office, “Is it my birthday?” He looked you up and down greedily.

“Didn’t know office wear was your thing,” You laughed ad shook your head at him, putting a lunch bag down on his desk before wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Never see you in dresses. I like it,” He pulled you in for a kiss, his hands immediately going up your skirt, “and I know what’s underneath,” He added, flicking the band of your stockings. You yelped as the elastic stung your thigh.

“Hey! Hands to yourself, pervert,” you slapped his hand out from under your skirt. Javi chuckled and kissed you again softly, his hands around your waist instead. You sighed into him, allowing the moment to roll on until you broke for air. “I have a job interview today actually,”

“That promotion you were on about?” He asked.

“Uh no, actually,” You took a deep breath knowing his reaction wouldn’t be the best, “A CIA position,” You bit your lip and watched him carefully. He frowned, creasing his eyebrow, searching your face for signs you were serious. You were.

“CIA?” He repeated, raising a brow, “You don’t mind moving back to Bogotá?”

“It- um the jobs not in Colombia,” You said, slowly removing your hands from around him, nervously wringing them together.

“Where is it?” He bristled, taking his hands off you.

“I can’t say,” You said quietly, “it’s classified,” Javi shook his head disapprovingly, and leant back on his desk, crossing his arms.

“Well, it’s only an interview, maybe you won’t get it,” he shrugged going straight into denial. You cringed again.

“It’s the final round,” you admitted. Javier looked away, your heart sunk, “Javi- “He moved away from your quickly, shutting you out faster than you could blink.

“I’m busy, you need to leave,” He said sternly, moving back behind his desk. You tried to protest again but he ignored you. You sighed, this was the reaction you had feared, the entire reason you had not told him yet.

“Sure,” You gulped down your anxiety, trying to remain unaffected. You had only come in to have lunch with him as being around him calmed you down, “I- uh I’ll take my lunch out then,”

“That would be a good idea,” Javier said sharply. You nodded, eyes filling with tears. You pulled out the lunch you had brought, placing his on the table which he gave no reaction too. You rolled your eyes and walked out, slamming the door for good measure.

“Hey sweetheart,” Steve smiled as you walked by. You did not stop to talk, blinking back tears as you left the building. He frowned but didn’t press you, “Do I want to ask what that was about?” He asked jovially as he entered the office. Javier scowled, ignoring him as he tucked his gun into his jeans, and didn't answer. “Guess not,”

The argument, or lack thereof, threw you off your game. You were nervous going into the interview and even worse answering their questions. You could only think of the look of betrayal on Javier’s face, the bitter tone of his voice and how quickly he’d shut you out. You bombed it.

Javier would usually be the one person you would go to in times like this, but he was out of the question. You didn’t want to talk to him either, if he didn’t understand why, you wanted this job so badly, he obviously didn’t understand you as well as you thought he did. You weren’t going to not go for a job you really wanted because he hated the CIA, it wasn’t his job, it wasn’t his life!

You went to a bar and tried to drink away your sorrows but everything tasted bad and just made you nauseous. Your friends, fed up with your moping, left you alone at the bar. You had had enough and decided to walk home, except you turned in the opposite direction and gave in to your sadness and took yourself to the one man that you really wanted.

You stood in the hallway of his apartment block for a few minutes, deciding whether to knock. You had known Javier for a long time before you ever got together and knew that when you got in a fight, he had turned in on himself and ended up at a brothel or drunk himself into a gutter. That was before you’d gotten together, now you had no idea what he would have done. You prayed he hadn’t given up on you entirely and gone to see some of his old ‘friends’. You could hear the television inside his apartment. He was home at least.

You knocked on the door and waited. The television turned off and a few moments later it opened. Just a crack, enough for him to stick his head out but nothing more. He wasn’t happy to see you.

“Hi,” You said sheepishly.

“Hi,” He said, straight toned. He wasn't angry or upset but he wasn’t happy either.

“Can I come in?” You asked.

“I don’t know,” He continued to stare at you, coldness in his eyes you only ever saw him use with criminals.

“I want to talk to you, please,” you added.

“What’s there to talk about? You already made the decision,” He snarled, shutting the door. You stuck your foot in the gap and barged in, your patience wearing thin.

He paced around the living room, seething in anger. You followed him, standing above him on the step.

“For fucks sake Javi! What is the matter with you?” You exclaimed.

“What’s the matter with me? What do you think the matter is? You betrayed me!” He yelled.

“Betrayed you?” You scoffed, “It’s just a job Javi, not some personal attack,”

“It’s not just a job though is it? It’s the fucking CIA and you’re leaving and you never told me. I didn’t even know you were looking for a new job!””

“I was going to tell you when there was something definite,”

“So, you were just going to take it without discussing it with me?”

“I- I Uh,” You stuttered. He had you there. You had rationalised your decision to keep the interviews a secret as a way to protect your relationship but you didn’t think about the consequences, that if you got it you would be springing a finalised move like that on him with no warning. You had got so excited about the prospect that you’d forgotten about him. Javier realised this too and scoffed, disgusted.

“You were the one who insisted we become a couple,” He pointed at you. You shook your head bitterly glaring at him.

“You came to me!” You exclaimed, “You were the one who crossed that line first,”

“Six months together, years of friendship and you were just going to fuck off somewhere classified at the earliest convenience without thinking to consult me?” He asked, a dry laugh biting at the lunacy of your situation.

“Because you would never do the same, huh?” You snapped, “You told Lorraine you wanted to come down here and waited for her opinion, right?”

“That was different,” He snarled.

“How? Because this time it doesn’t benefit you?”

“Get out,” He said coldly.

“This is a great opportunity, Javi,” You changed your tone trying to reason with him, “You know this was never what I wanted, I did what I had to but I-,”

“So, you never wanted me either? You were just doing what you had to?”

“That was not what I meant!” 

“But you’re not denying it!”

“You’re being irrational,”

“Me? Irrational?” He shouted, “You’d rather join those twisted assholes, than stay here?”

“Your personal opinion of-,”

“It’s not opinion! They parade the death and destruction down here like it’s a fucking job well done. They deal with the same people we fight because its advantageous at the time. They are disgusting hungry fascists!”

“Like the DEA is any better,” you rolled your eyes at him.

“No, you’re right, they’re fucking not. All of its a joke, but you know what? There are some good people here trying to make things work without bulldozing entire communities for it,”

“Don’t pretend like you’re a good person. Neither of us are,” you spat, “What difference does it make what three fucking letters I wear? Either way I am still the same person doing the same shit protecting innocent people from people like Escobar or fucking Cali or whoever else wants to try and take over,” You yelled at him. Javier curled his lip and turned away, no long willing to even marry your argument with a retort, “What? Did you really think I was going to stay here forever? Even if I stayed with the DEA, they would move me on eventually!”

“I know!” He shouted, his anger falling in on itself as he knew you were right. “I know,” He repeated much quieter. He was being ridiculous. He pulled his hands over his face and huffed before bringing them back to his hips, defensive but not attacking you anymore.

“I care about you, I do,” You said softer now, “And I apologise for not saying something sooner I just didn’t want to get my own hopes up, talking to you would have made it real. I didn’t want to think about what that meant for us and I should have thought about it,” You sighed, “This is a big deal for me Javi I just wanted your support. But I blew it anyway so I guess you don’t need to worry,” You sat down on the couch heavily, looking up at the ceiling.

Your admission broke his anger and he loosened up immediately.

“What?” He asked, there was no anger in his voice anymore. He spoke softly, concerned and confused, “How?”

“I was flustered going in there. You shutting down like that earlier really freaked me out,” you admitted, still not looking at him.

Javier frowned. He didn’t want you to go but he didn’t want you to fail at it, especially if he was the reason. He dropped his scowl and stepped closer to you again, a softer sympathetic look on his face.

“S ’fine. Argument over right,” you waved a hand at him in defeat, “I am stuck here until the end of my contract. But at least I’ve got you,” you forced a small smile to your lips, trying to convince yourself that missing out on the opportunity was actually okay. He sighed and sat down next to you.

“They’d only be proving me right by not hiring you. Idiots. The lot of them,” He pulled you into a hug, kissing your hair, “And I’m sorry for being a jerk,”

“I forgive you,” you whispered. You stayed in his arms for a while, the two of you calming down together. As the anger slipped away, Javi relaxed into the couch. You curled your legs up, leaning into his chest. You shut your eyes, listening to his slowing heartbeat and grounding yourself in the rhythm.

“I’ll talk to Stretchner,” Javier finally spoke, breaking the silence.

“What?” You sat up and frowned at him.

“I’ll talk to Stretchner. I’ll get you a do over,” he said again.

“Javi, I don’t want any handouts from you. If I failed, I failed,” you protested.

“It’s not a handout. I’m not getting the job for you but I’ll make it fair. I fucked up the interview for you I should fix it,” He said, brushing his fingers through your hair, “If this is what you really want, and if it's what will make you happy, then that's all I want for you,”

“But I’ll have to move,” your bottom lip wobbled, eyes filling back up with tears again.

“I know,” he said softly, running his hand down your jaw to cup your cheek.

“And we won’t be able to be together,”

“I know,” His voice barely audible as he too tried not to cry.

“Javi,” You whimpered. He stopped your protests with a kiss. Desperate and sad he clung to you, hand tight on your arm holding you in place so you couldn’t move, so you couldn’t leave him.

“All I want is for you to be happy,” He whispered, resting his forehead on yours. His eyes were closed so you couldn’t see the tears in the corners of his eyes, “You’re wasted here, but you can do good with those assholes. Maybe make them less awful,”

“I am only one person,” you chuckled quietly.

“But the best one I know,” He smiled, “the only one that I want in my bed and at my side in a gunfight,” You sighed, closing the gap between you again and kissing him softly, “There's no one like you,” He said seriously, “If anyone is going to make a difference it’s going to be you. I mean it,” 

You didn’t know what to say, tears falling freely down your cheeks. Javier brushed them away with his thumb. 

“Come here,” He grumbled, pulling you into his lap, “Let me make it up to you,”

His apology felt horribly like a goodbye. Every kiss he gave you felt like he was trying to make it memorable, make sure your last was as good as the first. You fell into him, giving every single inch of you to him hoping if you gave enough, he would have a piece of you permanently. He took it all, drawing your souls together in what could only be described as an act of love.

Love. That one word would be left unspoken for the rest of time but you didn’t need to say it, you both knew it and there was no use uttering it now. This was the epilogue to your relationship, there was no use starting that new chapter. That would have to be left for a new book entirely. Someone else's book.

Your heart shattered into a million pieces, but you didn’t let him see it. You didn’t cry until you got into the shower the next morning, purposefully locking the door so he couldn’t get in to join you. You cried, covering your mouth as you sobbed so he couldn’t hear you. But he knew. He felt it too, the way you clung to him was different, the way you’d looked at him. It nearly broke him but he didn’t want to upset you anymore. He sat in bed hand on the sheet where you’d lay trying desperately to commit the feeling of your warmth to memory. Then, he did his one last good deed to you and called Stretchner to set up a redo meeting. He would do anything for you, even if it meant having that weasel have a hand up on him.

He left before you got out of the shower, leaving a cup of coffee and a meeting time on a post with a promise of dinner to congratulate you on the kitchen counter.

You tried to get on with your day as normal. You did all your usual tasks, even ones you’d been putting off for weeks, as you tried to distract yourself from the meeting with Stretchner. It wasn’t until the end of the day, you had to keep yourself busy or you’d cry again.

You let out a sigh of relief as you exited the room. You’d done it. You didn’t even need the do-over. They wanted you. The confirmation should have scared you, you thought you’d be more upset but you were happy. Things were about to change dramatically but it was for the better, you hoped.

The building was empty now, Friday’s everyone left early anyway but even the usual hard workers had left. You grabbed your jacket and gun from your desk, ready to head out and work out how you were going to tell Javier the good news.

“L/n,” Javier called as you walked down the hallway. You stopped walking and turned back to him. He had his jacket in hand, standing in the doorway of his office. He'd waited for you. “So?”

“Turns out I didn’t need your do over,” you said, a proud smile pulled at your lips as you couldn’t wait to tell him.

“Seriously?” Javier could help but copy your smile. You nodded earnestly moving towards him.

“Offered me the job right then and there,” You grinned.

“I’m so proud of you,” He smiled but he didn’t move to kiss you like you expected. He stopped still, moving away from you if anything.

“What?” You searched his face for any sign of an issue.

“Well, if you’re taking the job that means-,” He said sadly, looking at his hands.

“I have to stay here for at least a month,” you were quick to interrupt him, “Get things wrapped up and liaise with the new kid taking my job,” Javi rolled his eyes at that, making you laugh. He was going to hate your replacement. “Got a lot of paperwork and a lot of meetings to go through,”

“A month?” He asked, turning his gaze back up to you.

“A whole month,” You smiled softly.

“A whole lifetime to fit into a month,” he mused. That should have broken your heart but the sly smirk picking at his lips changed your heart. You smiled, looking left and right. The corridor was quiet. Nobody was around. Everyone had gone home.

“Want to start on the desk?” You smirked, pushing him back through the office door.

“You read my mind, baby,” He grinned.

-- 

tagging: @hunters-heathen​ @peterssweetpea​ @beskarbabs​ @wille-zarr​ @all-hallows-evie​​

[laurenbloomswhore]

More Leyren Headcanons cause they’re not coming back this week 😔

Leyla does not mind that she’s the one cooking most of the time while Lauren usually brings takeout. However, she did catch Lauren meekly searching up how to make popular Pakistani dishes. While she found the sentiment extremely heartwarming...

“Don’t use recipes from those blogs.”

“What? Why? They seem good!”

“They literally whitewashed the recipes! Hell, they’re using measurements? Real Pakistani cooking involves putting in spices until everything tastes right!”

Admittedly, Lauren was conflicted. On one hand, she depended on the measurements to make sure it tasted right. On the other, she did work well without intricate introductions. Cooking can be like jazz, right?

So the dish did not turn out to be the best. But Leyla was more than happy to be able to share a part of her history with Lauren.

Their first huge fight had occurred a month into their relationship. Still fragile, but could not risk shattering.

It wasn’t they were mad at each other. But Leyla had a a hard time driving assholes, Lauren had to deal with ignorant assholes in the ED, it was all but a messy day.

Usually, they would talk it out but the build up of bad things happening one after the other, their breaking point could’ve been just about anything.

So when Lauren came home, with no takeout, and saw no dinner on the table. She couldn’t help but recall the dread she felt coming home back before she met Leyla.

And that was their tipping point.

“Where’s dinner?”

“Oh I thought you were cooking dinner-“

“I can’t do everything, Lauren.”

“But I was too exhausted to drop by and get din-“

“And I’m too exhausted to cook dinner! I can’t do everything around here!”

“Hey-“

“No! I’ve had a terrible day where one bad thing happens after the other, I can’t deal with this right now!”

Lauren’s old instincts kicked in, telling her to run away.

And she did. She pretended to check her phone. “They need me back at the hospital, understaffed.”

“No, you’re not going to overwork yourself again. I know you’re lying.”

But Lauren had already left.

It wasn’t until the morning that Lauren had come back from the hospital with dark bags under her eyes.

Leyla was on their shared bed, having awoken when she’d heard Lauren’s footsteps.

“Hey I’m really sorry for running away...”

Leyla sighed, tugging at Lauren’s arm to coax her to lay next to her.

She was hesitant at first, unsure if she was allowed to hold her but when Leyla had buried her face into her neck, it was her cue to hold her close.

“Listen, we’re both too exhausted right now. We can leave this until we’re both rested.”

And Lauren listens, holding Leyla close and let’s her steady breath lull her to sleep.

They get better at handling their fights after that. They make sure both of them are at the right mindset, then they talk it out.

We know Lauren has no self-preservation skills but I like to think that Leyla sometimes lacks in that department. (Girl saved a patient’s life even though she had no medical license yet and could’ve risked going to jail-)

So when one of her passengers attempted to pull a knife on her other passenger...well, she got caught in the middle of the cross-fire.

So now she had a knife stuck in her abdomen. Yikes-

Fortunately, the ambulance had been called due to the multiple amounts of witnesses but when Leyla realized she was going to New Amsterdam’s emergency department...well, she’s gonna be in for a scolding once she’s better.

The ambulance crew had rushed her in and the moment her name was called, Lauren felt her whole world freeze.

“Lauren? Lauren?!” Casey was not about to let his boss get distracted by emotions. “Listen, I know you two are really close but right now she is your patient.”

It takes her a moment to ignore her broken heart at the sight of her girlfriend in such a fragile state.

Soon enough, Leyla was sent to surgery.

It lasts longer than she had expected, seeing as she had finished her shift and was seated on the chair right next to Leyla’s bed.

“Hey Dr. Bloom! Working overtime again?” She was greeted by one of the nurses making rounds, pausing for a moment till she realized she was still in her lab coat.

“Oh uhm- not exactly?”

It takes a few seconds before the nurse realizes. “Oh! Okay I’ll leave you to it!”

The nurse leaves and Lauren finds herself holding Leyla’s hand.

“Overtime again? Your reputation precedes you.”

Lauren looks up, seeing an exhausted Leyla looking at her with tired eyes.

“Oh thank god you’re okay...”

Despite her initial hesitance, the anticipation, the nerves and worry, she had taken Leyla’s face in her hands to kiss her appreciatively.

That causes a chuckle out of Leyla, not expecting the sudden rise in affection.

“PDA? In your own work place? Who are you?” She teases.

“Someone who was and still is extremely worried for you. What the hell happened?”

“Eh. Asshole passenger.”

Lauren merely sighs, ignoring the stares she gets from her other colleagues who are more than surprised to see her being affectionate with someone.

And of course, she stays with Leyla the whole night despite protests.

“You stayed with me after the chemical spill incident. I’m not leaving you alone.”

Feel free to add more!

[greymantledlady]

you are my sweetest downfall

Adam squeezes Michael’s hands again, reassuring. 'Remember – back down there – how we agreed to talk to each other if anything bothered us? This is like that, okay?’

Michael looks stricken. ‘Oh,’ he says in a small voice. ‘Oh. I didn’t – it really isn’t anything worth your time – ’

My second fic for @midamweek! People seemed to really enjoy Adam calling Michael 'sweetheart' in the previous fic in this verse, so I decided to expand on it. Michael is a dork, honestly.

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

Having an archangel as your boyfriend is really good, actually. Better than good.

Adam, in all his years of (largely) calm and resigned pining in the Cage, had never actually, truly believed he had a chance of anything like this with Michael, anything so soft and domestic and - well, astonishingly, normal, really. It still hits him sometimes, that warm rush of astounded happiness when Michael can't stop looking hopefully down at his lips until Adam simply has to press in close and kiss him, when Michael flushes at Adam making the mildest and most low-hanging of innuendos, when Michael asks him what would be the best gift to give Adam for St Valentine's Day. 

The last incident had occurred in July, because Michael had thought Adam would probably forget all about the conversation by the time February rolled around, and he had been so endearingly pleased with himself over this plan that Adam had started laughing and pulled him down onto the couch by the fire and kissed and sucked all the way down his neck until it bruised.

Given that Michael was at the time a metaphysical projection of grace shaped into a copy of Adam's own body and existing in a dimension faintly to the left of the mortal plane, it probably didn't actually need to have bruised, but Michael had warmed extremely quickly to the concept of hickeys, apparently. He likes them a lot, likes to keep them and nurse them and admire them in the mirror when he thinks Adam's not looking, and Adam thinks it's kind of the best thing ever.

Right now, though, Adam's a little worried.

Michael has been - off - for a little while now. Not worryingly so - nothing like the shaking bouts of grief that Adam had held him through when he'd first gotten back, when he'd been mourning the asshole father who'd never loved or deserved him. Nothing like that, it's just - a sort of odd wistfulness that seems to fall over him sometimes, at the strangest of moments, and Adam is determined to work out what’s causing it.

***

They're in bed, Adam happily boneless and tired out and curled around Michael, stroking his hair while Michael smooths his hand up and down Adam's back in the firm way that Adam likes, his grace-formed body firmly anchored to the physical world this time, as warm and solid as Adam's own. Adam nuzzles his cheek affectionately, smiling against his skin when Michael hums with contentment. 

'Hey,' he says quietly, squinting a little to focus on Michael's face.

'Adam,' Michael says, just as soft. He looks hopeful for a moment, as though he's waiting for something. Adam's not quite sure what it is. He traces his thumb gently over Michael's collarbone, waiting to see if he'll come out with it, but eventually Michael just sighs quietly and turns his face to press it into Adam's hair.

***

Adam, before he’d been killed and resurrected, had enjoyed baking.

Of course, that had been more than a thousand years ago, but – well, time was weird that way, when it came to being trapped in an archangel cage in Hell. It wasn't that he'd forgotten any of it, of course, and he valued those memories, the way Michael had softened, increment by increment, until somewhere along the line he'd become someone Adam couldn't live without.

It was just that, once they'd gotten out, the memories seemed condensed, so that you weren't sure at all if it had been ten years or a thousand. Adam wondered sometimes whether that was what Michael's billions of years of existence must feel like to him, too.

Anyway, he'd liked to bake. When he'd come back, after the first long pain-filled months of negotiating with the Winchesters to bring Michael back too, and after the first whirlwind of joy of finding out Michael wanted him the same way, he'd started again, searching up recipes online on his phone and writing them out in a notebook if they turned out successfully.

Today, he’s craving choc chip cookies, so he looks at the pantry and pulls out flour and sugar and chocolate chips, opening the packet immediately to sneak a few to nibble on as he starts to measure everything out. They need a medium-sized mixing bowl; he needs to put that on the list for the next time they go grocery shopping. The big one is fine for today, though.

‘What are you doing?’ Michael asks, coming up behind him. He touches Adam’s elbow with a soft hand as he passes, leaning on the counter to watch.

‘Baking!’ Adam says. He bumps his hip gently against Michael’s. ‘I’m making choc chip cookies.’

Michael shifts a little closer so they can stay connected, and leans over to inspect the ingredients, poking a finger into the well of flour Adam has measured out, leaving a little dent. He’s always been surprisingly tactile, liking to touch new things, test them on his fingers.

‘Don’t eat that,’ Adam warns. ‘It tastes awful raw. Choc chips are better, here.’ He picks out a single chip – no need to overwhelm Michael’s still-developing sense of taste – and says, with a grin, ‘Open your mouth.’

Michael raises an eyebrow, looking at him, soft-eyed and so in love that it makes Adam’s heart pulse with warmth. ‘Okay, kid,’ he says, and opens up.

Adam puts down his spoon, buzzing with affection, and presses closer, leaning up against Michael’s chest and delighting in the way Michael’s arms come up to circle his waist. ‘Hey,’ he murmurs, up close, and runs his thumb along Michael’s parted lips, just to tease him a little.

Michael sighs, soft, bending forward, only to be foiled by Adam’s hand. ‘Choc chip,’ Adam reminds him, and pops it in.

‘Mm,’ Michael says, nibbling. He looks so surprised at the small burst of sweetness that Adam grins again.

‘Good, yeah?’ he says. ‘Do you want another one?’

Michael licks his lips. ‘It was good,’ he says. ‘I don’t want another one, though.’ His eyes dip downwards, his hand stroking a hopeful little circle on Adam’s back.

‘I can’t imagine what you do want,’ Adam teases. He snuggles himself a little more firmly against Michael, runs his hands down his sides and around to fit into his back pockets, enjoying the way Michael shivers. ‘Oh, get over here.’

‘I am here,’ Michael says, but then Adam kisses him, slow and sweet, smiling against his lips before pulling back. ‘Oh,’ he says softly. ‘Adam.’

‘Michael,’ Adam says, just as softly, and leaves another tiny kiss at the corner of Michael’s mouth, the moment drawing out soft and gentle; the kind of moment that you could live in forever. Michael’s eyes are soft and hazy, leaning into him, and Adam reaches up to run his knuckles over his cheek.

Michael exhales, and strokes his hands gently across Adam’s back, watching him closely. He has that odd, hidden wistfulness in his face again, as though he’s waiting for something, and Adam wants to do something about it, wants Michael to tell him what it is so he can give it to him.

‘What is it?’ he says gently, and holds back the endearment that wants to spill out, absurdly tender. He’s pretty sure it will only make Michael more embarrassed.

Michael sighs again, very soft, and glances away. ‘No, it’s nothing,’ he says.

Adam’s pretty sure it’s not nothing, but he doesn’t press. They have all the time in the world, after all, and he has cookies to bake for them. Michael will come out with it eventually.

***

Except Michael doesn’t come out with it, and it keeps happening, and Adam is honestly starting to worry. They’ll be together, and happy, so happy – he knows Michael is happy, can feel it in the grace that’s constantly twined around his soul. They’ll be kissing, or snuggling, or making love, and it will be a perfect moment, the kind of moment that makes everything worth it, like a warm soft blanket to lose yourself in.

And then suddenly Michael will be looking all wistful, like a sad little puppy wanting a morsel, and disappointed, and Adam is beginning to really, really not like that at all.

He’s tried everything – more kisses, cuddling, even that one thing that Michael really likes during sex but gets incredibly flustered and blushy over, so Adam saves for special occasions. And Michael loves it all, he really does, Adam can feel it, but none of it manages to soothe that particular, wistful little ache in his grace.

When he was small, and he’d had a problem, or felt bad, or unhappy, or guilty, Mum had always managed to coax it out of him eventually. She would sit him on the couch and give him a glass of milk, and tell him that it was always better to talk things out, not hold them inside of you till they hurt. Bad feelings were like appendicitis, she’d say, they’d make you very sick if you left them inside.

Adam thinks Michael has the equivalent of emotional appendicitis at the moment, honestly, and he’s pretty sure he needs to do something to fix that.

***

When Adam comes to find him, Michael is sitting at their kitchen table, inspecting a small pile of rocks. Months ago, he’d read a magazine article about gemstone tumbling, and then read it again, and again, and again, until the pages were dog-eared and Adam couldn’t help but notice. So he’d gone online and bought him a little tumbling kit on Ebay, as a surprise, and Michael had been hugely and gratifyingly pleased about it. Now every time they go for a walk, he comes home with his pockets full of bits of quartz and such, and their house is filled with shiny little piles of gems, like some kind of dragon’s hoard.

(‘It reminds me of creating planets,’ he tells Adam once, softly. ‘I used to polish them until they were so beautiful and round.’)

Now, he looks up as Adam comes up behind him, leaning his head back against Adam’s stomach as Adam slides his arms over his shoulders. Adam kisses his ear. ‘Hey, you,’ he says. ‘You got a moment?’

‘Of course,’ Michael says immediately, at attention. ‘What do you need, Adam?’

‘Just you,’ Adam says, and gives his shoulders a little squeeze before pulling out the chair next to Michael’s and sitting down, swivelling towards him. Michael puts down the rock he’d been inspecting and turns to face him, the full force of his attention directed onto Adam’s face.

‘Okay,’ Adam says, and reaches out to take Michael’s hands in his own, squeezing. ‘I need to talk to you about something, Michael – oh, no, don’t look at me like that,’ he breaks off, running a comforting thumb over Michael’s knuckles. ‘It’s nothing bad.’

Michael nods, still looking rather worried.

Adam decides to get it over with. ‘Look, I’ve noticed that there’s something bothering you,’ he says gently. ‘Something that you want, that you’re not telling me. I can feel it in your grace – like last night, when we were falling asleep, and when I made cookies, and other times, too.’ He squeezes Michael’s hands again, reassuring. ‘Remember – back down there – how we agreed to talk to each other if anything bothered us? This is like that, okay?’

Michael looks stricken. ‘Oh,’ he says in a small voice. ‘Oh. I didn’t – it really isn’t anything worth your time – ’

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Adam says softly, because he can’t help it, ‘of course it is, it always is – ’

And suddenly, bizarrely, Michael’s grace is going wild, elated, looping and twining, wrapping around his soul with little, soft, shuddering ripples of happiness. He looks as though he’s about one step from breaking down, swaying a little towards Adam with his eyes shiny and his lips a little unsteady.

Okay, what?

‘Okay, what?’ Adam says, and reaches out to touch his face. ‘Michael, what was that? What happened? That was it, wasn’t it?’

Michael swallows, his grace still buzzing with happiness, turning his face into Adam’s touch. ‘You said it again,’ he says, closing his eyes for a moment like he’s basking in Adam’s warmth.

‘Said what?’ Adam says – and, ‘wait, ‘sweetheart’?’ His heart feels like it’s melting. ‘That was all you wanted? For me to call you pet names?’

Michael is going pink now, avoiding his eyes. ‘You must think I’m foolish,’ he mumbles.

‘Of course I don’t,’ Adam says, overwhelmed with sheer fondness. ‘Well, maybe just a little bit, for not just telling me, honestly.’ He knuckles gently at the corner of Michael’s eye, and it actually comes away a little damp. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he says, knowing he sounds ridiculously tender, and that pulse of sheer bright happiness ripples through Michael again, through his grace.

‘It was the first thing you said,’ Michael says softly. ‘When you brought me back. My name, Michael, and – and you called me that. And I asked about it, and you kissed me and I was happy, but you never said it again. I,’ he swallows. ‘I don’t know why I. I wanted you to say it.’

‘Okay, you need to come here right now,’ Adam says, and climbs directly into his lap. He brings his hands up to hold Michael’s face, looking down at him. ‘Fuck, I love you,’ he says helplessly, and Michael’s whole face twitches, his hands coming up instinctively to fit at the small of Adam’s back.

���I love you too,’ he says immediately, honestly. ‘Adam.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I – would like it if you said it again, please.’

‘Yeah, sweetheart, okay,’ Adam murmurs against his lips. ‘I’m never going to stop.’

[pandoraimperatrix]

hey Pandoraimperatix, my friend I would like to request sunflower Behave Yourself Make Me for Batcat and Violet Stop staring at me to distract me!" "Oh , I'm not staring to distract you ." for Dickkory.

Sorry for the huge delay, it has been busy lately.

We go back to the Titans AU that only exists in my heart in a time between season one and two in which Trigon is gone, but the core four + Jason are living together as a family and the rest of the adults Titans are... Dunno.

Beware, this is so sugary I’m now dependent of insulin.

--------

It started as a regular game night, and for the first two hours or so it really happened as it should.

Gar was in charge of food, so even though everything in the menu was vegetarian he managed to serve a delicious feast with plenty decadent deep fried snacks that Dick would never approve, there was no cauliflower pizza nonsense and frizzy drinks with real sugar in their composition among the diet options.

Rachel fixed the games, Gar offered, but she dismissed him saying that he had too much a niche taste and Jason would only pick the boring battle ones. Besides, she was better at guessing which kind of game would entertain their family without causing a horrible fight over whom was owing whom rent at monopoly or something.

Jason was in charge of music, because he was the only one of the whole team with a decent taste. Or that's what he claimed.

Dick and Kory were not allowed to have any say in the game night activities, the kids said they were merely invited to join. Dick, being true to his namesake wanted to forbid the whole thing, already thinking of all the many ways a night of fun and games could turn into chaos and disgrace. But when Rachel proposed it, she already expected that from him, and that’s why she asked him right after Kory’s morning flight, so when she entered the room, skin glowing fresh from a sunbath, he seemed to had lost the train of his thoughts, mumbling something incoherent, Rachel took that as a yes and ran with it.

But after all the food was gone the strangest thing started to happen. Stranger than Jason going to bed early instead of throwing a fit after losing three rounds or darts in a row. Dick was worried and even tried to talk to him, worried he was just self-isolating out of frustration, but when he went to the boy's room found him actually reading, that gave him a weird mix of surprise and bittersweet joy over his little brother's evolution. He was better now, and didn't need him as much.

But when he went back to the living room there was only Kory.

“Where are Gar and Rachel?”

Kory took a while to answer because she had just stuffed her mouth with a particular big deep fried veggie dumpling, Dick tried to not fixate too much on how plump and kissable her lips were, but he probably didn’t make a very good job. All those long acting classes with Alfred growing up and now, twenty years and an alien princess after, he suddenly couldn’t hide his feelings. Dishonour on him, dishonour on his bats.

“Could have asked you the same,” she said finally swallowing down, and now it was her elegant neck and the dark path to her cleavage that was catching his eyes. Damn, it should be worrisome how much pull she had over him. It was true that he had a past o falling in love with his female teammates and it usually ended badly, but there was something different about him and Kory. While with Dawn and Babs there was always the shadow of this other man he supposed to be, a better man, and the weight of the expectations he put on himself and that he felt at the time that his exes added to, crushed their relationship.

Kory… Well, even after meeting Bruce last time they went to Gotham to officialise Jason’s situation – and also a move orchestrated by Alfred to meet his new grandchildren – she didn’t change with him. Of course, she didn’t have years of indoctrinating to find Batman the most amazing man in existence,  but even after learning his status, and listening to stories about him, she didn’t look as impressed as people usually did. And for some crazy miracle, she was still very much interested in him, Dick, whom she already knew better than most people, maybe even better than Donna, and enough to know all his worst faults, enough to tell him he was being stupid when he let all his paranoia and inferiority complex make him act out. And she was still there, in love with him.

“Are they coming back? There’s still food.”

“Who’s to say?” she said in a nonchalant tone, as she picked the fallen darts from the floor.

He crossed his arms, eying her with amused suspicion.

“Miss Anders, what are you planning?”

“Me?” she asked over her shoulder. “Nothing at all,” and he didn’t believe a bit, but waited and she straighten up, turning back to face him. “But we don’t need the kids to have fun, do we?”

And he could have died right there, the last thing he’d see was the smile she was giving to him, his favourite, that was in equal measures playful, promising, innocent and very dirty. That picture alone with be worthier than any paradise.

Dick walked towards her, and positioned his body behind hers, framing her hips with his hands. “Depending of the type of fun you have in mind…” he said against her ear after pulling her hair aside.

Kory clicked her tongue in disapproval, but leaned back into him slightly, “Grayson, Grayson, what a naughty mind you have.” She prepared to throw a dart and recoiled when he kissed her neck. “I was merely trying to challenge you for a darts’ competition.”

“Yeah?”

She turned her face to look at him, her eyes glowing so green in the way he learned it meant she was getting aroused.

“Yes.”

Dick let her go and didn’t comment when she let out a disappointed sigh.

“I accept,” he took a sip of his own sugar free pop and regretted immediately because it became flat after being forgotten for so long, “what do I get when I win?”

“Cocky, aren’t we?”

“In time.”

She bended in half unable to hide her giggles.

“You are ridiculous.”

He just pouted.

Kory rolled her eyes in amusement, took a deep breath to calm herself and prepared to throw her first dart.

"Stop staring at me to distract me!" She complained.

"Oh, I'm not staring to distract you."

She threw it and it missed, badly. Dick pressed his lips but wasn’t able to hold his own laughter.

“That’s your fault!” her face was glowing golden, and Dick resented the fact they didn’t get to meet earlier, how had been Kory as a teenager? Was she easier to rile up back then? Nowadays, she was the coolest person he ever met, cooler than Bruce, than his uncle Clark. It was the rarest thing to see Kory act in a self-conscious way, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy this newfound power he had. The power to make Princess Koriand’r blush.

“I’ll be more careful now when you start throwing starbolts around from now on,” he teased.

“I’ll use you as my training target, then” was her comeback.

“I think I’ll be fine.”

She sighed and turned back to him, her hands on her hips.

“Why are you torturing me?”

He gave her his best kicked puppy look.

“We are here, all alone, and all you care about is some dumb game…”

Kory’s face broke in one of her full smiles and she threw the darts without even looking, all of them bull’s eye, and walked towards him, hugging him by the neck. 

“Awnnnn, is that it? Why didn’t you say earlier?”

He let go of his demure stance and in a display of his true intentions hoisted her up by her backside, Kory let out an elated exclamation and adjusted her arms grabbing his face and bringing their lips together.

“Hmm,” he made as she parted from his lips to let him breathe and spread kisses down his neck, “can we really? Won’t they come back?”

“Nah,” she said licking his ear, “I gave them money.”

“Not only she has a very good aim, but she’s also so smart,” he mumbled as he walked them to the sofa.

“Aren’t I a catch?” she said opening her legs to accommodate him after he lied her body on the cushions, and pushed his floppy hair back behind his ear, “aren’t you lucky?”

“The luckiest,” and he kissed her.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 17: Royality

@tsshipmonth2020 (does this still count so late?)

What’s that? Ly creating content? Unbelievable. (I have writer’s block, leave me alooone /j)

Thanks to @marshymoop for suggestions and encouragment when making this bad boy! Love ya <3

Day 17 - Everyone has heterochromia, one eye is your natural color the other is your soulmate’s natural color. Once you meet all eyes return to natural color. 

Content warnings: food/drink mention, alcohol, mentions of hangover, vampires, referring to drinking blood as “eating”, non-explicit blood drinking, being chased. 

Word count: 6.9k

THE CITY OF DEWMORE WELCOMES YOU

Patton tapped his fingers on the steering wheel excitedly, nearly vibrating as he passed the weathered sign. Beyond it, beckoning him forward, stood a forest more densely packed and darker than he’d ever had the pleasure of exploring, the achingly tall pine trees swaying minutely in the breeze, their tips barely visible through the blanket of fog. Just imagining what could be held within those depths made his leg bounce; forgotten, moss-drenched stone paths, broken stumps of fallen trees that hadn’t made a sound upon impact, patches of mushrooms scattered in the shadows, and whispering creeks. It was the perfect way to spend his spring break, and one his photography teacher had wholeheartedly encouraged him to take. If he hadn’t had so many midterms to mark, Patton was almost sure the man would have tried to join him. 

Almost an anxious tic at this point, he ran his free hand over the photography bag in his passenger seat, as if to make sure it hadn’t disappeared in the three minutes since he’d last checked. The thing was his prized possession, given to him by the very same photography professor at his university. It had been the elder’s own, before he got his newest camera, and gifted the whole set to his favorite (but don’t tell the others) students. It was full of perfectly kept lenses and two miniature tripods, extra batteries and memory cards, speedlights, and most importantly, the camera tucked safely into the biggest pouch. It was more expensive than Patton would ever have dreamt to buy, so it was truly a gift he’d never forget. Now it was up to him to finally take some shots worthy of the thing. 

The forests continued to grow denser and thicker until, in almost a shocking snap, they disappeared to reveal a quaint city that he hadn’t quite expected. The first few buildings he passed looked like they may have stood there for hundreds of years, weather worn and faded. Their signs were either scratched to nothingness or blaringly new, shining metal names standing out against an ancient backdrop. He was looking for a motel, figuring there had to be one, even in a town of less than two thousand people. His backup plan was to just sleep in his car. He’d brought his sleeping back and extra blankets, so it wasn’t a huge concern, but he’d still prefer a bed. But whenever he’d tried finding anything online, he’d come up blank. 

A fog still covered the town, and though it created an air of calm and mystery that Patton was itching to capture, he also knew the area was surrounded by towering mountains that he also desired so badly. To his right, the buildings stopped abruptly, revealing a grey beach, all rocks and no sand, criss crossed with logs, opening to a dark lake. The other side wasn’t visible through the mist. 

The further he drove, he realized the buildings weren’t improving in their modernity, just giving way to more and more old infrastructure. One stood out, a grocery store, it’s lights piercing through the evening dim. Patton didn’t get a look inside before he passed, once again surrounded antique houses and shops, a post office to his left, and a tavern just across from that. A sign above the door read “Vacancy” in peeling white letters, and that was all the enticing Patton needed to pull his car into the gravel parking lot in front of the building. There was only one other vehicle there, a matte red pickup truck that he parked next to, and what appeared to only be three more parking spots. From the high placed windows, a soft orange light bled, and a round of raucous laughter filtered through the cracked open door. Patton smiled. The photographer inside him was going to have a field day here. 

He stepped up the concrete steps and ruffled his hair with one hand so it covered his eye, heaving a sigh in hopes to calm his nervous butterflies, and pulled the door open. 

All at once, the chatter inside died, and Patton internally shrank as every face in the tavern turned to look at the newcomer. There was a moment of tense silence as he tried his best for a smile and met the gaze of the men scrutinizing him, drinks forgotten on high wooden tables, jubilance halted. Patton waited with baited breath, for someone to do something, why were they all just staring, when a voice spoke from behind the bar.

“Don’t worry about them, sweetheart. We don’t get a lot of new people around here.”

And the lull was broken as suddenly as it started, the men now ignoring him in favor of joking over mugs of fizzing ale. Patton swallowed thickly and turned to the voice, shoving his quivering hands into his pockets and shaking his head again to assure the curls were safely covering his eye. As usual. 

The man standing before him, leaning on the bar with an easy smile, was almost enough to take Patton’s breath away. If he were a religious man, he’d go so far as to call him heavenly. Eyes as dark as the depths of the surrounding forests, auburn hair pushed back from his face in what he could only think to describe as an intentional bedhead. His skin was too flawless, teeth just a couple shades too white, everything perfect in a way that was almost…

Patton couldn’t put his finger on it. 

“What can I get you, newbie?”

“Uhm-” Patton took a cleansing breath and sat at one of the barstools, all of them empty seeing as the crowd seemed more drawn to the tables in the center of the room, “I don’t come to bars that often. I don’t know.”

The bartender hummed, pushing up his already rolled up white sleeves and giving Patton a once over, almost investigating him. “You drink?”

“I… I guess.”

“Been on the road for a while, tired?”

“Do I look that exhausted?” Patton breathed a laugh, suddenly aching to pop his spine. He’d been driving since before dawn for the past three days, barely hunkering down for a decent sleep before he was off again. He’d been really excited to get here, plus he didn’t want to waste more of his meager break driving. 

“I got just what you need, darling.” With a wink, the bartender straightened up and pulled down a series of bottles, cracking his knuckles with flourish before measuring them into a silver canister. “So what brings you to Dewmore?”

“I’m a photographer,” Patton said, “Or, a photography student. Down in Florida.”

The man whistled as he shoveled ice cubes into the mix, “Long drive for some pictures.”

“I’m… dedicated,” Patton laughed, scratching at his neck nervously. “My prof recommended it, said it might be a nice place to spend my break.”

“I assume you’re looking for a place to stay then, as well?” He plopped a cap on the canister and began to shake it above his shoulder, grinning widely, “These guys are always just like, ‘Gimme a beer’ this, ‘Gimme a beer’ that. It’s great to actually make fun drinks again.” With hands flying too fast for Patton to process, he grabbed a glass, popped the lid of the shaker, and poured the deep orange drink, tossing on a green sprig and sliding the drink over. “Enjoy.”

Patton took a cautious sip of the drink and had to fight not to sigh, the refreshing taste a welcome relief after three days of gas station Gatorade and hotel sink water. He could barely taste any alcohol, more focused on the ice cold sweet tartness at the back of his tongue. The bartender looked pleased, huffing a satisfied laugh and beginning to put away his bottles. He was taking another sip, satisfied with the backdrop of joyous chatter and clinking glasses, when he remembered why he’d come in. 

“Yes, I am. Uhm, looking for a place to stay, that is.”

The bartender looked at him over his shoulder, “We haven’t had visitors in… a while, at least. You’ve pretty much got your pick of the rooms.”

“Do you have anything facing the water?” He took another sip, the photo possibilities already flowing through his mind. One through the window, just far back enough to catch the flow of the curtains and the chipped wood of the window ledge, a monochromatic lakeshore in the bottom third, a barely visible mountain looming ahead… 

“Sure thing, sweetheart. Let me just finish this up, and I’ll get you on the ledger.”

“Patton.” He downed the rest of the drink and rested his elbow on the counter, chin in his palm, an easy smile playing on his lips. 

“Hm?”

“My name’s Patton.” 

“I’m Roman.” Tossing the towel over his shoulder, Roman gave him another wink before disappearing into the back room, coming back moments later with a thick black book. He was already thumbing through the pages, finally landing on the one he wanted, and spun a pen between his fingers.

“What’s your last name, sweetheart?” 

Patton spelled it out for him, and was surprised when the man clapped the book shut after the final letter. “That’s all you need?”

“Yup.”

“No… ID, or anything?” It was at that moment when it occurred to Patton that, although he was legal, his baby face often prompted bouncers and servers back home to ask for identification. Roman hadn’t even blinked before serving him.

“Got anything to hide?” 

“Uhm… no, I-”

“Good enough for me. It’s not like we’re a high traffic tourist spot. I don’t think we’ve had anyone take a room in, like, two years, and who knows how many before that. Frankly, I wouldn’t care if you were on the run for murder. Don’t kill me, and we’re solid.”

Patton blanched, unable to tell if the man was being sarcastic. Finally his expression cracked into a smirk and he brandished a key towards Patton, dangling it by the ring. “I’m messing with you. I mean, don’t kill me, that’s legit. Here you go, cutie. Let me know if you need anything.”

With that, he sashayed away with a tray of beers (when on Earth had he filled those?), and the men whooped loudly, startling Patton. 

“Easy, boys,” Roman purred, beginning to round the tables, and Patton hopped off the bar stool to get his things from his car. He couldn’t wait to pass out in bed with the knowledge that he could sleep in however late he wanted. 

-0-0-0-

But apparently sleep didn’t have the same ideas as him, because even after he was in comfortable clothes and tucked into the covers, he continued to toss and turn. Maybe it was the concept of being alone in a strange town, or the full moon shining through the thin curtains, or just plain excitement, but he suddenly felt wider awake then he had since he started this trip. 

There was a soft rattling somewhere across the room and, with begrudging acceptance that he wasn’t going to sleep any time soon, fumbled his glasses on to search for the offending sound. With a grumble, he threw off the blankets and padded across the room to the window and tossed back the curtains, giving the moon a scalding glare for shining so darn brightly. It was the window, fitted loosely in its frame, being shook by the gentle wind that was causing the noise. Patton gave it an experimental tug, followed by a more forceful yank, and found it didn’t budge down at all. Instead, it continued to rattle mockingly, in what sounded almost like whispered giggles as he crossed his arms across his chest. 

Fine. He turned his attention to the scenic view before him, letting out a minute shudder as a small gust of wind blew through his thin pajama shirt. Moonlit waves crashed against the rocky shore, tossing up silver spray against the dark backdrop of the forest. Patton took a breath, feeling an overwhelming sense of peace just staring at the silent town, the stone spires rising above the forest-

Wait, what?

Patton blinked sharply a couple times, leaning forward until his nose bumped the window and squinting through the glass. Those… things... definitely looked like manmade objects- the shape made it impossible for them to be natural- but you’d think he’d remember something that looked like a castle directly outside his window. In fact, he’d spent a significant amount of time upon first entering the room just admiring the view, and a castle one hundred percent would have been on his radar. Oh, if the thing was abandoned, imagine the photo opportunities, and even if it wasn’t he could totally just get some of the outside-

Yeah, there was no way he was sleeping now.

Before he’d even processed what he was doing, he’d slipped out of his pajamas and hurriedly pulled on the outfit he’d laid out on the desk chair, because there was no way he was digging through his suitcase to scrounge out more clothes. He threw a beige sweater over his white shirt, however, remembering the chill the night had brought and, after he’d adequate tucked them into his slacks, he threw his camera bag over his shoulder and trotted down the stairs.

Unsurprisingly, the first floor tavern was empty of all customers, overhead lights traded for softer electric lamps on the walls and the illuminated sign above the bar, where Roman was wiping down the counter, seemingly unbothered by the late hour. 

“Can’t sleep, sweetheart?” The bartender called out without turning around, tossing his rag across the counter and into a full soapy bucket behind the bar. 

“Uh, yeah, something like that,” Patton responded, shaking his bangs so they covered his eye. “I think I’m just too excited to start getting shots.”

“Mmm, you and me both.” He waggled his eyebrows and pulled a bottle of what looked like whiskey off the shelf. “What’s your poison?”

Patton snorted but shook his head, patting his camera bag, “I want to go out, and it’s probably not smart to drink before going out in a strange town at night.”

Roman shrugged before pouring himself a shot and downing it in one smooth motion.

“You’re allowed to drink on the job?”

The bartender hummed, replacing the bottle and locking the cabinet presumably for the night, “Once my tavern is empty, I consider myself off the clock. And I’m my own boss, so I hereby give myself the night off. I have a coffee machine in the back room, one of those Keurigs, if you want something fancy. Hasn’t been used in ages, but I’m sure if you wanted something, I-”

“No, it’s okay. Really.” Patton ducked his head and messed with his shirt, making sure the white collar stood above the neck of his sweater. He made his way over to the bar and took the same stool as before, leaning on the counter as Roman dumped out the dirty cleaning water into the sink. The clock above the bar, barely illuminated enough to see, revealed it was just after midnight. “Are there any old structures, like churches or anything, in the forest?”

Roman tilted his head, giving Patton a look over his shoulder he couldn’t quite understand. 

“There’s nothing there besides wolves and ticks, sweetheart,” he said slowly with an almost condescending smile, “Why? Hoping the little town in the middle of nowhere has a mystery?” He rinsed out the bucket and placed it in the cabinet under the sink.

Patton shrugged, scratching at his temple, “I saw something outside of my window.”

“Like a tree?” The rag was rinsed as well and draped over the faucet.

“No, definitely not.” He tried not to feel too offended that Roman was clearly teasing him, but he was certain what he’d seen hadn’t been a tree. They were too tall, too angular, and too symmetrically placed for that.

“Pattycake, I grew up hunting with my dad and partying in those woods, and I would know if something were there.” 

“Are you sure?” Patton implored, “There’s definitely something man made, could it be, like, an old castle, or something?”

There was a moment of silence between the two as Roman continued to look at Patton like he was crazy, the barest hints of an impish grin tugging at his lips, before he sucked in a sharp breath; as if he realized something. 

On a dime, Roman’s expression contorted into one of anger, eyes alight with fury as he leaned into Patton’s space. As he spoke, his voice almost reverberated, like a choir speaking in unison.

“There is nothing in those woods, Patton. Understand? Don’t go wandering into places you don’t belong, or you won’t like what you find.”

Patton reared back from the forceful words, hand coming up subconsciously to readjust the hair on his face. Roman leaned just a tad closer, growling out a warning, “Got it, sweetheart?” The electric lamps on the walls, once creating such a homey, soft environment, suddenly flickered and Patton flinched, whipping around to face the large room as it seemed to strobe under the malfunctioning lights. Goosebumps spread across his arms as the flashing grew faster and his hand clamped over the back of his neck when a shiver raced up his spine.

“What’s going on? Why are-”

And then the lights went out completely, an eerie quiet settling over the tavern. Roman was silent. Was he even still in the room? Could he have left so quickly? The only sound in the empty room were Patton’s shaky breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, as he fought down a scream. He wasn’t a fan of the dark.

A single street light barely shone through the window, too dim to even light up the tables near the glass, and Patton turned to focus on it. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In… out… in… out-

A silhouette appeared in the window. 

The lights were back to their original gleam before he could even open his mouth to scream, filling the room with a dull hum as if nothing had even happened. Blinking rapidly, Patton took a calming breath (it’s just old lights, it’s just old lights, relax) and swiveled back in his chair to find that Roman was smiling at him innocently, cleaning out a glass with a rag.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?”

“Didn’t you see that?” Patton asked incredulously.

“See what?”  The bartender placed the glass into the last space in a row of them, giving Patton that same condescending grin as before. 

Patton sighed and lifted his glasses to rub his eyes tiredly, shaking his head. “I think travelling for so long has me seeing things.” Careful as ever, in the same fashion he’d so masterfully perfected in elementary school, he shook his head to cover his eye- his stupid, left, ‘soulmate’ eye- before removing his hands and letting his glasses fall back into place. 

Other kids won’t like it, sweetie. I don’t think the teachers will either.

I know you can’t help it, my love. If I could take this burden from you, I would. But this is yours to handle until… well, you know.

I don’t know why, Patton. You’ll find them someday. And then you’ll understand. 

“Why do you do your hair like that?”

“Hmm?” Patton blinked.

Roman smirked, leaning casually on the counter in front of Patton, “Covering half of your face like that. You shouldn’t, you know. You’re a stunner.” With that, he reached forward, intent on moving that hair out of his face.

No.

“NO!” Patton yelled, stumbling off the barstool just as Roman’s hand made contact with his face. He ducked his head, roughly scraping his hair back in place with shaking hands, but the damage was done. A single cute guy compliments him and he forgets the habit he’s built up for years? How could he be so stupid-

“Everything alright? I’m sorry for scaring you, sweetheart.”

Was it possible he hadn’t seen it? Maybe Patton had moved fast enough, maybe the bartender had been too surprised to get a good look, maybe everything was fine. Roman didn’t seem horrified, or at all perturbed. Instead, he just looked… worried. 

Either way, after that reaction, Patton was aching to be left alone to stew in his embarrassment. His rented room held nothing for him that he wanted, and sleep felt farther than ever, so his only choice was outside. The promises of a maybe-crumbling ancient building, illuminated by a full moon, were far more tempting than anything inside had to offer. 

“Actually,” Patton said nervously, “A coffee would be great.”

Roman squinted at him, biting on the inside of his cheek before huffing a breathy laugh through his nose. “Alright, darling. Give me just a second to dust off the Keurig.”

The moment he disappeared behind the door to the backroom, Patton tightened his hold on the camera bag and sprinted from the tavern, into the grips of the cool night.

-0-0-0-

What would he say when he got back to the tavern? Would Roman make him leave the inn? Had he crossed a line he hadn’t known existed; would he have to cut his trip early because he couldn’t help his curiosity? Was bothering the only innkeeper in town really the smartest decision to make?

All wonderful questions that Patton wished he’d considered before running.

But if he did have to leave, and if this was his last night in this delightful and equally terrifying little town, he was going to make the most of it. At least, that’s what he’d thought he would do as he’d left the few city lights behind and treading deeper into the forest. He had a flashlight with him, thank goodness, so he wasn’t completely screwed, and he’d already gotten a few great shots. He stayed in the areas that the full moon could still shine through the trees, and some of the clouds had rolled away, so he was having the time of his life working with silhouettes against the star filled sky (thanks to the little to no light pollution Dewmore offered). 

The more prominent thought in his mind, however, were the spires steadily growing closer above the treeline. He couldn’t understand what Roman had been talking about. How could anyone living in this town not see whatever he was walking towards? 

(Admittedly, curiosity was also a huge reason he was chasing something he’d been warned to avoid. He’d never been that great at impulse control.)

It had to be nearly two in the morning when he came to an incline; a steep path constructed entirely of rocks fist-sized and larger. At the top, Patton could just barely see what looked to be the back of the castle, and he bounced slightly on his toes in excitement. He couldn’t tell from this distance the state it was in, or if it was possible anyone still lived there, but dang it if he wasn’t going to give it a go before he left. He’d walked all this way, after all.

The first few steps up the hill were the loudest thing he’d heard since he’d started his midnight adventure, and he cringed as they dropped away under his feet, knocking against each other as they fell to the ground.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Patton spun around, his flashlight slipping out of his hands. It rolled down between the rocks, casting split second light beams in every direction as it bounced towards the source of the voice, and stopped dead in the middle between the two of them. It settled on an indent created by Patton’s steps, aimed at the newcomer. Patton breathed a sigh of relief.

“Roman, goodness gracious! You scared the bejesus out of me,” Patton laid a hand on his chest and let out a huge gust of air. Roman didn’t move, and for the first time he noticed the absolute glare the bartender was giving him. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uhm… sorry about the… leaving. Thing. Are you mad?”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Well, apparently they weren’t going to talk about it. “Oh- I’m sorry, is this private property? I didn’t see any signs, I’m- Wait, but look, Roman! See, that’s what I was talking-”

“You. Shouldn’t. Be. Here.”

Patton blinked at the harshness in his words, taken aback. How was this the same easy going bartender that he’d met earlier tonight? Whatever was beyond this hill, though, Roman obviously wasn’t going to allow Patton to see. Maybe it was dangerous, or something? Either way, he couldn’t deny his disappointment.  “Yeah. I’m sorry, I’ll leave-”          

“How did you get here?”

“I… um, walked?”

“No!” Roman hissed, finally stepping forward and plucking up the flashlight from the ground, “You shouldn’t be able to see the castle, or go near it, how the hell did you get here?!”

Before he could answer, the other man froze, whipping around as if he’d heard a noise from his left. And then Patton blinked, and Roman was in front of him, pulling him back down to solid ground. He dragged him by the arm to a fallen tree that was propped up against its own splintered stump, leaving it angled just a few feet off the ground.

“How did you- You were just over there, how-”

“Get down!”

“What?”

“Get. Down!” Roman shoved his shoulders and Patton had no choice but to collapse, blending into a pile of ferns beneath the bend of the tree. “Take off the backpack, put it in front of you. It blends in better than you do.” He yanked off the dark green camera bag as he spoke, situating it in front of Patton. “Don’t move, don’t make a sound, don’t fucking breathe, Patton, I swear.” The flashlight flicked off and thumped to the ground as Roman walked away, leaving him standing in the pale moonlight. Patton debated reaching for the flashlight, but that would mean exposing himself from the foliage he was tucked in and under, and Roman had seemed really scared. 

There was a rustle in the underbrush in front of Roman, and the photographer shoved his fist into his mouth before he could gasp. 

“Roman, it’s so nice to see you back home. It’s been far too long.”

“It’s been hardly a month, mother.”

The woman that emerged from the tree’s shadows wore a black cloak, nearly blending into the forest around her as the fabric swirled hypnotically by her ankles with each step. Silver embroidery made up the tight bodice and strung together the corset front, meeting at the bottom in an intricate knot and trailing almost down to the earth in two strands. How her intricate updo had stayed intact through a walk in the forest, Patton couldn’t understand. 

However, if this was Roman’s mother, he did understand where he got his looks. The only word that came to his mind was ethereal; all smooth pale skin, those same impossibly dark eyes, red lips curved in a constant, easy smile. She was beautiful, but she was terrifying, and Patton backed up more into his fern hiding spot. 

She lifted her flared sleeves towards Roman as she stepped into the moonlit opening and he pulled her hands towards himself, kissing both of her cheeks before releasing her. 

“A month is too long, darling,” She purred, letting the back of her hand trail down his cheek. “I don’t understand why you find it necessary to stay amongst those humans when you could be with your family.”

“Because I want more than just… lounging, and talking with my brothers. Do you have to bring this up every time I visit?” Despite his slightly aggravated tone, he leaned into her touch. 

“When you’re older, you’ll look back at these choices with embarrassment and resentment.”

“Maybe.” 

“I just don’t want you to blame me when you do.”

“I could never, I promise.”

She sighed heavily, “They miss you, Roman. We all do.”

“Which is why I’m here, mom. You act as if I’ve been gone a millenia.” 

“Worrying is what a mother does best,” She smiled fondly, tapping his cheek with her finger, “You’re home, darling. Drop the glamor? It must be tiring keeping it up constantly.”

There was a moment of hesitation, where Patton couldn’t help but tense up along with the man in front of him. Then the air shifted, like it had been holding a breath it could finally let out, and though there was nothing different that Patton could see from Roman’s back, a certain jolt of fear hit him out of nowhere. 

“There’s my boy.” The woman drew him in for a proper hug, one hand reaching around his back to rest on his head. She pressed a kiss to his hair when he wrapped his arms around her in turn. Suddenly her nose wrinkled and she pulled away, holding his shoulders at arm’s length. “Dearest, you smell like humans again.”

Roman chuckled, but there was a new quiver in his voice. “The only flaw in being surrounded by them so often. Let me change, and I’ll come meet you for dinner.”

She didn’t move, eyes narrowing as she watched his face. “No… it’s not you.”

“What? What else could it possibly-”

“There’s a human here.” Her voice was utterly calm, but she pushed Roman behind her resolutely. “There must be.”

“What?!” 

A low growl filled the air, and it took Patton a few moments to realize the sound was originating from her. She stepped past Roman, her dress flowing soundlessly along with her as she glared into the woods around them. 

Her eyes flashed red.

Once again, Patton shoved his fist into his mouth to hide a scream. That same alien jolt of fear returned as she moved closer to him, seemingly zeroing in on his location. 

“Mother, come now. You’re being silly. Humans can't even come near here, remember? You made sure of that yourself!”

Patton tore his eyes away from the advancing woman and his breath caught in his throat. Roman had followed his mother, trying to placate her gently with a hand on her arm, and in doing so, had turned towards Patton’s hiding spot.

When Patton opened his eyes shortly after being born, he was taken away from his mother, despite his parent’s strong objections and his wails. He was returned hours later, much to their relief. On his birth certificate, his right eye was labeled blue. His left eye, the side usually taken by the natural color of his soulmate’s, was labeled ‘Defective’.

When he was set to start school at six years old, his mother sat him down on his bed and taught him how to properly cover his left eye with his hair. They’d grown it out enough to do so. Patton had asked why it was necessary, and subsequently learned the truth that not all people were as accepting and loving as his parents. 

When he was ten, he returned home from school crying. He dropped into his mother’s arms and she held him until his sobs turned to sniffles, until he could explain between sharp breaths that a bully at school had revealed Patton’s eye while trying to force him into a fight, and… well, his classmates hadn’t taken it well. Those who weren’t downright afraid of him, refused to eat or sit with him anymore. But it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t help it!

His eye was labeled ‘Defective’, because never before had the doctor’s seen a child born with a red eye. Not the pale color that came with pinkeye, or an allergic reaction, but the iris itself was such a bold, blood red color that it had left the team scrambling for any record of such an incident. They were left with more questions than answers. But the world had yet to understand how soulmates worked in the first place, so they chalked it up to another universal mystery.

Every day for as long as he could remember, Patton had stared into a mirror first thing in the morning, greeted with calm, airy blue on one side, and fiery, almost electric red on the other. 

So it was jarring to see such a sight, yet reversed, on another person. But as Roman tugged again on his mother’s arm, there was no denying it; the man’s own color was a gleaming ruby, and the other was Patton’s very own blue. 

“Mother, look,” Roman blurted out, scooping up the discarded flashlight from the forest floor, “This is a human tool. I’m sure this is what you’re smelling.”

She ripped the device from his hand, shaking it in his face, “That is still far too close to home, Roman! Humans have been here, and I guarantee they are still nearby.”

“And you don’t know how many there are, Mom!” Roman insisted, taking her hands. “It doesn’t matter how they got here, or why they did,” A slow grin spread across his face, highlighting a pair of glinting fangs, “Why don’t you gather the family, and we can find them together? I can’t even remember the last time I really ate.”

The woman was satiated by this answer, though she still cast the forest cautious looks. “Stay put, Roman. We’ll be back shortly.” Her nose wrinkled again. “Along with a change of clothes for you.”

And then she was gone, the only remaining trace being the tiny cloud of dust she’d left behind. Roman was calm for a moment, making sure she was really gone, before his demeanor dropped. The cocky smirk was gone, and he no longer held the confidence he’d had, either as a bartender or in the presence of his mother. 

“We don’t have a lot of time, c’mon! Let’s go!” He crouched before the log, extending his hand to Patton.

“What the hell are you?!” Patton shrieked. Interesting, that those were the first words from his jumble of thoughts that came out.

“Oh, come on, do you really need to ask? I’m pretty sure you already know!” 

And yeah, Patton was pretty sure he knew. He wasn’t an idiot. He’d had a teen Twilight phase, so of course the obvious answer was there. It just… it wasn’t possible. His brain was scrambling for any kind of other solution, anything that made sense, but it all kept circling to the same answer. 

The cute bartender at the inn was a vampire. 

… 

Okay then.

Next problem.

“I… yeah. I think I got it.”

“Good! Now let’s go!” Roman grabbed Patton’s hand and yanked, effectively pulling him from his hiding place and nearly tearing the arm from it’s socket. Patton stumbled from the sudden movement and tripped on his camera bag, yelping as he crashed into Roman’s chest. 

The vampire’s hands instantly wrapped around his waist, steadying him as he found his footing. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m all good, I just-”

Roman was much taller than he’d thought; that was the initial thought that came to mind as he looked up at the man holding him. The second was, well, the fact that his jaw had dropped open upon seeing Patton’s eyes, and for the first time since they’d met, the guy was completely speechless. 

Patton felt his left eye began to tingle as they shifted into its own natural color. He ignored it.

“You really didn’t see it? At the bar?” Patton whispered.

“No, you moved too fast,” Roman murmured, bringing a hand up to Patton’s cheek. “You… you’re my-”

He must have sensed something, or heard something that was too quiet for Patton’s ears, because his head whipped towards the castle. 

“We need to go. Now.” Roman intertwined their fingers and pulled him into a run towards the town.

“Wait, no! My bag!” He tugged hard to try and get his hand free, but he was truly no match for Roman.

“Not important right now, sweetheart!”

 Without the aid of his flashlight, and enveloped by the darkness of the forest, Patton was totally blind, relying only on Roman’s grip to keep him from falling. Branches hit his face and roots reached up to trip him, but every time he stumbled, the hand tightened and pulled him back upright. 

A howl cut through the air. 

“What now, werewolves?!” Patton shrieked.

“Don’t be ridiculous, werewolves aren’t real!” Roman scoffed, “They’re normal wolves! What, you think just because we’re vampires, we’re unable to have pets?”

“Is this really a conversation we should be having at this exact moment?!” Patton shot back.

“You’re right, you’re right, okay.”

The howls were growing closer, and it was clear by Roman’s increased pace that this wasn’t about to be a friendly reunion.

“Can we outrun them?!”

“I take it you’ve never met a wolf!” 

Patton looked up at him desperately, already struggling to keep up the conversation and keep up with Roman. 

“I thought vampires had… like, super speed!”

“I wouldn’t be able to go for long, especially carrying you. Jump!”

Patton leapt blindly, feeling the side of a fallen log scrape the toes of his shoes. The landing was rough, sparks of pain shooting up his legs, but he was quickly pulled back upright. 

“I don’t have the energy! I haven’t eaten in months!”

There were more yowls, definitely closer this time, followed by the sound of multiple animals fighting, barely louder than a voice shouting (presumably) at the racket. Whether it was the wolves having a spat, or a prey animal that had gotten in the way of the hunt, Patton didn’t know. It drew out a small whimper from him either way.

He didn’t want to be next. 

“Do you trust me?” Roman suddenly gasped, holding his hand firmer. 

“What?!”

“Do. You. Trust. Me?!”

Patton didn’t exactly think he had a choice right now. His feet were aching, his lungs were burning, and he wasn’t sure he could run another minute without his legs giving out. “I- Yeah! Sure!”

“Good enough,” Roman grunted bitterly, screeching to a halt, and using his grip on the other’s arm to stop him too. Before Patton could even bring himself to complain, or scream at him, or just incoherently yell, the vampire was drawing him to his chest, puppeting his arms so they were around his shoulders.

“Hold on.”

Obediently, Patton tightened the grip. “Why-”

And then there was a sharp pain in his neck, and his eyes widened. The sting almost immediately morphed into a pleasant warmth, the distant howling being replaced by a faint humming, the buzzing of his own mind calming, becoming numb until the only thought in his head was Roman, Roman, Roman- 

He could feel Roman’s hand on his head, not restricting it, but cupping the back of it so he could lean against him as he stared up at the night sky, the full moon, and the slow blurring of the tops of the pine trees. His other arm was wrapped around his waist tightly, holding him up, and Patton was beyond grateful for the support as his legs began to turn to jelly. The last thing Patton felt was the vampire scooping up his legs and his head being cradled against the soft material of Roman’s shirt. 

Then everything went dark. 

-0-0-0-

Patton woke up slowly, squinting against the harsh sunlight streaming through his window. He dropped an arm across his eyes lazily, letting out a low groan at his pounding headache. There were voices downstairs in the tavern, and what sounded like dishes clanging, and he wondered if somehow this place was also a restaurant. How on earth could anybody run an establishment like that? It’s like the place never slept-

A wave of nausea pooled in his gut due to the speed of which he sat up but that wasn’t important, not right now. He flung his blankets back and… oh. He was dressed in his pajamas. Last he could remember, in the woods, running with Roman, he’d been in day clothes, in the sweater and shirt that was now draped on a chair across the room. His camera bag was... on the desk. His shoes were by the door, dirt free.

He raised his finger tips to his neck, expecting to feel a raised scab, or scar, any sign that he’d been bitten. There was nothing. 

He swung his legs over the sides of the beds and immediately shut his eyes, fighting off an explosion of dizziness induced sparks that shot across his vision. It sure felt as if he’d lost some blood. As much as he didn’t want to believe he had a hangover from one drink, that could also be an explanation. He’d always been a bit of a lightweight.

A dream. Was it all just… a dream?

A feeling of disappointment washed over him and he sighed, running his hands up through his hair. Something soft snagged on his fingers and he carefully detangled it from the curls, pulling it out curiously. He blinked at the fern leaf between his finger tips. That definitely hadn’t happened between his car, the tavern, or the room... So- 

He sucked in a breath sharply as his eyes locked with the mirror’s reflection in front of him, every thought coming to a halt.

Because staring back, for the first time ever, were two perfectly blue eyes.

I have a bunch of world building ideas that weren’t included in this fic, shoot me an ask if you have any lore questions!

General taglist:

@max-is-tired

@private-snippers

@joylessnightsky

[f0rever15elf]

I’m Sorry

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader Rating: T Word count: 1,961 Warnings: Alcohol mention, swearing, drinking/getting drunk alone, angst, verbal fighting, no beta

Summary: All couples fight eventually, but this time leaves you questioning your relationship with Marcus

A/N: This is a fic for the following anonymous request: “ Hi!! I was wondering if your Pedro requests are still open? Cause if they are I’d like to request a Marcus Pike or Frankie Morales piece, where they like get into an argument with you and it’s like super angsty, but y’all make up in the end ((: “ I hope you enjoy it dear!

Masterlist |  Ao3

“You absolute CHILD!” you shriek as you slam the door open, storming into the home you shared with Marcus.

“Oh, I’m the child?! You’re the one throwing a temper tantrum!” Marcus slams the door closed with just as much force as you slammed it open.

“Yes, Pike. You’re the child! I cannot believe you right now.” You wheel on him, stabbing your finger against his chest as you glare up at him. “Do you even realize how fucking embarrassed I am right now? I’m never going to be able to show my face at a work function ever again all because you decided to turn into a little green-eyed monster! Child!” Marcus snarls, grabbing your wrist to pull it away from his chest. His grip was firm, but even in the heat of the anger and jealousy you could see bubbling in his eyes, he was still gentle enough to not hurt you.

“And what would you have had me do, huh?! Just let your ex sit there and cozy up to you like that? He had his hands on you and his eyes hadn’t left you all freaking night!”

You yank your wrist from his grasp, absolutely seething. “We’re coworkers! We have an image to upkeep as far as being cordial with each other, especially in front of share holders! Marcus, there were investors there, and your little outburst has put every single deal involving them in jeopardy!” You rip your shoes off, the uncomfortable heels not aiding your mood in the slightest. “All because you got jealous of my ex. All because you couldn’t stand to see me being friendly with someone who use to be in my life. I have never done something like that to you! Not when your high school sweetheart left you flowers. Not when Lisbon sauntered her happy ass into your office, perched herself on you desk, and FIXED YOUR FUCKING HAIR!” Marcus’ nostrils flare as he towers over you, his voice low when he speaks again.

“Don’t bring them into this, this isn’t about them.”

“Oh like hell it isn’t! You know why I didn’t care about those two? Cause I was confident you wouldn’t do anything to hurt or betray me. Because I fucking love you and trust you! But apparently you don’t feel the same way, if your self confidence is so low that you can’t stand to see me laughing with my ex without deciding it’s an appropriate time to throw hands!” That was a low blow, and you knew it, but you were so angry the words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. The two of you stand there in the living room, shoulders heaving as you pant for air. You could hear a pin drop, and the tension was so thick it felt suffocating. Slowly, the anger fades from Marcus’ eyes, replaced only with pain as his expression shifts. You cut him deep with that comment, you know you did, and it hurt to see that pain in his gentle eyes.

“M...Marcus…” Your voice is much softer now as you reach for his hand, but he takes a step back out of your reach, shaking his head.

“Don’t,” he whispers, turning and grabbing the car keys from the bowl as he all but runs from the house. You stand there frozen, hand outstretched as you listen to the sound of the car engine starting followed by the tires squealing as he tears out of the driveway. Tears brim in your eyes, spilling over as you begin to tremble.

What have you done?

The minutes turn into hours as you sit in the dark of your living room, waiting on your Marcus to return. An empty wine bottle sits on the coffee table next to a second nearly empty one. You swirl the pale liquid in your glass before bringing it to your lips to down the rest of it. Your once manicured nails have been bitten down to the nail bed, a nasty habit of yours when your anxiety gets the better of you. A habit that hadn’t reared its ugly head since the day you met Marcus… Two in the morning and he still isn’t home and you’re getting worried. You had messed up, and big time. You know how much Marcus struggles with his own confidence after how Lisbon had treated him. You know that, and you still felt the need to fling it in his face. Words said out of anger, words you didn’t mean...you couldn’t take them back now, no matter how much you wished you could.

A fresh round of sobs bubble from your throat as your hand flies to your mouth in an attempt to hold them back. Marcus is the best thing to have ever happened to you, how the hell could you do something like this to him, no matter how angry you were. You rub your eyes, looking like a raccoon from the smeared makeup, before you stagger to your feet. You wanted Marcus. You needed him. You needed him here, at home, where you could apologize until your voice goes hoarse and it still wouldn’t be enough.

The world spins around you, the two bottles of wine catching up to you as you stagger through the living room before falling to your knees. You cradle your face in your hands, sobs wracking your chest. Please come home Marcus, please come home. You don’t hear the key in the lock over the sound of your sobs, but when you feel the rush of air from the door opening, your head snaps up, bleary eyes searching desperately for the love of your life.

“Marcus?” you whimper, barely audible.

“Oh, love...what did you do?” he murmurs as he shuts the door before coming to your side, cradling your cheek gently. Desperate hands reach out to grab his shirt, now wrinkled and untucked from his pants, his jacket missing and sleeves rolled to the elbows.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry Marcus!” you wail, collapsing against him. His gentle arms wrap around you and he sighs, resting his head on top of yours. “I s-shouldn’t h-ha-have said wh-what I did! I was wr-wrong and c-cruel! P-please d-don’t leave m-me!” you plead, trembling against him.

“Leave you? Darling, I wouldn’t do that to you.” He leans back and tilts your chin up to look at him, paying no mind to the black splotches your makeup leaves against his once crisp white button down. His thumb traces along your chin before his hand moves to cup your face, running his thumb along your cheek bone. “You smell like wine...how much have you had?” You shake your head, ignoring the question as you continue to cling to him, your sobs slowing.

“I love you and I d-din’t mean what I said,” you whimper. “Don go again, p-please don g-go again.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere, I just needed to cool down. Calm down, you’re going to make yourself sick.” He brushes your hair from your face as best he can before pulling you back against his chest, slowly rocking you in the middle of the floor. His hand pets your hair gently, soothingly as the remaining cries slowly abate. “Let’s get you to bed, love. Alright? We can discuss this more in the morning.” You mumble something unintelligible against his chest as he helps you stagger to your feet, guiding you to the bedroom. He carefully sits you on the bed, helping you undress down to your bra and underwear, removing your jewelry before going to get a warm cloth, helping to wipe your face. Finally, he hands you a glass of water which you stubbornly refuse at first. “Baby, please? For me?” You crumble, taking the glass and chugging it. He smiles and takes the glass back before gently laying you down so you’re slightly elevated.

When he joins you in bed you roll to snuggle against him, soaking in his warmth as he wraps his arms around you. The last words from your lips before you slip into unconsciousness are a very slurred I’m sorry.

The light of the day streaking across your face is what wakes you in the morning, and you groan as you come around, your head absolutely pounding. Your eyes feel like they’re full of sand and you can barely open them. Every joint in your body hurts and your mouth tastes like sandpaper. Slowly sitting up, you see a glass of water sitting on the nightstand next to two pain pills which you quickly take, downing the whole glass. As you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes in an attempt to dull the ache, last night comes rushing back to you and a wave of intense shame washes over you. A quiet rustling draws your attention to the door, and you seem Marcus peeking in. He gives you his gorgeous smile, one you feel you don’t deserve as he comes in.

“Good morning beautiful,” he whispers, knowing your head is probably killing you.

“Hi, Marcus…” He takes a seat on the bed next to you, taking your hand.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit...for a few reasons.” You look down at your connected hands, yours fitting so perfectly into his. “I’m sorry.”

“Want to elaborate on that?” He asks gently, lifting your face to look at him. There is a pained light in his eyes still that grows when he sees the shame and sadness in your own.

“For everything. For yelling, for that low blow, for...for getting drunk alone, for accusing you of bullshit and...and I…” you begin to tremble, his hand on your face the only thing keeping the tears at bay. “And I was so terrible to you and I’m so sorry, Marcus, I’m so fucking sorry.” Your voice is barely above a whisper as his hand leaves your face to place on the back of your head, pulling you against him. He smells as he always does, like cinnamon and coffee and his fresh aftershave and you use that smell to ground yourself.

“I’m sorry too, love of my life. I shouldn’t have behaved that way at the banquet, and I’ve already taken measures to mitigate what damage I may have done.” You shake your head, pulling back to look up at him.

“Screw the deals. They’re temporary.” You reach up to cup his cheek, your heart swelling as he leans into your touch. “You’re the one I’m in love with, the one I want to spend forever with. Everything else can burn to the ground, I just need you. I’ll always need you.” He smiles at you, that pain in his eyes fading as he watches you for a moment before leaning in to press his lips gently to yours. When he pulls back, he brushes your hair from your face before pressing his forehead to yours.

“We both acted like a couple of fools last night. Let’s put it behind us, ok? We’ll move forward and be better.” He takes your hand and places it over his heart. “It’s yours, completely and totally. I trust and love you with everything I am. I’ll be better, for you. For us.” Your eyes prickle with tears and you sniffle before leaning up to kiss him again.

“I love you too Marcus, so much. You’re my everything. I’ll be better for you, because you only deserve the best.”

He grins, placing a kiss on your nose. “Hey, that’s my line.”

You giggle softly, cuddling into him as he lays you back down to get a few more hours of rest. It’s all ok, you think. It’s all going to be ok. You still have your Marcus, and that is all that matters.

~~~~~

Tag Lists: Permanent : @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​, @tangledlove27​, @paintballkid711​, @lose-eels​, @adamdrivercouldchokeme​

Tag list is open!  Fic Requests are open!

[welllpthisishappening]

Only Live Forever in the Lights You Make

Hey, remember that time Killian met Meg in some tunnels in the Underworld and introduced himself as “Captain Killian Jones” before he called himself “Captain Hook”? Because I do and, surprise, I’ve got some feelings about it! As always, I am still on my season five ‘ish, so here is about 4.2K of name-based feelings, some out of place flirting and some, surprise, Captain Cobra Swan that I didn’t plan on until I typed it. I hope you guys got all the carbs you wanted yesterday. 

All credit always and forever to @shireness-says​ for constantly telling me to keep shoving words at the internet. Even before she reads said words. (I only listened to Arctic Monkeys and My Chemical Romance while writing this. Take from that what you will.)

----

The words are heavy on his tongue. 

Still, as if they don’t belong there, or never really did and the feeling makes him ache. Although most of him aches at this point. Killian is sure his gashes have scrapes and those scrapes have bruises and gaping wounds that are likely far more metaphorical than he’s willing to admit. Staring out at the expanse of Main Street doesn’t particularly help. Hazy air hangs low over cracked asphalt, thin branches and dead leaves that only swirl slightly against the barely-there breeze coming from the Gods know where. 

There’s no water here. No hint of salt-tinged air. 

Occasionally there are some strikes of lightning, leaving the sky bright enough that Killian swears he can see for miles. He wishes he couldn’t. None of it looks right, feels even more wrong, and he supposes that’s to be expected in a place like this, but it also seems like another metaphor of sorts and maybe the torture hasn’t ceased yet. 

Maybe it won’t. 

He deserves that, he’s sure. 

Darkness doesn’t scare him much anymore, at least the more literal variety — or so he will swear, but this is somehow even worse. Every flash of light that cracks across the sky dredges up memories of the kind of storms that threatened to capsize any of the ships he once called home, and he imagines it’s something about extremes. 

Complete darkness can blind a man, but so can light. Stunning him, until he has to blink away the dots that hang in front of his eyes and the dots never entirely disappear. 

He shouldn’t have told that lass his name. 

Foolish, that’s what it was. 

“I can hear you thinking from upstairs,” Emma murmurs, slumped against the side of the railing that should lead up to her room in her parent’s loft. Something similar exists in this place, of course. He can’t imagine the blankets on that bed are as soft as the ones he only barely remembers falling into, what now feels like several lifetimes ago and—

“Might be getting worse now, actually,” she adds, “surprised there isn’t steam coming out of your ears too. Y’know, just for good measure.”

Letting out a breath, he’s all too aware of how slumped his shoulders are when he turns. Emma lifts her eyebrows. 

“The streets are already steaming,” Killian says, “anything else seems like overkill, doesn’t it?” “Stupid word.” “Aye, that it is. In poor taste.”

“What are you thinking about?” He tilts his head. Strands of hair fall towards his eyes, but Killian doesn’t make any effort to brush them away. “Did he fall asleep?” “Yeah,” Emma nods, eyes flitting back towards her room and the space she’d marched Henry into nearly fifteen minutes earlier. “About time, too. I think he was half a second away from falling asleep standing, could barely keep his eyes open anymore.” “Stubbornness is an inherited trait.” She clicks her tongue. “You think?” “Rather pointed.” “Nah, definitely round,” Emma objects, “in a circle-type way that could bring us back to my question and what you’re thinking about and—” “—Henry shouldn’t be here.” “No.” Jerking his head up the way he does only guarantees that several muscles in the back of his neck almost audibly object to the movement, Emma giving him a tight-lipped smile that isn’t exactly his, but is at least getting there, and that’s something almost vaguely positive. 

Her hair is longer than Killian remembers it being. 

He tried to remember that. 

Before. 

Wandering — stumbling, more like — around those caves, blood dripping down the side of his face, caking the same strands of hair that now threaten to actually poke him in the eye, and all he could think about was the exact shade of gold Emma’s hair turned in the moonlight. Preferably when she was also sitting in the harbor, feet hanging above the waves as they passed his flask between them. Or on the deck of his ship. 

He didn’t allow himself that particular fantasy very often, though. Getting both felt distinctly like the kind of selfishness he’s now hoping to avoid. 

“Stubborn,” Emma shrugs. 

“Something about circles, love.” “And going in them, yeah. But I’m also legitimately worried about that pinch between your eyebrows, so seems like as good a time as any to fess.” “Fess?” “Confess,” she amends, “more slang.” Killian’s smile isn’t really that. Is more a grimace and twist of his lips, and yet the weight he’s only marginally worried has taken the place of his heart lightens ever so slightly. Nothing beats yet. He’s still dead. “I like that one, actually.” “When we get home I’ll make you a list.” “Of slang?” “Whatever you want.” Neither one of them move. 

He’d like to move. Would love to, really. To cross this space and pull Emma flush against him until she grumbles about the inevitably uncomfortable nature of her perched on either one of his thighs and how his chin digs into her shoulder when he tries to breathe her in, but something about the overall tension in her jaw and the weight of those yet-to-be acknowledged words keeps Killian rooted to the spot. 

Every one of those words came out quicker than the last, as if they were an admission Emma wasn’t entirely ready to make and he’s fairly certain the pinch between his eyebrows won’t ever disappear completely. He hopes she doesn’t cut her hair. 

He hopes to get his fingers in that hair eventually. 

“I mean—” Emma stammers, color rushing in her cheek. “Within—y’know, within...no, fuck that. Whatever you want. Lists of...I don’t know, movies and books and you’re a giant dweeb right? So you’ve got to like books.” “I do, in fact.” “Yeah, yeah, I figured. I just—do they have holidays in the Enchanted Forest? No Thanksgiving or Christmas, right?” Killian shakes his head. Gets the hair away from his eyes. And makes it easier to see the exact moment Emma starts wringing her fingers together. The railing is very likely digging into her shoulder now. “Yeah, that’s what I figured,” she continues, “but uh...shit, what about birthdays? That’s a thing, right?” “Do you think I get two now?” 

One side of his mouth tugs up. Despite any efforts otherwise and his own, rather intimate, knowledge of that edge Emma is quite obviously teetering on. 

Killian’s been balancing there for the better part of the last few days. Ever since she appeared in front of him again, magic wrapping around him and making goosebumps prickle on his skin, a low heat that felt as if he’d been put on simmer without any threat of boiling because he’s not all that capable of boiling anymore, just festering and stewing and—

“I told that lass my name,” Killian says, voice hardly loud enough to qualify as any sort of sound. One of Emma’s knuckles crack. “The one in the caves, another one of Hades’ prisoners. I can’t—Gods, I can’t remember her name.” “Megara,” Emma whispers. “Yeah, I know.” He quirks an eyebrow, a sudden retreat back to flirting that’s not entirely honest. It’s very likely he’s something of a cad. And it’s easier that way. To slink back into the role, and the person he was and that person deserves everything he’s gotten and may still get. 

Of course, he can’t keep it up for very long. 

Not with Emma staring at him like that — far too appraising and understanding, and the whole thing fails rather quickly. 

Completely. Immediately. A few other words that end in ‘ly,’ just to drive the point home. “Wow, you totally suck at that.” Laughter rumbles in the back of Killian’s throat before he can even begin to rationalize the sound, rubbing his fingers into the raw skin just above his brace. “Fraid you’ll have to be more specific, darling.” “Low blow.” “Endearments, or…” “It’s not going to work,” Emma objects, rolling her eyes when Killian’s mouth shifts in the very specific kind of smirk he knows has always worked. “You don’t just get to start playing pirate and think I’ll swoon enough to get distracted.”

“Suggests I’m still able to distract you.” “Like that would change.”

Heat ripples up his spine. Surprisingly, so. The flicker of normalcy catches Killian off guard, facade slipping for half a moment, and that’s far more time than Emma needs. His hair is greasy when he runs his fingers through it. “Are you something of a soothsayer then, Your Highness? Good at reading minds now?” “More circles, babe. Open books, and all that.” He hums. Can’t do much else, actually. Emotion claws at the center of him, threatens to take root in that stagnant heart of his, and maybe that will help, but it also feels like it could drown him if it had a mind to. The give and take of all this may very well drive him insane quicker than anything Hades could hope for. “How do you know that?” “Which part?” “About the girl,” Killian says, “did you find her?” Emma scrunches her nose. “Regina and I did. In the forest. There was blood and—” She shivers. Tries to hide it, but open book works both ways and he’s always been able to tell when she’s thinking too. Or being inherently stubborn. “I was...well, I wasn’t cool about it.” “Sounds suspiciously like a compliment.” “Ass.” Staying upright is becoming increasingly difficult. “I believe that’s been well-documented, m’dear. I’m sorry about that.” “My inability to insult you better?” “That you thought it was my blood.” 

“Presumptuous,” Emma grumbles, although that sort of misses the insult mark as well and he’s genuinely not sure who moves first. Creaking joints give way to a groaning floor, a tangle of limbs and hands that almost immediately search for skin. If only to remind the other that they’re here and real and at least partially alive. 

If Killian feels his pulse pick up, he’s sure he imagines it. 

That’s not possible. 

“And,’ he adds, Emma’s back against the nearest wall now. He has no idea how his head found her thigh. He’s not going to complain. She doesn’t when she inevitably notices how goddamn greasy his hair is. Fair is only fair, after all. 

“And?” Eyes fluttering shut, Killian briefly worries for the state of his muscles. Which appear to be unspooling the longer Emma’s fingers move, tracing over his temple and the furrows of his forehead and it takes all the self control he’s only marginally in possession of not to wrap his arms around her, bury his face in her stomach and sob. 

“And,” he repeats, “that you were ever uncool about any of this.” Her body shakes when she laughs — soft and disbelieving, which is another marker in the stubborn column, really. Killian doesn’t mention that. He closes his eyes. Breathes. Counts his inhales and takes his time on his exhales, only a little disappointed that the honeysuckle scent has disappeared from Emma’s hair. 

“Can I tell you something?” “Anything.” “Half the reason I think we should make a slang list,” Emma says, “is so you can say more of it. Might be one of my favorite things.” “A slang puppet, huh? Here to entertain you.” “Why are you freaking out about telling Megara who—by the way, was not nearly as snarky as her Disney counterpart would have me believe.” “I’m sure being chased around by the three-headed beast of the Underworld will do that to a person.”

Emma’s thumb taps his jaw. Three times. Exactly. “Ah now I feel like an ass.” “Impossible,” Killian mumbles. Turning his head isn’t easy, but he doesn’t have to worry about the rest of his body when he’s splayed out across the floor like this and the muscles in Emma’s stomach noticeably contract when he noses at the hem of her shirt. 

She squirms. Above him and below him, and there it is again. More metaphors. More dichotomy, or some other philosophical bullshit he’s not willing to think about now. When Emma’s breath noticeably hitches. As soon as Killian’s teeth graze her skin. 

“Distracting—” Gasping, Emma’s nails drag across his scalp. Which isn’t as unpleasant as it probably should be. “Ah shit, I can’t think of—” “Scoundrel? Miscreant? Blackguard?” “What century is that last one from?” “Not nice at all, love,” Killian chides, but Emma just widens her eyes and perhaps they’re both dancing. Without any music. “Probably around the time the first King George ascended the throne.” “There was more than one King George?” “Several, if memory serves. You know those royals. Can’t concern themselves with naming creativity, have to honor the past and whatnot.” “Whatnot,” Emma echoes with a smile. “You want to tell me now? About Megara and how she knew your name.” “I told her, we’ve been over this already.” “Yeah, but—” The rest of the sentence disappears on Emma’s shrug, her lower lip twisted between her teeth. Nerves radiate off her, falling in waves Killian can almost see and nearly remind him of the real thing. 

Time doesn’t mean much here. Days pass on loop, and exhaustion is a guarantee more than an occasional state of being. And yet, somehow — as the last few flickers of warmth continue to lap at the base of Killian’s spine, and Emma’s fingers return to their pattern through his hair, something almost like moonlight casts a welcome shadow across the floor. Stretching over Emma’s outstretched legs and bent ankles, it curls up her arm, lingering at her elbow before it drifts towards her hunched shoulders and the edge of Killian’s wrist and then—

It’s gone. 

Disappearing as quickly as it arrived, Killian wonders if he imagined it. He didn’t. He knows, he didn’t. Just as easily as he knows it didn’t happen simply because of him. 

He licks his lips once. 

“I found her,” he starts, “or she found me, I suppose. Not easy to keep your direction underground.” Glancing up, Killian finds Emma’s eyes on him. Wide, they don’t quite demand an explanation, but they want one and he supposes wanting is half the battle. At least metaphorically. “No stars underground, you see.” “Real confident in your navigational abilities huh, Captain?” “Only if you’ll keep saying that.”

She can’t be comfortable when she bends. Twists towards him, and kisses the top of his absolutely disgusting hair. 

There’s a shower upstairs. In the right version of it. He’s not sure what’s here. He can’t bring himself to go up there. 

An absolute coward. 

“Anyway,” Killian continues, “there was a three-headed monster, this lass, and I—we weren’t both going to get out.” “You let her go, though. Told her to go.” He nods. Talking is something of a challenge once more. “As if you’d ever do anything else,” Emma mumbles, a note of pride in her voice that makes every one of Killian’s internal organs clench. That’s all they can do, really. None of them are working all that great, after all. 

“That’s not true.” Tensing, Emma’s fingers still. “That wasn’t really you.” “Ah, that’s not totally true, either. It was at least partially me, all those deep-rooted desires given free reign. But I wanted...she was so scared, Swan.” He doesn’t bother mentioning the rest. Being more specific seems pointless, especially when Emma’s fingers stay exactly where they are. And she knows, anyway. He was terrified. Of what he’d lost and what he’d done and what he’d still be willing to do, if it meant she got out of here. 

Safe. 

He wants them all safe. 

“I told her to find you,” he rasps. “That—I knew you were here, could...feel it, almost. No matter where I was or—” This may be their least organized conversation. Full of tiptoeing and heavy words, unspoken meaning that neither one of them is entirely ready to give credence to yet. “Gave her my name, my—my real name.”

Hair brushes the top of his head, softer than it has any right to be and several things in Killian’s chest threaten to combust. “I was doing a lot of yelling of your name in that bloody forest.” “Joke, or…” “Fresh out of jokes, I think.” He noses at her jeans, not sure if he’s desperate to touch her or the opposite. Desperate to brand himself there, so she’ll remember. No matter what else happens. “I didn’t even think about it,” he admits, “just—I told her to find you, said I was Captain Killian Jones, like that was something I could say, and that you needed to know I was here.” Emma’s silent for a moment. 

Another. Two moments. That become three and four and then Killian’s counting his inhales again and doing his best not to stare too intently at her. She kisses his hair again. Luke she can’t help herself. 

“Had to use the title, didn’t you?” Killian exhales. “Haven’t in quite some time.” “Did you think I wouldn’t have known it was you?” Emma teases, so the joke-thing was something of a lie. A nice one as far as misplaced lies go. Making another noise, he finally burrows closer to her until it’s closer to snuggling and clinging and another round of goosebumps explode on his skin when her hand flattens against his back. “Or,” she says, “was it something else?” “Several somethings, maybe.” “Wanna ballpark for me?” “Not sure I understand that one, actually.” “I don’t need all the somethings, but a few would be good right now. We can get to the rest of them later.”

Those words don’t necessarily fall on top of him. They’re as heavy as the rest, all that meaning and the possibility for a future that seems as distant and impossible as the past or the overall softness of the bedding upstairs. So, while gravity does its best to pull the words down on top of Killian, there’s an ease to them that makes it feel as if they’re simply resting across his back, a reminder that helps keep him pressed to this plane and this place and Emma’s left thigh. 

Which is one of his favorite places to be, quite frankly. 

Usually without the jeans in the way, but dead beggars can’t be choosers. 

“I don’t know why I did that. The name, I—” “Liar, liar.” “Would you like to talk about pants, Swan? Because I have my fair share of thoughts regarding the ones you were wearing in Storybrooke.” “I didn’t pick that outfit.” “Rather good happenstance, then.” “Is deflection a required pirate characteristic?” she asks. “Distract your enemy with half-hearted compliments and—” “—Oh no, those are full-hearted, I guarantee.” “If nothing else, I did look stupid good in those pants.” “Hair left something to be desired, but the pants fit like a glove.” Her smile almost reaches her eyes. Obvious when light filters through the gauzy curtains, once more. “Flirt.” “Only with you.” Emma’s eyes widen. Not in surprise. Closer to frustration. A hint of impatience. The stubborn sort of determination that requires an answer. “And, I—I wanted it.” “Wanted what?” “To be that. Again, I suppose. After everything. All that I’d done, and how much I’d hurt you, I—”

“—You didn’t…” “Swan, let’s be honest that’s the worst lie either one of us has told.” “Ever?” “If not longer.” Huffing out a laugh, she slides further down the wall, a move that can’t feel good on her spine, but does ensure that she’s closer to Killian and he’s still enough of a pirate to want exactly that. “But I—a very long time ago, Captain Killian Jones believed in something. Wanted something, and thought he could get it. Even if some of it was distinctly lawless.” “Probably a requirement for your line of work.” “Ah, well that king deserved all the insults you could come up with. Stealing from him, destroying everything he’d built. That felt like justice, somehow.” “Should I mention the circular nature of time again or is that redundant?” “Unnecessary,” Killian agrees, his mouth inching further up Emma’s ribcage. The noise she lets out is closer to a giggle than he’s capable of dealing with. In a place that’s always tinged vaguely red. “I suppose part of me wanted to return to that. To the ideals, maybe not the laws or the uniforms, but certainly not the…” He swallows. “Villain. Evil. Wrong.” “I never thought you were wrong,” Emma says, soft enough that it’s difficult to hear. Over the ringing in Killian’s ears. And whatever rushes off her. Magic, of course. Responding to emotion and its innate desire to meet him halfway. 

Gods, but he loves her more than he ever believed he could. 

“I know that,” Killian promises, “even when I didn’t want to. Especially then.” “Make it sound less like an insult next time.” Tightening his arms isn’t easy when there’s this blasted wall in the way. Killian tries all the same. Emma doesn’t tell him to stop. “You were Captain Hook,” she adds, “when we found you. Buried under all those bodies in the Enchanted Forest.” “Eventually that’s really all that was left.” “I can make some more snide comments on pants, if you want. What’s the flammability of leather?” “I have no idea, honestly.” She smiles. He doesn’t check. Knows, can feel it in the very center of soul. “Ah, well, they can probably catch fire. Regina’s going to teach me how to do those ball things, anyway.” “Absolutely menacing, Your Highness.” “Don’t you forget it.”

The room is getting brighter. 

Or Killian’s finally fallen off that edge. Either one seems entirely reasonable and maybe even a little enjoyable and he’s not sure when, exactly, he decides to start talking again. Only that the words arrive without much thought and even more feeling and Emma’s eyes don’t leave him.  

“It was a mask. A reason for everything else, an excuse that I’d rationalized so I could fall asleep. Captain Hook was a product of his own misfortune, all those unfair hands he’d been dealt. The loss, the anger, the fury that grew every single time metal found skin. Being that, being him, allowed me to drift further and further into that darkness.” “But?” “But,” Killian repeats. “You found me under a pile of bodies in the Enchanted Forest.” “Oh, that’s kind of nice.” “It kind of was. After you got rid of the blade at my neck.” She flicks his chest. The knot of their limbs is another kind of miracle. “And then everything else that happened. Beanstalks, and Cora, and magic beans and—” “—You came back,” Emma cuts in. “Seems you’ve returned the favor several times over, love.” “That’s how it’s supposed to work, I think.” Maybe he’ll marry her.

The thought strikes him as suddenly as the lightning that flashes outside, a spark that’s eerily similar to the flames Emma was just talking about and there are far too many metaphors bouncing around his skull. He might just have a headache. 

And yet the thought doesn’t disappear. Not immediately. No, it settles. Threatens to grow at the forefront of his brain, where the institution of marriage has never been given much consideration. Until now. With his left shoulder close to popping out of his socket, and Emma’s fingers in his hair and her back contorted while half a dozen bruises on his legs refuse to heal. 

“I love you,” Killian says, unable to do anything else. Except propose, apparently. He should be alive for that. 

And sitting up. 

He can’t bring himself to sit up. 

Only pull himself closer to Emma, until it’s obvious how much he wants and possibly needs and something about a circle. Coming back. Over and over. 

“I know. Which is—” “—Good?” “Better,” Emma says. “I love you, too. Just you, you know that right?” Nodding leads to jeans scratching at his cheeks, but these pants fit fairly well too and both of them flinch at the noticeable creak coming down the stairs. Tufts of Henry’s hair stick up in every direction. 

“You ok?” Emma asks her son, only to get a teenage-type shrug and genetically inherited head tilt. 

Killian narrows his eyes. “What’s the matter, my boy?” The head tilt reaches an angle unaccomplished by anyone over the age of twenty-five. Killian isn’t even sure he could attempt such an angle. But it doesn’t seem to bother Henry and neither he nor Emma point out the use of those particular words in that particular order. “Couldn’t sleep,” he mutters, already stumbling forward. Falling is likely far too generous a descriptor for whatever Henry does next, another mess of limbs that adds to Killian and Emma’s knot, and there are a few more grunts than there should be. 

From all of them. 

Until they find something resembling comfort, Killian’s head still on Emma’s thigh and her legs stretched out so Henry can take advantage of her right one and— “Probably should have found a pillow,” Killian mutters, hoping it sounds like the apology he wants it to be. It’s not enough. Nothing ever could be, really. And he’s not all that surprised by Emma’s head shake, the way it makes her hair sway and brighten under the bit of light they’ve probably created just now and she winces when Henry’s chin digs into her knee. He starts snoring five seconds later. “I’m fine,” Emma says, and it’s impossible to argue with her. Even in this impossible place. “You’re comfortable like this.”

His heart thumps. 

With wishful thinking or more misplaced hope, but it’s there all the same and he kisses exactly where his lips land. 

[bookandcranny]

Beatrice - Chapter Five

She sucked on her lower lip and it tasted sweet. Bittersweet really, but any amount of sweetness was good enough for her.

Sprinting up the staircase two at a time, Gianna couldn’t remember why the climb had ever been an obstacle. She burst into her apartment and out of it again, through the window, onto the fire escape. Before she could think to be afraid, she leaped.

If she’d faltered, if she’d slowed for a second before making that jump, she would’ve hit the ledge and, best case scenario, clawed her way up to safety with a shattered pelvis. The worst case scenario was a lot messier and, she decided, not worth thinking about at the moment. 

The important thing was she had made it, barely, and miraculously unbroken too. Unbroken because “unharmed” would’ve been too generous a word for it. She landed badly, twisting her ankle and spilling forward onto hands and knees. It was only thanks to the cradle of some overgrown greenery that she hadn’t cracked her skull open on the fountain while on her belly blindly grasping for leverage.

Maybe it was the headrush of having survived her nigh-suicidal recklessness, but the combined scents of the garden were making her dizzy. The exotic flowers’ natural perfume that had been pleasant at a distance now took on a noxious quality. The air seemed to be choking her. How did Beatrice stand it, she wondered.

Feeling a strange twinge she looked down at her scraped palms and sucked in a sharp breath. The cuts themselves were barely deep enough to draw blood, but beneath the tissue she was bubbling, boiling. She tore her eyes away and blinked hard to dispel the vision. 

Am I awake? Am I dreaming again? Did I miss the ledge?

Her mind screamed at her.

It’s something in the air. It’s something about these damn plants. An infection? An allergy? No, can’t think about it now. There’s no time. Look away, deal with it later.

Thankfully the sliding door was unlocked. Most people don’t expect intruders at five stories up. It opened with a click and Gianna tensed, withholding herself against the urge to rush in, metaphorical guns blazing. She stood there in the doorway and listened for sounds of distress, but it was eerily silent. The luxury apartment was as serene and sterile as she remembered it.

“Bea?” she whispered as she stepped inside. “Beatrice?”

No response. Her own dragging footsteps were loud in the emptiness, scraping along the tile like a murmuring: hush, hush. 

Gianna rounded a corner into the dining room and there she found her, and the mad doctor too. Beatrice was sitting at the table in a white dress with a gauzy quality to it that reminded her, sickly, of a wedding dress. Dr Rappaccini came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder before at length turning his sunken eyes towards the uninvited guest.

When he spoke, his voice sounded thick as if speaking around a swelling. “After all these years, you think I don’t recognize the taste of one of my own formulas? I’ve been doing this since before you were born, children.”

“It was only medicine, Father,” Beatrice insisted, looking up at him. “To help you sleep.”

“A long sleep indeed,” he growled. Gianna had no rightful reason to flinch away from the fury of an old, sick, and at least partially drugged old man, she reasoned. There was nothing of him to be so afraid of. But she did, and she was, and deep down she always had been, since the moment she saw him. There was something wrong with him, something she couldn’t put a name to, although if she tried the word “evil” might make an appearance. 

It had been a long time since Gianna had considered herself one among the faithful, the kind of person to buy into such archaic concepts as pure good vs pure evil. She never quite believed in a soul that could be broken down into quantifiable measurements— a half cup of goodness, an even ounce of vice. She couldn’t say from what recipe a man like Dr Rappaccini was formed, but what she saw before her now repulsed her. The layers of him peeled off like old paint and underneath were all the years and all the people who ever imposed their will on her. It didn’t make her feel righteous, it made her feel small and scared. She didn’t want to touch him. She didn’t want to catch what he had.

“This really has gone too far.” He spoke not to her but to Beatrice again. Although he kept her penned within his periphery, Gianna was an insect to him. “What did you think would happen? That you’d run away together? Go off into the sunset and live happily forever after like those books you read? You know better. This is only a passing fancy. She’ll die, and you’ll find another.”

Then he touched her cheek, almost tenderly. For a moment he almost looked like the father he was, or at least pretended to be. Gianna saw him and a younger Beatrice: teaching her, dressing her, holding her, bringing her to life only to take it away.

“Let go of her, she’s coming with me.”

Dr Rappaccini sneered. “Oh by all means. Who am I to get in the way of my daughter’s happiness? But if you two are going to insist on keeping up this charade, I think it’s only right I let you know what you’re getting into.”

The young woman stiffened. “Father, please don’t.”

“Have you been feeling ill lately, Ms Alexander? Been noticing some certain sudden changes?”

Gianna instinctively closed her fists and felt her bloodied palms sting.

“Now now, no need to be embarrassed. I’m a doctor you know.” He wheezed a little laugh to himself. “Have you been having trouble sleeping? Peculiar dreams? Maybe even during the day you find yourself feeling disoriented, seeing things. Do you find yourself feeling breathless or dizzy when you take in the city air? If not, you will. The medicine my daughter so kindly shared with you will be wearing off soon.”

Startled, she turned a questioning glance to Beatrice, but the other woman wouldn’t look at her. She’d told her the tea was medicinal, but it had never occurred to Gianna that she might be more familiar with the ailment than she let on. 

“It’ll only get worse from here, you know. Look at me,” he coughed. “Like the late great Madame Curie, my passions took their toll on me in the end. Though not before affording me a sturdy tolerance for most known and unknown poisons, I’ll have you know. That’s over fifty years of gradual exposure for you. Ah, but you didn’t come here to listen to me talk about work. 

“I’ll get to the point. You can treat the symptoms, but there’s no cure, no release from her poison. Even as we speak it’s tainting your healthy young blood, devouring you from the inside out. If I act fast, you may still live to a ripe old age. You might not even have any lasting side effects, lucky thing! But all this is if I give you the antitoxin, and if you don’t continue to willfully expose yourself to the source.”

“The source? You mean…?”

“Yes! My sweet Beatrice.” He petted her hair with the back of his fingers. “Lovely, isn’t she? Everything I grow… so very lovely. Don’t worry, I’d never do a thing to harm her. Can she say the same about you?”

“Don’t listen to him!” Beatrice stood up suddenly, surprising both Gianna and Rappaccini himself. “I never wanted to hurt you! I don’t want to hurt anyone!”

“But you can’t help it,” said the doctor. “It’s in your nature. It’s in your scent, the touch of your skin. Imagine what she could do with a kiss, Ms Alexander! Oh I almost want to see it. I’m sure it would produce some valuable data. But I’m not the cruel monster you make me out to be. That’s why I tried to stop you, even though my daughter begged me not to spill her secret. I tried to make you understand. 

“She can’t be released upon the world. Maybe in a few generations we’ll have a version that can control her own potency, but not yet. Not you, Beatrice.”

The poison-blooded woman spun on her creator. “Why did you make me! Why did you make me like this! Why bring me into the world at all if I can’t be a part of it! What is the point of being alive if I can’t touch another living thing without hurting them!”

Tears rolled freely down her cheeks, hot and angry. Gianna instinctively reached out to comfort her.

“No, stay away!” she screamed.

Dr Rappaccini took her into his arms. Her tears soaked through the shoulder of his ill-fitting coat and raised his flesh with welts, yet he didn’t flinch. Arrogant gray eyes locked with Gianna’s and the message was clear. No matter how much she loved her, Beatrice belonged to him. She would rather choose an empty life under the heel of a man who could never truly care for her over the risk that she might further harm the one person who did.

Then, a curious thing happened. It started with a gentle rumbling that gradually grew in intensity like the beginnings of an earthquake. Then there was the smell. Beatrice always had a slightly floral scent to her that Gianna had assumed was perfume, but now, like in the garden, it was so overpowering that it seared the nose and throat and muddled the senses. Rappaccini noticed as well and turned to his daughter with a delirious look on his face.

“Girl, what have you done?”

The woman lifted her head. Veins like dark tendrils bulged beneath her skin, wispy strands of violet encroaching at the corners of her eyes like ink in water. A noxious venom bubbled up and spilled over her lower lip. The doctor staggered backwards. Gianna might have followed his lead if she were in her right mind, but as it was she was stricken, mesmerized by her. Even through the confusion and the terror, she wanted to reach for her. Her blood sang out to embrace her.

There was a sound of shattering glass from the terrace and the garden rushed in, spilling over and crashing like a tidal wave, flooding every room it entered with rapidly growing roots and bright green vines. The onslaught of green grew and morphed and stretched and with every pulse of its new buds and branches there was a noise like a muffled human scream.

The slithering stems ignored Gianna, skated right past Beatrice unbothered, and latched onto the form of Dr Rappaccini, pulling taught as they snared him.

“Beatrice!” he cried out, but not in horror or in rage. Oddly enough, though he was alarmed, when he looked into the face of his creation, the creation who would destroy him, his expression was one of absolute wonder.

“How are you doing this, Beatrice? How?”

She looked at him, with her eyes still clouded and the nectar of her ire dripping freely from her lips, and she said, “No.”

Only then did true panic set in for the scientist, for he understood exactly what that no meant. 

Vines began to encircle his torso and pour into his open mouth, choking him, soaking up the living wet warmth of him and pouring in their poisons. They dragged his limp body, barely recognizable now, back out into the garden. They raked him over the shattered remains of the glass door and took him into their soil until no bit of him could be seen under the still earth.

The renowned genius Dr Giacoma Rappaccini died without ever knowing the whole truth of what he had created, without even the parting gift of that understanding, that knowledge he had so fervently sought after. That right had been revoked from him. Even so it could be said that Dr Rappaccini died with some sense of satisfaction. After all, what parent isn’t joyed to see their child finally surpass them?

As the flood of plants retreated so too did the murky discoloration of Beatrice’s eyes and skin, leaving only a faint sheen of laboured sweat. Unthinking Gianna moved towards her but her legs buckled halfway there. Her eyes rolled back and for a moment all the universe narrowed to the feeling of hands carefully lowering her to the floor.

“Oh God, Gianna.”

She blinked and saw Beatrice kneeling over her, felt the warmth of her breath. It occurred to her suddenly that she could very well be about to die. She wasn’t in any pain though. Even the ache from her twisted ankle was gone. If anything, she felt extraordinarily well, for a paralyzed person. The only improvement, she thought foggily, would be if she were able to just move. If she could move it all, if she could speak, then there would be nothing that she couldn’t say, not ever again.

“Gianna, I’m so sorry.” She leaned her head against Gianna’s breastbone and sobbed. “I love you. I love you.”

Gianna’s heart fluttered. In fact, it pounded so hard and so loud that Beatrice head shot back up with surprise. She sniffled and blinked back tears.

“Gi-Gianna? Are you still in there?”

Obviously Gianna couldn’t respond, but she searched her face and must have found an answer in it regardless. 

“If you can hear me… I’m going to try something. It- it might… I don’t want to hurt you. That’s what I was trying to… I don’t, I’ve never been able to control it before, but every time you looked at me I just, just tried to focus on that, on how much I wanted…” She swallowed thickly. “So I’m going to try one more time. One more time, okay? I’ll think about how much I love you, and you think about… well you just think about staying alive and maybe… maybe this time. Maybe it’ll turn out alright this time.”

With that, she closed her eyes and kissed her. It was everything Gianna had dreamed and nothing she had expected. Clumsy and inexperienced, gentle and sweet, and something sort of tingly she had a feeling wasn’t entirely due to attraction or apprehension or any mix thereof. She felt her eyes fall closed and her own lips part slightly to let her in. Too late she registered the sensation of something liquid pooling on her tongue, falling down her throat. She choked, briefly, then reflex kicked in and she swallowed. 

“Gianna?” Beatrice asked nervously.

She pushed herself up on her elbows. “You too,” she croaked. “I love you too. I would’ve told you sooner if I knew.”

“If you knew what?”

“That, that you needed to hear it. Someone should’ve told you sooner. Someone should’ve told you a long time ago how lovable you are.”

As she recovered Gianna touched a finger to her lips and it came away sticky. She sucked on her lower lip and it tasted sweet. Bittersweet really, but any amount of sweetness was good enough for her.

“Not to be the nosy overbearing girlfriend or anything, but what just happened exactly?”

Beatrice sat back on her heels. “I’m not really sure where to start. You’ve probably already figured out that I’m… not entirely human.”

“And all that talk about you being a hybrid and like a poisonous plant wasn’t entirely metaphorical, huh?”

She smiled sadly. “Father was always open with me about what I am. I wanted to be open with you too but part of me was afraid you wouldn’t believe me. The other part was afraid you would.”

A fair assumption. Even having witnessed the ultimate show of her power firsthand, she still had a hard time internalizing it.

The conflict must have been apparent on her face; Beatrice pulled away from her, folding her hands over her lap.

“I’m dangerous, I know. Nothing my father said was a lie, but there were things even he didn’t know about me. When you told me we could run away… you made it sound so simple, you know? It really made me believe I could do it. I really thought I could change. I thought I could be more like you, but instead I think I made you more like me.”

Gianna looked down at her hands. The cuts from earlier had sealed themselves closed, not so much as a scratch remaining.

“I’ve never tried to do that before. I don’t know exactly how it’ll affect you, or how much. You might live to be two hundred now. Or you might start to kill everything you touch.” A noise escaped her that was half laugh, half sob. “But I do know what would’ve happened if I left you like that, in that in-between state. Maybe it’s selfish of me. Father said it was. He told me if I cared for you at all I should send you away before it was too late, but I just…”

Gianna touched her. She shivered. “You never would’ve been able to scare me off anyway. I’m too stubborn for that.”

Beatrice sighed, sinking into her touch like she was a warm bed on a freezing cold night.

“So, what now?” Gianna asked at length, though she was reluctant to think of anything beyond this moment. This, all that she’d discovered, it did change things. Just not the things that mattered. Not as far as she was concerned, at least. “I mean, I guess we don’t have to leave now, but you do have a body in your garden so…”

“No. I want to. I want to leave.”

“Then we will,” said Gianna. “I just need to make a call first.”

-----

Petra pulled up to the curb outside a street she had intended never to visit again and opened the door with a glare.

“Gianna. I see you’re still alive despite ignoring every single warning I tried to give you.”

Before Gianna could respond she got up and pulled her into a clumsy hug.

“Crazy girl,” she muttered affectionately.

For half a second Gianna relaxed into the hug, before she remembered herself and pulled back with a gasp.

“What’s wrong?”

No blisters or rashes forming spontaneously on her skin. No sign of any adverse reaction at all. Her shoulders sagged with relief. It seemed she hadn’t absorbed Beatrice’s more overtly toxic qualities along with her immunity. Or, not yet at least.

The thought had been nagging at the back of her mind, that more traits might yet blossom down the line. Even Beatrice, by her own account, hadn’t been born with many of her abilities but rather had grown into them throughout her childhood and into the early years of adolescence. 

And I thought puberty was bad enough as it is.

“Nothing,” she replied at length. “I’m just a little sore.”

She had explained the situation to the best of her ability over the phone, but had omitted more a number of key details. Some things she withheld with purpose, some because she felt it wasn’t her story to tell, some simply because she couldn’t find the words. 

To Petra’s knowledge, Gianna had made plans to run away with Rappaccini’s daughter and when the man refused her, had broken into his apartment. This led to a struggle which resulted in his accidental death. All technically true. The details she chose to keep vague for the time being, until she could be certain the professor was on their side, although she had a sneaking suspicion she knew more than she let on anyway.

Petra looked from Gianna to the visibly shaken young woman who was clinging to her side. “Who did him in?”

“I did,” said Gianna without a thought. She’d been mentally rehearsing her story while they waited. “He found out about me and Bea and made it very clear that he was willing to kill us both to stop it from happening. I freaked out and pushed him, and he fell. He was old and frail. It was an accident.”

She nodded along with the tale but her thoughts were plainly elsewhere. Gianna got the impression she didn’t entirely believe her. That was fine, as long as she didn’t press.

“Where is he?”

She let go of the breath she’d been holding. That, she could answer definitively. “In the garden. Under it, I guess.”

Another nod. “It’ll do. He was a shut-in; I doubt anyone will come looking for him. I assume anyone who knew him well enough also would know better than to investigate his disappearance too closely. I’ll keep an eye on things, just in case.”

It probably should’ve bothered Gianna how nonchalant she appeared about a former colleague’s murder, even one she had a bad history with. But truthfully she was just grateful Petra had agreed to all of this so easily. She had no desire to look too closely at her motivations.

Petra reached into her pocket and handed Gianna a slip of paper with an address written on it.

“My summer home,” she explained. “You can lay low there for a while.”

“Petra… thank you.”

“Thank you. You’ve done me the service of taking care of something I should have a long time ago. Maybe once the good doctor’s research is in ashes I’ll finally be able to sleep through the night.”

She said it lightly, but there was a grave seriousness in her eyes.

“Please, not the garden,” Beatrice said softly. She’d spoken little since they’d left the apartment and it was no wonder why. The gravity of her actions was now beginning to sink in, and that combined with leaving the safety and familiarity of her home for the first time in her life had put her in a state of shock. 

She never would truly regret laying Dr Rappaccini to rest, but the world did feel like a very different place without him in it.

“Is there any way you could get the plants to us once we’re there?”

“I’ll do my best, I can promise you that much.” She looked Beatrice up and down, really taking her in for the first time. “So you’re the ‘daughter.’”

“I am. I was.”

Dr Bagnol flexed her fingers around the handle of her cane, quietly contemplative. For the first time that Gianna had ever seen, she was unsure of what to say. “Did you ever… The other experiments, did they…?”

Beatrice inclined her head. Thankfully she needed no elaboration. “My father told me some. He said there were others before me, my sisters, but that they were imperfect and didn’t survive more than a few weeks. Your name’s Dr Bagnol, isn’t it? He spoke about you too, once or twice I think. It didn’t mean anything to me at the time.” She hesitated. “They’re happy now, if it helps. I never met them while they were alive but they talk to me through the flowers, though I can’t always understand them. My father didn’t believe me when I told him. There were a lot of things he didn’t believe in.”

The woman hummed in acknowledgment. “It’s a pretty unbelievable story. But I’ve dared to put my faith in plenty of strange ideas and often I’ve been right. For better or for worse.”

Petra gestured to the open car door and handed Gianna the keys. 

“You’d better get moving.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I’ve got things to take care of here, the sooner the better. Don’t worry about the car. It’s the least I can do.” Her gaze lingered on Beatrice. “I’ve missed a lot of birthdays.”

They packed their bags into the trunk and Gianna settled into the driver’s seat. Catching the other’s anxious look she assured her, “We’ll go slow.”

“You may not have that luxury,” Petra said with the certainty of someone who had made her own share of narrow escapes. She rapped her knuckles on the hood of the car. “Go now and don’t stop until you’re across the state line.”

Nodding grimly Gianna spared one last look to the older woman: her co-conspirator, her mentor, her friend. “Thank you.”

They drove, and little by little New York retreated in the rear view until it blipped out of existence, a vanishing dream. Gianna would’ve liked to say she was sorry to leave it behind but in reality, the city wasn’t her home. It wasn’t her tiny apartment with the glitchy kitchen light and plastered over vintage moulding, nor even the house in the suburbs where her parents still lived, blissfully unaware of their daughter’s doings. 

To her, home was an ephemeral thing, the stops on the way to a destination that was always changing. Beatrice on the other hand had only known one home all her life, one which may never exist for her again, at least not in the same way it had. 

Yet when Gianna dropped one hand from the wheel and reached for her, she slotted her fingers between hers with no hesitation, only a trembling sigh as she continued to familiarize herself with the skin-to-skin contact. That too, Gianna thought, could be home. If nothing else, she could try and make it one for her.

A few hours passed with fewer words spoken between them. Sometimes she would ask Beatrice if she was hungry or feeling motion sick or if she wanted to try lying down in the back to get some rest, and each time she would answer with a polite shake of the head. The night settled over them like a deep blue linen, too gentle and frail to risk tearing with clumsy words.

The quiet wasn’t a bother to either of them. If talk is cheap then the clasping of hands and the soft kisses pressed to wrists and knuckles was a language that had cost them dearly.

Nearing their destination, Gianna pulled onto a sideroad that took them from asphalt to dirt and gravel to nothing as it came to an abrupt dead end. There was no house or even any helpful landmarks to be found, just grass and trees, so they parked the car to have a look around while Gianna fiddled with the GPS.

Beatrice stepped out into the field and filled her lungs, cautiously at first, and then in deep lusty breaths like a drowning body coming up for air. She shucked off her shoes and hiked up her dress to let the wild grass brush against her legs. The new plantlife turned brittle and curled away from her touch but she didn’t mind.

Gianna turned to find her partner lying in the middle of the field, heels digging into the dirt like she was trying to put down roots, and laughing giddily. The unrestrained, childlike joy on her face was contagious and Gianna soon found herself giggling as well.

“Having fun?” 

“Oh it’s so weird,” she hiccuped. “There aren’t any walls. There aren’t even any buildings. It just goes on and on forever.”

She sat down in the grass next to her. “It’s not too overwhelming?”

“It is, but in a good way. It’s so… so much more than I thought it would be from books and pictures. It feels like a dream.”

“Describe it to me,” she said.

Beatrice sat herself upright and curled into Gianna’s embrace.

“It’s not the same as being in my garden. These plants don’t speak to me, and I can feel them but I don’t know them, if that makes any sense. You can’t feel them at all, can you?”

“No. Whatever you gave me… I don’t know, maybe it just doesn’t work that way.”

She tried not to look disappointed. Being able to touch, to be beside one another like this and not have to worry should have been enough. It was enough. But Gianna was beginning to understand that Beatrice’s loneliness was a vein that ran deeper than the more obvious isolation she experienced. 

As Dr Rappaccini himself had alluded to, she was one of a kind. To Gianna, that just made her all the more amazing, but to Beatrice it was a curse. More than anything, maybe more than to be loved, she longed to be understood. 

“Wish your superpowers could help us find this stupid house,” Gianna remarked.

Beatrice perked up. “Actually, I think it’s just on the other side of those trees.”

“Are you serious?”

“I don’t really know how to explain it but there’s this absence. Like, a blank space. Things are growing around it but in that space,” She made the shape of a square with her hands. “Nothing.”

Gianna stood up and brushed herself off. “Well let’s take a look then.”

Sure enough, the path picked up again on the other side of a small thicket and led them to the house-- more of a cabin really. Although the outside was just as overgrown from the years of neglect, aside from some dust and cobwebs the interior was remarkably well preserved. In a closet they found a broom and dustpan, some rags, and a bottle with an inch or so of cleaner still swishing around at the bottom. They also happened upon spare linens and an abandoned down comforter that had been tucked aside for a rare chilly day, blessedly free of grime. 

The weather was still plenty warm so they opened all the windows and aired out the rooms and when Gianna was confident no spiders would crawl into her mouth while they were sleeping, she bid Beatrice join her under the duvet. There they dreamed with nothing but that big comforter between them and the night air. That was how they stayed until the morning.

For weeks they lived like this, playacting the roles of the two happy honeymooners. They got up, worked on cleaning up the house, cooked, ate, went to bed, and occasionally slept. It was a strange dance, one whose steps they made up as they went along. And sometimes they fell out of step. 

Gianna had to go into town sometimes, to walk in the all too human places Beatrice still feared to tread and come back with supplies and dinner and a new book for her to read. It was nice, Beatrice thought, to be cared for in little ways like that, but though she gratefully accepted the gifts they also tended to remind her that when it came down to it, not very much had changed.

Her dictatorial father was gone, but so was her garden, her petaled elder sisters whom she cared for and cared for her in turn. The doors were all unlocked now, but many days she found herself lurking in the thresholds listening for the sound of tires crunching on leaflitter. In those interrums, she was as alone as she’d ever been.

When Gianna was there though, all was lovely. She gave her things she never imagined she would have-- at least not so freely, certainly not multiple times in one night. But in the wake of her affection a sick fretful feeling would open up like a chasm in her chest, taunting her as it ripped her in two, “Don’t you know how to be alive without trailing at someone’s heel?”

Its presence, this nebulous worry, dogged her day by day. In the small hours, while her girlfriend slept, Beatrice lay awake trying to trace the shape of this shadow that darkened the edges of her newfound happiness. 

“Bea? You okay?”

She was standing outside in the grass, near the woods that surrounded the cabin. She liked to be here. Wandering too far made her nervous so she had to devise more creative ways to explore the world that was now open to her. Often she came here to test the reach of her awareness, feeling her way through the landscape as if with a phantom limb. 

However Gianna found it a little unnerving to watch her girlfriend standing and staring into space for hours on end and typically only joined her when it had been long enough for her to get worried.

Beatrice blinked and rolled her neck experimentally. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

She put a hand on her shoulder. “Dinner’s ready.”

They twined their arms together as they walked the beaten path back to the house. It was times like this that she felt she could forget her concerns and just enjoy the present moment. Whatever came next, she wanted to have as many moments like that as she could.

--

next chapter

[realityhelixcreates]

Dance of the Spheres Chapter 3: Mercurian Merengue

Chapters: 3/?

Fandom:  Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG 13

Warnings: drugging, kidnapping, forced marriage

Characters: Loki(Marvel),

Additional Tags:  Loki Goes Overboard, But When Doesn’t Loki go Overboard, Mature Reader, Disabled Reader, Political Intrigue

Summary:  

Starlight

I will be chasing a starlight

For the rest of my life

I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore

Our hopes and expectations

Black holes and revalations

                                           Muse-Starlight

You awoke in tremendous pain. That wasn't actually too unusual; you'd run out of your pain medication recently, and hadn't had the money to refill your prescription. It was far worse today though, and you groaned. It felt as if you had been dragged backwards down a flight of stairs.

You were having a hard time moving, like you were trying to swim through thick mud. Limbs heavy, and bones feeling like plastic, you rolled onto your side.

You were still wearing your leg. Weird. You almost never fell asleep with that thing on anymore. You must have had one hell of a night. Where had you been?

That's right! Your spineless boss had fired you. Fuck. Had you gotten wasted or something?

No.

No, those G-men had nabbed you! They drugged you with something. No wonder you were so sore and groggy: You were wasted, and those assholes had probably handled you like a sack of potatoes. You were likely covered in bruises now.

You slowly pried your eyes open to be met with an unfamiliar, dimly lit room, mostly unfurnished and uniform. There were no windows, but two doors; one open and leading to what appeared to be a restroom, and one closed.

There was an end table next to you that looked to be made of stone, with shelves carved into it. A cup of water and a plate with apple slices rested atop it. You were suddenly overtaken with hunger and thirst, having no idea how long you'd been asleep. You snatched up a slice of apple and stuffed it in your mouth, swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

The bed was also made of stone, though covered with a soft mattress and warm blankets. You didn't see your cane anywhere. The bastards probably left it in the alley. You leaned against the wall instead. It was also stone, as was the floor. Everything in the room, in fact, aside from the apple, water, mattress, pillow, and blankets, was made of stone blocks, flawlessly smooth and perfect. It was a creamy gray-white mostly, with a line of pale orange blocks at about hip level.

The light came from hidden fixtures, affixed into the walls near the ceiling, covered with what appeared to be carved panels of cloudy crystal. It was lovely, and very foreign.

Where were you? You shoved more apple in your mouth, and took a swig of the water.

How odd. The apple was truly delicious, better than any you'd ever had. The water tasted of absolutely nothing. The room also smelled of nothing, nor did the hospital gown you realized you were wearing. You had been changed while you slept. Distressing.

You sat back down on the bed and ate. The apple was gone all too soon, but you were still hungry. That was nothing new. In your life, sometimes it came down to medical expenses or food. At least you'd had an apple and a cup of water. In a situation as uncertain as this, you would be glad to have had it.

But why were you here? Those two men had kidnapped you, for sure, but to what end? What for? Because you were an agitator? You'd heard stories recently about community organizers being targeted, grabbed off the streets and tossed into vans, or yanked from their own homes in the middle of the night. You weren't important like that though. You didn't organize, you just marched. You had no power, no voice, no following. You just marched. You'd borne the brunt of police brutality along with thousands of your fellows across the country, but it wasn't as if anybody knew your name.

Why had they taken you? And so violently? So brazenly? What did they want from you?

There was a light knock at the door, and you jumped in surprise, toppling over with a curse. Two people rushed into the room, and to your side, expressing concern. You flailed at them, trying to bat them away until you realized they were attempting to help you. You allowed them to haul you to the bed and sat yourself down.

“Who are you?” You demanded. “What do you want from me?”

They were children, basically. A girl and boy, teenagers. The boy had a basket on his back.

“I'm Bjarkhilde. This is Andvarri. I am an apprentice healer, and he is an artificer.”

“I've come to measure your leg, my lady.” Andvarri said politely, setting his basket on the stone end table. “We intend to make you a new one. Lighter, more functional.”

“M-my leg? A new leg? Why?” This was baffling. Why kidnap you, just to send children to see to your medical needs? “No...No. Don't touch me. What do you actually want? Who do you work for?”

The teenagers glanced at each other in clear confusion.

“We work for...the healers? And the artificers?” Bjarkhilde said.

“And ultimately the Crown?”

“What crown? What do you want? I said don't touch me! Get away from me! I'm not giving you anything!” You snapped, slapping their hands away.

Bjarkhilde grabbed Andvarri and his basket.

“We should come back later.” She said, dragging him back out the door.

It was fine. You didn't trust them. They worked for whoever had kidnapped you. You didn't owe them the time of day.

You didn't even know the time of day.

The outburst had left you worn out, that and all the sudden movement, and whatever drug was left in your system. You sat back down on the bed, head swimming. Were there guards outside the door? It didn't seem to be locked. Maybe you could find a nurse and ask for help.

You hobbled to the door, out into the hallway. But the sudden brightness of the lights out there hit you like a punch in the head, and you stumbled.

Someone caught you before your face smashed on the stone floor.

“Careful love.” That someone said. You blinked, eyes dazzled. “You might not be in the right shape for exertion just yet.” The voice was low, and carried the echo of a growl, but no anger. Whoever it was lifted you effortlessly into his arms, and carried you back to the stone bed and the dim light.

“Oh, you've already eaten the whole thing.” He said. He must have meant the apple. “That was faster than I expected. I would have liked to feed it to you myself, but...Oh well. This will speed things along, though it might be more unpleasant than it would have been if you'd eaten it over the course of a few days.”

“What are you talking about?” You demanded. He had taken a seat on the stone block end table, a crow against the creamy walls. Or maybe a magpie, as he was pale about the face and hands, but black accented with green everywhere else.

“I've given you a gift.” he said with a little smile, but gave no other information.

You scooted to the opposite side of the bed.

“Where am I?”

He blinked, the smile fading. “You are in Asgard, of course.”

The words almost slid off of you, they were so ridiculous. Asgard? Asgard was a mystery. It barely existed. It was nothing more than a collection of cosmic refugees who had been granted land to rebuild by the U.N.-but no one seemed to know where. No one was reporting new neighbors building alien architecture. No extraterrestrials were walking into local coffee shops after a long day of work. No one even knew where they could be. Even the remotest islands could be contacted, even Antarctica could be seen on Google Maps. But the greater public had found nothing.

The Asgardians had a spaceship that came for supplies every now and then, but it seemed to have some kind of invisibility device, because as soon as it lifted above the clouds, it would disappear, undetectable by telescope or radar, to fly off to whatever secret stronghold they had been granted. No one was able to trace its movements back to its home.

It made sense, of course. If Asgard wasn't hidden, they would be plagued constantly, by curious humans, by horny humans, by worshipful humans, by hateful humans, by vengeful humans. Asgard was a source of great controversy. The people of the God-Hero Thor, greatly beloved and celebrated. But also the people of the Mad Conqueror Loki, loathed and feared. What if more of these Asgardians turned out to be like him? That was the great worry of most of Asgard's detractors. What if there were more Lokis? Even though Loki had been declared dead years ago, what if he had a following?

“Why am I in Asgard? Why did you kidnap me?”You demanded. What could Asgard possibly want with you? It made no sense at all.

The magpie's eyebrows were practically beetled now. “Kidnapped? You were kidnapped? By whom?”

“What do you mean 'by whom'? By you! Your goons!”

“I don't have goons! And I didn't authorize any kidnapping! I thought it was just some Earth custom!”

“Earth custom? Custom for what? Why could Asgard possibly want some drugged out woman? Wait, are you after human slaves?”

“No!”

“You are, aren't you? Well guess what, fucker; you got fleeced. Whatever you paid for me, it was too much! I'm completely worthless!” You yanked up the hem of your hospital gown. “Check that out, eh? No leg! And on top of that, I'm incredibly disagreeable! No friends! No cheery personality! Totally worthless. Good job, asshole! You're getting nothing outta me!”

“Don't say that.” He said, rounding the bed. You scooted back to the other side.

“Sucks to be robbed, doesn't it?” You taunted.

“No, don't say you're worthless. You're not worthless!” He insisted.

“You don't know that. You don't know anything about me.”

“I know you are strong and resilient. You walk on a leg that isn't there, like an Asgardian warrior. Are you in pain? Please, we can make medicine for you. Let me help you!”

“You just stay over there!” You pointed at him, as if to keep him at arm's length. It worked too; he came no closer than the end of your fingertip. “If I'm not a slave, then I've got rights. You owe me big time, buster! You owe me answers!”

“Anything you want.” He said, hands up in front of him in a placating gesture.

“Alright. We'll start with...Who are you?”

He gave you an absolutely dumbfounded look.

“You don't know? How can you not know? Did they tell you nothing?”

“I already said I was kidnapped! You think I had a nice conversation with them?”

He shook his head, disbelieving. “Something is very wrong. Please, will you tell me what happened? From your perspective.”

“My perspective? Hmph.” This guy was acting so clueless, it was almost insulting. “From my perspective, I went into work in the morning, and by noon, I'd been fired. My boss said it was because of my arrest record, but it wasn't.”

“Arrest record?” Now he sounded scandalized.

“It was bullshit. I was at a march a couple months ago, and one of the cops sent to break it up shoved past me and tripped on some garbage. Started shouting that I'd knocked him down. Me! He dropped me on my ass and started hitting me with my own cane. Right up until my leg came off, which I guess startled him, because he stopped doing it. His buddies still came over and arrested me. Against the law to get my own ass beat, I guess. They let me go the next day, because there were a thousand phones on them and the video was everywhere, from all angles. Still had to fight to get my leg and cane back. Damn cane was a little bent since then, but it's gone now.”

The man simply stared at you, expression of shocked outrage stretching his features.

“Your lawkeepers attacked you for no reason?”

“Oh no, there was absolutely a reason. To send a message. 'You aren't people, and we will hurt you to keep it that way'. They've been sending that message for decades, but they've really ramped it up over the past couple presidential administrations.”

“Unacceptable.”

“True. But it's a lie. That's not why I got fired, or else it would have happened after I was released. No, I was fired because two MIBs came in and said so.”

“MIBs?” The mans slowly growing confusion was reaching his voice now, driving it upward.

“Men in Black. Nameless, no I.D. government agents, meant to be secret and interchangeable. They came in about lunchtime and pressured my boss to fire me. And he caved fast.”

“The spineless wretch!”

“That's what I thought too! Lower and middle management are a bunch of wet noodles. Mouthpieces. So I grabbed my stuff and left. That bitch Betty smirking the whole way.”

“Betty?”

“Don't worry about her; her kids are all gonna leave and never talk to her again as soon as they turn eighteen. But those sleazy G-men stalked me, and dragged me into an alley, and drugged me. And then I woke up here. In...Asgard? You said Asgard, but why? Why would anyone in Asgard wanna kidnap me? I'm no one worth kidnapping. I'm not even worth selling, especially not to some fairy tale kingdom. Why am I here? Tell me why I'm here!”

The strange magpie man had slowly sunk down to sit on the opposite end of the bed-still at arms length-and picked at his palms, staring down at them like he was about to cry.

“This is terribly wrong.” He said quietly. “It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I don't understand. This was a clear attempt at reconciliation, a grand opportunity to form powerful links between our peoples. Why sabotage that? Why do this? You are not even related to your nation's ruler, are you?”

“We don't have a ruler!” You insisted. “We have a temporary leader who is supposed to be democratically elected! I don't care what that guy thinks, we are going to keep fighting his takeover at every turn! And no, I'm not related to that dictator wannabe, I think I'd die of shame!”

“I see...so it was a sham from the beginning. I have been duped by your shame leader. I, of all people. And what of you, my dear? Caught up in all this, without any choice of your own. But it's already done. I can't take it back now. What terrible situation have we put you in?”

“That's what I'd like to know.” You said. He sounded remorseful, but he still hadn't answered your questions. “Who are you, and what is all this about?”

“My dear. My poor, sweet dear. I am so sorry. I can't undo it now. Please, please, I know this may come as a shock, but please do not be afraid.”

“Way too late.”

“I know. I know. I'm sorry.” He stood, formal and imposing. “My name is Loki; I am the Crown Prince of Asgard. And I asked not for a slave, but for a bride.”

[second-chance-stray]

RP Log: Riylli, Rising, and Cravs rethink a plan.

(Rising Lotus) Help me come up with a name for my Shiny Marill (Cravendy Hound) meryl streep (Rising Lotus) Mmmmmmmm nah (Riylli Aliapoh) azumeryl streep (Cravendy Hound) sdfs azumeryl

Riylli Aliapoh waves to Rising as she enters the room. "Hey, you finally made it!" She says, despite only arriving herself only about a minute ago. "Okay! Now we can finally start! The goal for tonight is to figure out a way to deal with that Rot lady! And maybe get a little drunk. But just a little, got it?"

Cravendy Hound sweeps a neat pile of sawdust into the corner and then disappears into the back to put her broom away. Contrary to Riylli's suggestion, she comes out with her arms full of bottles.

Rising Lotus walked in and immediately took a seat at the bar, leaning back against the counter. "Do you think it's a good idea to plan while drinkin'? Also you missed bar night last night!...well I 'spose you didn't miss much though. Slow night."

Riylli took her seat beside Rising. "...Wasn't really in the mood." She muttered, waving her hand dismissively. "And were only gonna get a little drunk, remember? Just enough to spark our creativity!"

Rising Lotus shrugs and give Riylli a dismissive wave. "Don't worry I get it, between Mivo an' Mayumi. Nothin' wrong with takin' a night to yourself, you were missed though." she gave Riylli a smile and a thumbs up, spinning on her stool after to eye up the selection.

(Riylli Aliapoh) ("Only a little drunk")

Cravendy Hound deposits everything on the counter, leaving scant room for cups. "Just enough to spark our creativity, aye."

Riylli Aliapoh 's ears folded back a bit at that, not sure how to respond. "I'll... Show up for the next one then... But you better keep those two away from me, got it?" She said, turning to grab whichever bottle nearby had 'Mead' written on it

Cravendy Hound: "A guy came in and showed us 'is lack of eye. Pretty gross." Cravs turns to open the cabinets behind her and places a stack of empty cups at the far end of the counter.

Riylli Aliapoh: "W...Why'd he go and do that..?" Riylli made a face of disgust at the thought. It was probably for the best that she had not been there

Rising Lotus: "Aye he did, looked super gross...though I guess Crav's asked him to show us, an' your not NOT gonna look at that if given an' opportunity right?"

Cravendy Hound: "I told 'im to! Wanted to know if it was just for show," Cravs laughs. She ducks down for a second and pulls up a set of ingredients - frozen pineapple, oranges, cherries and a bit of mint. "...I nearly died gettin' these pineapples awhile back, so. 'ere, I'll make us somethin' tasty."

Riylli Aliapoh stuck out her tongue at Rising. "No way, that's gross!" She grumbled, taking a swig of her bottle. She raised an eyebrow at Cravs' words. "...How do you almost die gettin' pineapples?"

Rising Lotus "They better be tasty if you almost bit it tryin' to get 'em. An' I suppose they could fallen on her, prick her with them pointy parts." she thinks for a few moments. "...do pineapples grow on trees? I know those hard brown things do.."

Cravendy Hound 's mouth sets in a hard line. She pointedly ignores Riylli's question and focuses her attention on juice the fruit.

Riylli Aliapoh gives Rising a worried look at Cravs' reaction, but decides to change the subject. "...Anyroad, all that aint important. We gotta figure out a plan to deal with Rot after all! So... Uh... Any suggestions..?"

Cravendy Hound: "They grow in bushes, actually."

Rising Lotus "So they ain't related to pine trees or cones at all then? Why they called that then?" considering she forgot why they were here before they started drinking, it looked like it might be a long night.

Cravendy Hound: "Well, speakin' in a general sense...we could do somethin' legal, illegal, or in between." Cravs pours a bit of pineapple and orange juice in a glass full of ice, and then dumps the rest of the ingredients in. Vodka, cherry, mint. "I....I don't know, actually? Just know the bush they grow outta doesn't look like a pine tree."

Riylli Aliapoh: "Focussss" She hissed at Rising, shooting her a glare. "Pineapples aint important right now! Aint you supposed to be the smart one outta all of us?"

Cravendy Hound: "Oy, and why ye gettin' 'ung up on the 'pine' part? What about 'apple'? Doesn't look or taste like an apple at all!"

Rising Lotus looks at Riylli for a few moments, the turning to Cravs. "... I don't know if that's a good thing, I mean.. smart enough to not do some of the dumb shit you to do I 'spose...but I guess that's jus' cause one of us has to be alive to take the other two home. Huh."

Riylli Aliapoh: "Wha-? I don't do dumb shite! You've seen my magic, I'm really smart!" She insists, immediately getting sidetracked as well.

Rising Lotus "...you're right... it doesn't taste or look like an' apple...an' I think we all only are smart in like, some very particular areas really. I mean I dunno, I never felt that smart...cept for like fishin' an' fightin'."

Cravendy Hound: "Oy, we're 'ere to talk plans, right?! So come on! Drink up, and get those juices flowin'!" Cravs pushes the bottles aside and deposits cocktails in front of Rising and Riylli.

Riylli Aliapoh eyes the drink suspiciously, but eventually gave in and replaced her mead. Her ears flickered as she tasted it, looking up to grin at Cravs. "It's good! I was worried it was gonna be all bitter like that other stuff you... Er... L-Like other drinks. In general. Y'know..."

Rising Lotus took a long drag from the drink, giving a nod of approval. "What other stuff you drinkin'? I mean I 'spose a lot of booze is bitter." she took another swig, blinking a few times afterwards. "...plannin' though...I think we ought to be careful, loanshark types aren't shy when it comes to doin' nasty things to folk they don't like."

Cravendy Hound: "Is knowin' magic a measure of smartness? Like, couldn't ye just use it on instinct? Then it'd be dumb magic." Cravs rambles as she picks up her own glass to sip on. She beams at Riylli's compliment. "Aye, can't beat a good fruity drink every now and again."

Riylli Aliapoh: "Of course magic is a measure of smartness! All the big mages are real smart folk, like that leh-vee-yur guy!" She said, before suddenly shaking her head. "Wait, no, planning dammit! I say the best way to get rid of her is by gettin' the law to lock her away, like Cravs planned. Just... think we should go about it a different way."

Rising Lotus: "I'm sure she's in the pockets of some of the Yellow Jackets though, coin is worth more than justice most the time. Used to hear 'bout it from my ma all the time growin' up. She'll weasel her way out probably."

Cravendy Hound nods to Rising's words. "Aye. The type where if ye cut off one head, two more will take its place. We definitely should avoid killin' anyone, cause that'll just make things worse."

Riylli Aliapoh glares at Cravs. "Of course were not killing anyone! Were the good guys, we don't do that kind of junk." She said, crossing her arms defiantly. "She can't be in the pockets of ALL those... 'yellow jackets' though, right? Just gotta make sure whatever we pin on her can't be covered up"

Cravendy Hound: "Lever-err...? That's the pipsqueak that was responsible for all that Crystal Brave stuff, right? Or was it...Urrre-ranger." Cravs rubs at her temples as she tries to recall. So much had happened while she wasn't 'paying attention.'

Rising Lotus "That an' we'll probably be arrested ourselves, along with what Cravs said of course!" she took another sip. "Hmm... most folks like her, place to hit where it'll hurt would be her wallet." she rubbed her chin "How many ways does she got gil comin' in?"

Cravendy Hound: "That was my main goal, actually. If people know she's sellin' stolen goods, then even if she pays off the Yellow Jackets, 'er reputation is sure to tank. And then, she won't 'ave the cash or time to mess round with Baldur."

Riylli Aliapoh takes another sip of her drink, clearly enjoying it judging by the way her ears wiggled. "...So how do we go about doin' that? Steal the stolen stuff from her? Or... Set a trap maybe..?"

Rising Lotus "Maybe get somethin' everyone will know will be stolen? Then when she tries to hock it she'd get caught?" she shrugged,  nearly draining her drink with the next sip. "Jus' need to make sure it's somethin' big...but somethin' she wouldn't recognize." she nodded a few too many times at her words, must of been a strong drink.

Cravendy Hound: "...if we steal the stolen stuff from 'er, then it'll just look like we stole it. And I don't think she'd be bold enough to try to sell somethin' that's well known."

Riylli Aliapoh: "...Then... What if we try buyin' somethin'? But set it up so the yellowjackets are there to see it happen?"

Rising Lotus shook her head "Naw, we'd never know if they'd be on her side or not..

Rising Lotus leand on elbow as she ponder, sipping up the remnants of her drink. "What... if...we trick her into stealin' from another type like her...someone more powerful?"

Cravendy Hound: "...It /could/ work. But she sells spice, so 'ow could we prove it was stolen? A bag of salt is as good as any."

Riylli Aliapoh thinks for a moment. "Well... What if it aint yellowjackets..? What if we used the wood wailers? Or the brass blades? Theres no way she'd be in the pockets of those guys, so... If we pull her out there with good enough bait..."

Cravendy Hound raises a brow at Rising's suggestion and thinks to herself. "Might blow up in our faces, but that's an interestin' idea."

Rising Lotus: "I mean that's an option, but she probably has a pretty set territory right?" she slid her glass forward towards Cravs, not so subtly wanting a refill. "It's have ta be somethin' big to bring here out here or in Thanalan."

Cravendy Hound: "Hm, well. Brass Blades ain't worth a penny, but the Wood Wailers might be stiff enough. Problem is gettin' 'er all the way out 'ere." Cravs refills Rising's cup.

Riylli Aliapoh seeing Rising do it, Riylli outstretches her cup as well for Cravs to refill. "Well, you were tryin' to get her attention with milkroot weren't you? I'm guessin' that's what that toad ooze was for at least..?"

Cravendy Hound pours Riylli a generous refill. "Aye, well...the toad ooze is supposed to be the bait. Somethin' that my friends would steal and then peddle to Rot."

Rising Lotus happily retrieves her glass and takes a sip, smacking her lips together after swallowing with a refreshed sigh. "She we still try that? I mean I 'spose we never got a chance to see what happened. Otherwise is there any other powerfull folks that we could trick her to steal from?"

Cravendy Hound: "It'd be more like, convincin' my friends to steal from someone powerful, and then hopin' Mindred buys it 'ot. Lady doesn't steal stuff directly...which means there's a risk that the blame'll end up fallin' on my friends instead."

Riylli Aliapoh noticably winced a bit as Cravs mentioned her friends. "W-What if I tried to sell it to her instead?" She speaks up suddenly. "She doesn't really know me, and everyone thinks Keepers are all criminals anyroad."

Rising Lotus grimaced at that idea. "I dunno, she did meet ya after all... an' you didn't come of as the most...knowin' 'bout business..ish." she hiccupped after getting to the end of her sentence, following it with another swig. "I 'spose if anythin' it is an' in with her..kinda..connects us an' Heartwood too though."

Cravendy Hound gives Riylli a long, hard look, and then finally shakes her head no. "Ye don't look the criminal part of ye ask me. And...I'm worried. Wouldn't we only be able to pin it on Rot if ye actually committed a crime?"

Riylli Aliapoh: "If she thinks I'm stupid, that just means she'll suspect me less!" Riylli insists, "I could easily find somethin' she'd want. I don't even gotta get it myself! Theres this little... Well... A black market I guess is what you'd call it. It get's pretty regular raids from the wailers, but everyone always ends up there again after a bit. If she's there when a raid happens, she'd get locked up for sure!"

Riylli Aliapoh: "I'm a Keeper. That makes me the 'criminal type' in most peoples eyes. Just ask Mivo"

Rising Lotus still looks a bit hesitant. "Do you think she'd go that far out Cravs? An' if this all happens, an' she does get locked away, how she gonna know that...err I mean, How is she not gonna suspect somethin'? She does know who ya are an' stuff, might send some of her lackeys after you, us, your clan."

Cravendy Hound picks up the carafe and tops of Rising's glass absentmindedly...pouring until it overfills. Somethings itching at the back of Crav's mind. "Do ye go to these black markets often? Riylli, do ye...are ye wanted?"

Cravendy Hound: "If we could get Rot to go to one of these black markets, it could just work. But I agree with Risin', it seems risky, and it could come back to bite ye Riylli."

Rising Lotus wasn't paying attention until it ran over her hand. "Hey, HEY!" she quickly reached her hand over to push Crav's hand back enough until she wasn't spilling, flicking her soaked digits in the woman's direction before sipping from the very top of her glass.

Riylli Aliapoh: "I-I do not!" She said quickly. "It's just... Before I started my adventurin' work... My clan didn't exactly have enough gil for medicine and stuff. So... We'd go sell pelts and stuff there... Gridania wouldn't let us sell with them, so we didn't really have a choice... But we never did anythin' bad! All our stuff was caught fair and square, no poaching or anything!"

Cravendy Hound: "...Oh, blast it." Cravs looks around for a towel to soak up the mess.

Riylli Aliapoh: "And if she gets caught up in a raid, theres no way she could blame that one me! We'd just... have to figure out a way to time it somehow... I'm sure someone in Heartwood must have connections, right? All we need to know is when, then we just gotta set up the deal!"

Cravendy Hound lets out a sigh. "Well, Riylli, ye sound used to dancin' round the Wailers. But if ye ever end up tossed in gaol, Risin' and I would be 'appy to pay the bail. Right?" She glances over at the other Roegadyn

Cravendy Hound: "We'll need a real good bait to lure Rot all the way to Gridania /and/ to a black market."

Rising Lotus "I 'spose it sounds like the most...thought out plan we've had all night." she shrugged, sputtering into her drink a bit at mention of paying Riylli's bail. "What? I mean, sure...long as it ain't way expensive or nothin'. How much it cost to be black market sellin'?" she cocked her head as she pondered what they should try to sell. "Well, what she like outside of her normal dealin's? Does she collect anythin'?"

Riylli Aliapoh crosses her arms. "They could never catch me." She mutters, turning away as she let the other two discuss bait

Cravendy Hound: "If the bails too expensive then we could..." Cravs punch a fist into her hand, and then cracks her knuckles. "...but, quietly."

Rising Lotus: "We'd need to pick a bit first before we go out an' steal somethin'." she glances around Crav's room. "...or maybe borrow somethin'? I'm sure we must have somethin' 'round here folks would want to get their hands on."

Riylli Aliapoh turned her head back. "H-Hey! Even if the wailers are mostly a buncha racist assholes, ya still can't do stuff like that! I said they won't catch me, the shroud is my territory remember? Even the Keeper's they got in their ranks wouldn't be as fast as someone who lives out there"

Cravendy Hound: "Anyway, 'ow we gonna lure Rot to the market? Sell stuff so cheap that she 'as to go check it out? Or, maybe if we find someone she trusts, and convince 'em to bring 'er there."

Rising Lotus grumbles "We need to get somethin' she's interested in! That'll bring her in, maybe tell someone she knows 'bout it so she'll come all this way." she took a long drink, mumbling into her drink about repeating herself.

Riylli Aliapoh: "Rising's got a point. Somethin' around here should spark her interest. She sells spice you said..? I bet Luma has some of that!"

Rising Lotus: "Or maybe somethin' really out there...folks with lots of money like weird dumb things."

Cravendy Hound: "Interest is one thing, trust is another...Rot's gonna be cautious, especially outside of 'er territory." Cravs crosses her arms and leans back as she tries to rack her brain people she could pull a favor from. "...Do ye think Momori might know Rot?"

Riylli Aliapoh: "Well... She seemed a bit sketchy, but I only ever met her once or twice. You guys'd know better than me"

Cravendy Hound chuckles a little when Riylli brings up Luma. "HAh! Bakin' and usin' spice is different from sellin' it! But...ye know. Haila might 'ave somethin' cool to sell."

Rising Lotus sneered. "I don't like the idea of ownin' her any favors...but aye Haila might have somethin' she'd be interested in. Or maybe some Gobbie stuff, sure some of that weird metal junk probably is expensive."

Riylli Aliapoh: "But he'd still HAVE some! And probably some rare Golmore stuff too since he's with Haila! I bet that'd get Rot's attention for sure!"

Cravendy Hound: "I'd gladly owe a favor to Momori if it means we can get Rot to come, cause I'm still not sold on the whole 'us sellin' crap to lure Rot' front. Wouldn't random people also want to buy shit?! What if she doesn't come and we just end up makin' a profit?"

Cravendy Hound blinks at at the mention of Golmore. "H-huh?! What in the bloody 'ells is Luma and Haila gettin' into...Bah. The less I know, the better."

Riylli Aliapoh: "Well... First we just gotta find out when the next raid is comin'. Once we know that, then we can figure out a way to convince Rot to show up on that particular night. Dangle some bait in front of her she can't resist! I can make sure it don't get sold to anyone before she arrives so she gets caught red-handed"

Rising Lotus "You know how she is, you sure you want that? Probably end up.. takin' one of your limbs or somethin' after sayin' she jus' needs a hand with somethin'.." she rubs her forehead " After the other day when all that happened I jus' wouldn't trust her."

Cravendy Hound opens her mouth, about to say something to go against Rising's concern...but can't find anything to say. It was true - the lalafell was objectively shady and untrustworthy. But it was those same qualities that made her think Momori would be able to pull the strings necessary to get Rot to show up.

Cravendy Hound: ".....Yeah, well, if she takes my 'and, then I can get a cool robot one."

Rising Lotus pounds her fist on the counter. "You ain't losin' your damn hand if I can help it!" she exhaled through her nostrils sharply. "Ngh..well if we are gonna go through her...maybe I should be the one to ask. She don't know much 'bout me, don't need her usin' your reputation in Limsa against ya." she drummed her fingers on the counter while she nursed her drink.

Riylli Aliapoh raises an eyebrow, but tries to stay on task. "Well... If one of you gets Momori on board, and the other gets some exotic spice, I can focus on finding a seller at the markets we can trust. Then we just need the info on the next raid's date! Momori claimed to have ties to the alliance, so maybe she has connections in the wailers as well?"

Cravendy Hound wags a finger at Rising. "There's no point in worryin' about somethin' uncertain! Damn lalafell might not even be able to 'elp us, so...Let's start by figurin' out about the raid and gatherin' stuff to vendor. The frog ooze can be our first product. I gotta get rid of the stuff somehow."

Riylli Aliapoh grins, clearly rather pleased with how this evening had turned out. "Gimme the toad ooze, it'll be real popular at the market since it makes milkroot crazy potent, so it'd make a great bribe to get a merchant on our side!"

Rising Lotus grumbles more as she finishes up her drink. "Well if we are gonna talk to her let me know an' I'll find her an' ask her..while avoided kickin' her 'cross the room." Her face was looking a bit flushes after she finished her second (and a half with her sloppy top off from Cravs) drink.

Cravendy Hound points at a barrel in the corner with her shoulder. "Ye can pick it up whenever. Just don't open it...apparently, agin' it makes it more potent, as well as smelly."

[bloodfromthethorn]

Hypothermia

Years of trying to convince Mac to duck when bullets started flying, and in the end Jack was going to lose to a goddamn lake.

Part five of the July of Whump 2021 prompt challenge.

Also on AO3. 

..

Shit.

That was the very first thought that ran through Mac’s head when he registered the sharp cracking sound and the minute shift beneath his feet. The second was a sort of wordless screech of animal panic as his hindbrain registered the fact that the ground beneath his feet had just dematerialised and he was sincerely not about to enjoy what came next. There wasn’t time for a third.

The ice let out a wailing groan as what had previously been a solid plate shattered into fragments, with Mac standing right in the middle of it. He had just enough time to gasp in a surprised lungful of air and flail his arms in a vain attempt at finding something to grab onto and then he was falling straight down into the murky depths. There was the briefest heartbeat of respite before the cold registered, and then Mac was having to clap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from screaming out what was left of his air.

The cold was like knives against his skin, digging into every inch of him and slicing him open and every rational thought fled him in an instant as the shock of it lanced through him. Mac had been cold before – had been frostbitten and hypothermic and frozen before – but it was nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to this. The icy touch was everywhere, under his clothes, in his hair, beneath his fingernails-

He needed to get out. He needed to escape the all-consuming cold or it would drag him right down into the darkness he could already feel leeching into the corners of his mind. The option of giving up and surrendering to the rest it offered did occur to him, but he knew deep down that he could never take it – Jack would never forgive him.

Jack!

Freezing and low on oxygen, Mac suddenly remembered that his partner had been just behind him when the ice gave way. If he could get himself to the surface then Jack would be able to help him, would be able to explain why all of his thoughts felt fractured and foggy, why anything outside of the agony biting into him was so far away. All he had to do was get to the surface. Then it’d be okay.

He kicked out with his legs, uncoordinated and sloppy but determined. Even when he could barely feel his own feet, muscle memory was on his side – a lifetime of surfing on the weekends and endless hours of endurance training in the pool with Jack had taught his body what to do without the need for any input from him. It was probably what saved his life.

Weighed down by clothes and rapidly running out of air, it felt like a lifetime before his head broke the surface of the black water, coughing and choking as frigid air hit his lungs. Exhaustion dragged at him, pulling him back beneath the water as he helplessly struggled, hands reaching out for anything to anchor himself. His left brushed up against something solid that might have been the edge of the ice, but it was so numb from the cold he didn’t have the strength to grip it.

No! He mentally screamed at himself. He was so close, he couldn’t give up now, but his strength was failing him. His kicks became weaker and weaker with every passing second, and even breathing in the intermittent moments he could keep his head above water was starting to become too much for him.

If Jack really was about to come to his rescue, he had better do it fast.

It was the last thought he had before his head slid back beneath the water, and the darkness finally claimed him.

..

He came to during the highly objectionable process of coughing up more water than should have been humanly possible. His lungs were screaming at him, eyes streaming, and every part of his body crackled with a bone-deep ache so overwhelming he was half-tempted to just pass out again to spare himself from it. Unconsciousness certainly hadn’t been this painful.

But there were hands on his shoulders and a familiar voice speaking rapidly in his ear and if Mac understood at least half of what was going on, he knew that he couldn’t do that to Jack. Instead, he suffered through the indignity of rinsing out his lungs and obediently sucked in as much as he could in between bouts of retching. The fresh air did nothing to soothe the persistent pain in his chest, but his body’s aching was slowly being overtaken by numbness that was much more preferable to pain. Also probably more likely to kill him, he realised distantly, but he could worry about that once he was finished with his convincing impression of a merman.

“That’s it, man, get it out,” Jack was chanting repeatedly. A warm hand rubbed firm circles between Mac’s shoulder blades. “You’re okay, it’s okay.”

“Ughh,” he managed after what felt like years of helpless dry heaving. He spat out the remaining residue in his mouth as though that had a chance of getting the awful taste off his tongue. “Ow.”

Jack let out a relieved snicker. “Yeah, I bet. You back with me now? We’ve gotta get you out of here, man, you’re freezing.” The hands left his shoulders to do a quick check of his limbs, but the numbness had its claws in him, and Mac could barely even feel it. He knew what the next question would be, and he knew his answer was almost certainly no. “Do you think you can walk? That ranger hut we passed should do us for the moment, but I don’t trust this ice not to go again if I have to carry you.”

Mac breathed in, then out again very carefully, testing the strength of his still fluttering lungs. They held – that would have to be enough. “Help me up,” he rasped.

It was clear within seconds that Mac’s legs weren’t up to taking his weight, but with an arm hooked over Jack’s shoulder and Jack’s right hand gripping Mac’s belt, all he really needed to do was stop himself from tipping. It was asking far too much of Jack’s endurance, particularly now that Mac could see he was shivering and damp himself – evidently he’d ended up getting most of his torso wet during the process of hauling Mac out of the lake – but they didn’t have a choice. At least they didn’t have to go too far.

He spared a brief thought for the man he’d been chasing when he went through the ice, entirely forgotten in the nightmare that had followed. A sudden thought occurred to him – that the man could still be out there, circling back round to come after them – and Mac nearly toppled the pair of them in his attempt to twist round and look.

“Woah, Mac,” Jack snapped, jerking him back upright and steadying them before taking another careful step forward. “Let’s take it steady, okay? Just worry about forwards. I’ve got the rest.”

That wasn’t right, though; it was important to tell Jack what he’d been thinking, but the words slipped away before he could grasp them and the best he could manage was shaking his head in desperation. Without any clearer explanation, Jack’s only response was a string of calming platitudes and a squeeze of Mac’s hand. They plodded on.

“Danger,” Mac said some time later, when he finally remembered the word he had been searching for. It was distantly concerning that he had no real idea how much time had passed between Jack’s comments and his own. Everything had turned sort of syrupy and indistinct in a way that he thought should probably have been concerning if he hadn’t been too tired for it. Even as he said it, he couldn’t remember what he was worried about.

Jack shot him a worried look out the corner of his eye, but kept moving. “What danger, kiddo? The ice? I know you’re not exactly firing on all cylinders here, but if you can see something I can’t, I need to know about it.”

Mac hummed agreeably, muttering a garbled apology when he staggered and Jack had to right him.

“Mac.”

“Hmm?” His lips were too numb to talk clearly, but humming he could do. He enjoyed humming, always had – he’d used to drive his father up the wall as he hummed away while fiddling with whatever project James had passed down to him. When James had gone, a tiny part of Mac had feared one of the reasons had been Mac’s constant humming driving him crazy; he’d mostly lost the habit after that. Now, looking back, he knew that it was stupid-

“Mac!” Jack snapped again, shaking him lightly this time for good measure. Mac blinked back at him. “Stay awake, okay? We’re almost there, just stay with me.”

That sounded eminently reasonable and besides, Jack was the one asking. Mac would try to do anything Jack asked of him, even when it was something completely insane like that time he’d wanted him to figure out how to get them out of a sealed steel vault with nothing more than a bag of sand, two shattered mobile phones, and his penknife. He’d even managed it that time too, although he still felt kind of guilty that they’d ended up stuck there in the first place since it really had been his fault, no matter what Jack had tried to tell Thornton-

There was a sudden sharp pain on his arm and he yelped, blinking at Jack reproachfully. “Hey,” he tried to say. His lips and tongue didn’t really get with the programme and barely moved, but there was enough general offence in the toneless sound he emitted to get his point across.

“Thought I told you to stay awake. C’mon, we’re here. Just need to get you inside and out of those clothes hoss.”

He frowned at that. His body felt oddly distantly, but he could see his breath misting in the air in front of his face and that must mean it was cold. Why would Jack want him to take his clothes off if it was cold? Mac always ran a lot colder than Jack did at the best of times. And why would Jack want him to strip down anyway? That didn’t sound normal. Did he spill something on himself? That might make sense, except for the fact he didn’t remember eating or drinking anything recently – quite the contrary, in fact: his stomach felt painfully empty. Maybe he needed to get changed for dinner?

Between one heartbeat and the next, without Mac even noticing it, he passed out.

..

Jack let out a string of curses his mother would have slapped him silly for as he hauled Mac into the dim little hut and dumped him unceremoniously directly in front of the wood burner in the corner. He’d been in and out of consciousness ever since Jack had pulled him from the water, blue skinned and scarcely breathing. For a heart-breaking moment he’d thought that this was finally it: he’d finally managed to fail his partner and now he’d lost him forever. Years of trying to convince him to duck when bullets started flying, and in the end Jack had lost to a goddamn lake.

Then Mac had sucked in a heaving gasp and started gagging horribly and Jack’s spell had been broken. Since then Mac had vacillated between worrying silences and periods of somehow-more-worrying nonsense babble that had grown progressively harder to track as his body grew colder and colder. The ranger hut had been Jack’s only hope of salvation, and he’d burned it into his brain to keep from coming apart at the seams as Mac slipped away from him.

But now they were there, and Jack had work to do. He started with Mac’s clothes, methodically stripping him and laying him out on an old throw blanket snatched off a worn-out sofa on the other side of the room. A quick check of the cupboards revealed a veritable mountain of woollen blankets and Jack sent a silent prayer to whatever kind soul had last stocked the station. They just might have saved his partner’s life and he would never stop owing them that debt.

With Mac off the cold wooden floor and buried under a heap of blankets, Jack spared the briefest of moments for himself to strip off his own wet clothing, then went about loading up the wood burner and getting a spark lit. Impatient as he was to check on Mac, waiting for the fire to properly catch was torture, but he knew that leaving it and letting it go out would be of far more harm to his partner than the extra few minutes of waiting for attention would. Besides, if he was honest with himself, his hands had grown cold enough that he was starting to struggle gripping things; sitting a few minutes by the fledgling fire was probably a necessity.

Once the flames had started to lick around a decent-sized log and Jack was happy with the bed of embers, he stooped over where Mac was still lying, unresponsive.

“Hey man,” he called, shaking his shoulder very gently. His skin was clammy to the touch, and he’d stopped shivering a lot time ago. There was no response. “Hey, Mac,” he tried again, a little louder. Still nothing.

In a sudden panic, he pressed two fingers to Mac’s neck then breathed a gusty sigh of relief when he felt the pulse thrumming beneath his skin. It was too fast and a little arrhythmic, but any pulse was better than no pulse.

“God, kid,” he muttered, “You’ve gotta stop doing this to me.”

It was clear that Mac wasn’t planning on waking up any time soon, and Jack still had work to do. Leaving his partner where he was, he did a quick inventory of their supplies and once again marvelled at the forethought of whoever had stocked this place. The counters in the corner that apparently constituted a kitchen provided a number of pans and the ‘pantry’ offered not only a selection of long-life foods, but also two entire crates of bottled water. If the circumstances had been anything but what they were, Jack would be loving every minute of this surprisingly comfortable woodland getaway.

With water starting to bubble away over the fire alongside a can of soup, Jack shuffled back over to Mac and burrowed his way into his blanket pile. The wood burner was proving a surprisingly effective way of heating up the small interior of the cabin, but Mac’s skin was still disappointingly frigid to the touch, and he didn’t stir at Jack’s sudden intrusion.

Not good.

A quick shuffle and a lot of swearing on Jack’s part later, they’d rearranged themselves so that Mac’s back was bare to the air just a few feet away from the fire to soak in its heat while his arms were wrapped around Jack with his hands tucked into his armpits. Jack had also made the tremendous sacrifice of letting Mac’s frozen toes rest against his warm thighs. It was no doubt wildly uncomfortable for both parties, but it was the quickest way Jack knew of warming someone up and Mac had been out of it for much longer than he was comfortable with.

“You are not doing this to me,” he said into the silence, once he realised he was counting the cold puffs of Mac’s breath against his collarbone. “I did not drag you out of that lake just so that you could mutter some nonsense about non-existent danger and then pass out on me. That’s not fair and you know it.

“And besides, you’re supposed to be the survival nerd, not me. What do you think you’re doing, sitting here letting me do all the work? You love this kind of thing! Although you probably wouldn’t like how well supplied this place is, thinking about it. If you’d had your own way, you’d been boiling up some snow from outside and making tea from tree bark or some shit. I’m certain it would taste awful, no matter what you were able to cook up.”

He paused, running his mind over fond memories. “Even if it did taste like dirt, though, I’ve no doubt it would be the most nutritious thing within a mile’s radius. Your brand of survival feels like shit hoss, don’t get me wrong, but I can’t deny it’s effective. Never did see a wilderness you couldn’t make a home, huh?”

In his arms, Mac twitched ever so slightly, then again. A couple of seconds later, he was shivering violently. Jack’s smile just about split his face in two as he continued on his spiel.

“’Cept maybe the desert, o’course. I know how much you hated that place. You NorCal boys and your inability to deal with even slightly warm weather. I never did drag you out to the ranch in the summer, did I? Right, as soon as we get back, I’m booking us some days off and you’re coming out to Texas with me to learn what real heat feels like. And you’re not even going to bitch about it because I’m going to remind you of this moment right here and you’re going to realise that hot weather is a thousand times better than this snow and ice bullshit. The sun in Texas ain’t forgiving but if you respect her she’ll treat you right. None of this collapsing out from under you and trying to drown you.

“And really that just brings me back to my main point hoss, because honestly what the fuck was that? I was yelling at you to stop but no, you just had to keep on chasing that bastard even though we didn’t have a hope of catching him. We didn’t even need him! We scared him off before he could do anything to that substation-whatever-it-was and it’s not like Riley couldn’t have dug out his information later. Could have just let him run off and gone about his business, and we could already be done with this mission and on the jet home sipping martinis and congratulating ourselves on not catching hypothermia. Instead we’re here, freezing our balls off just because you decided you were up for a midnight swim. Honestly, with your luck I’m surprised you didn’t get swallowed by a fucking crocodile or something.”

There was a faint mumble of sound from beneath Jack’s chin. He froze, breath halting.

“Mac?”

A pause. Then, very quietly and so slurred it was barely discernible: “No croc’diles in Russia.”

Jack blinked, then again. Glancing down, exhausted blue eyes looked back at him, placid and calm. They stared at each other for a long moment, only breaking eye contact when Mac’s face was overtaken by a jaw-cracking yawn that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. Once it passed, he snuffled sleepily and buried his face back in his partner’s neck. Jack’s brain was still stuttering like an old PC so he fell back onto ingrained habits: he pressed a burning kiss to Mac’s forehead – conveniently right in front of him – and then pulled back to shoot him a dark look.

“First, I am very happy to see you awake. Second, are you fucking serious.”

[jusananimehoe]

Geten Smut Head cannons.

Absolutely no-one asked and yet here we are anyway. I can’t even help it, I just love this little feral so much. 

Geten Smut Head cannons

·         Being young, and extremely dedicated to nothing but Redestro he’s very inexperienced in all aspects of sex, but he learns extremely fast.

·         His competitive nature means he outright refuses to be bad at anything, he has to succeed and he needs to do everything better than anyone else, including pleasing you.

·         He’s insanely loyal, if he actually does get serious with someone, he isn’t planning on it being short-term, due to all his childhood being spent training he struggles to really socialise or communicate with others in a casual fashion, so he’s defintley a one-person guy.

·         This boy is insanely competitive, if he overhears snippets of people comparing or bragging about something amazing that they did, best believe he’s coming to find you, and he is going to do it 1000x better than they did.

·         He’s super into overstimulation, he gets off just by continuously getting you off, how many times can he make you cum in 1 night? You’re about to find out. Whine and beg all you want; he’s not stopping until he’s satisfied that he’s ruined you. You’ll be a blabbering, sobbing mess by the time he’s finished, and if you can still walk afterwards, he’ll do it all over again.

·         Geten may not have any other experience but he learns extremely fast, it takes him almost no time at all to figure out what you want, what feels best and the best way to go about it. That being said, he loves communication too, ask him about trying new things, there’s very little he wouldn’t do to please his love.

·         He loves a vocal partner, the louder the better. Scream his name so everyone else can hear who you belong to, or moan his name in his ear over and over, because it’s the only word you can manage to get out, he fucking loves hearing your desperate noises.

·         Really into pulling your hair, especially if he’s fucking your face, just dragging you as close as possible by your hair, watching those tears stream down your cheeks, oh you can’t breathe? Well that’s too bad cause he’s into that too, watching you gag and choke on his cock does things to him he can’t even explain.

·         Has to be watching your face when you cum, he just loves watching your expression contort, hearing your broken moans and watching your eyes roll back, knowing he did that gets him hard all over again.

·         He enjoys blowjobs almost more than sex, almost, blow him before a round to really put him in the mood to just rail you. He just can’t handle seeing those pretty lips of yours wrapped around his cock, feeling the vibrations on his length when you moan, watching the drool run down your chin. Wait in his room, naked, on your knees with your mouth open, he’ll nearly cum right there, just seeing you so ready to suck his cock, such a good girl.

·         He has good recovery time, he can be hard again and ready to go again within minutes, which can be good and bad. When he’s really in the mood or even if he just needs to blow off steam he can just go again and again, you defintley won’t be walking by the end of it.

·         His cock isn’t insanely thick but it’s long as fuck, 8 ½ inches easily, and he learns quickly how to use it, exactly where to angle it, so sex is always good, if not a little too good. Geten is all about your pleasure, you have to cum first, it isn’t negotiable, and if you try to disagree, he’s going to pin you down and rip endless orgasms out of you until you don’t even have any voice left to scream.

·         Geten is dominant, do not try to dom him, unless you want to be edged for hours, he can be sadistic as fuck when he really wants to be, though he’d never really hurt you badly. Isn’t above spanking you until your ass is red and swollen though. He’ll also happily degrade you if you’re interested,his ego is huge, lets face it, naughty girls don’t get rewards, they get used like the filthy little cum slut they are.

·         Kisses with Geten can be wild as, he hates public displays of affection, but he’s also possessive as fuck so he can swing between not wanting to touch you in public and shoving his tongue so far down your throat you’ll choke on it, if only to make it very clear to other people that you are HIS. In private his kisses can be slow and hot, or rough and fast, but either way he knows exactly what he wants, and that’s to map your entire mouth with his tongue.

·         He absolutely loves eating you out, hearing you gasp and tasting you on his tongue is his heaven, he could bury his tongue in your pussy for hours and be content. Bonus points if you pull on his hair, he fucking loves it, pull as hard as you can, all you’re going to get is more vibrations when he starts moaning into your pussy. He gets really into temperature play if you’re comfortable with it, that icy tongue is going to have you seeing stars over and over again, all night.

·         Geten isn’t very loud in bed, but he does have a confident, somewhat cocky personality and he’s super competitive. You can try and be quiet with this boy but he’ll just take it as a challenge, and you will not win.

·         Sit under the table when the meetings get held for the lieutenants and cockwarm him, meetings can go on for hours but if you’re a good girl and hold him in your mouth the whole time he’ll make you cum harder than you ever have in your life when everyone else has left, then he’ll bend you over the table just for good measure and fuck your brains out. No one else can know though, he’s too private for that, and he’d be horrified if Redestro where to find out, so tread very carefully.

·         Geten can be softer if that’s what you’re into, but you’re never going to get that dominant streak out of him, so don’t even try. Be a good girl for him though and there’s nothing to worry about.

·         He is defintley a titty guy, if you have massive tits that he can just bury his face in then he will, and he’ll stay there for hours if he feels like it, good luck moving him, he might be slim and he’s relatively short but this little ice gremlin is surprisingly strong.

·         In saying that, Geten is unbelievably loyal, if you have small tits, he will make absolute sure you never feel like you’re not enough. At the end of the day looks matter little to him, and as rarely as he talks about his feelings, he loves you so fucking much, and he will make sure you know it.

·         Geten isn’t into feelings talk, he prefers actions more than anything, but his actions make his emotions very clear. He may not say he loves you often, but judging by the way he eats your pussy like a starved man, and rails you relentlessly, there is absolutely no doubting just how attached he is to you, he spend more time with you than Redestro, for god sake.

·         All in all, sex with the ice gremlin is going to be fucking amazing, you’ll never be left unsatisfied, but you will always be left exhausted.  

**Mention Dabi right before the act if you want to be fucked rougher than you ever have in your life, the bruises he’ll give you will last for weeks, just to make sure that filthy fire user knows who you belong to.

[teacup-crow]

Bittersweet

Here’s my entry for Zombies, Make! round 1, 08/08/20. Shout out to @crownleysand @puptart! This is based on prompt 1, a picture of pancakes, and a tiny bit on prompt 3, Bitter and the Sweetness by The Ready Set.

I couldn’t decide on a tone for this fic so it’s kind of melancholy and also fluffy at the same time??? Writing stuff in 90 minutes is HARD!

Spoilers up to S2M44, probably set some time before the start of season 3. Gentle 5am. 

Summary: Sam, Five and Paula try and celebrate Shrove Tuesday, despite the circumstances and the fact that none of them are sure how to.

You wouldn’t know it, but the kitchens at Abel supposedly had a rota. There were clearly defined roles and times for cooking and dishwashing, splitting work fairly across the township. Janine had spent an entire afternoon colour-coding it. It was even pinned to the bulletin board.

Nobody adhered to it anymore, to her eternal annoyance.

It wasn’t for lack of trying to keep things together, but having to constantly scratch names off the list had got harrowing in recent weeks. Things got done, eventually, and it was easier to suit dietary requirements with most people cooking for themselves, meaning the kitchen was almost always free. Still, there was a strict system for taking items from the pantry. Supposedly on guard duty, Pat was slumped and sleeping on the stool outside the storehouse door as Five crept inside.

Last Shrove Tuesday, of course, things had been different.

Sara and Simon had been there for starters, keeping track of the calendar, her reminding him to give something up for Lent, him rolling his eyes and saying surely having to give up the entire world as we used to know it was enough of a sacrifice, ending with a puff of flour and annoyance as she shooed him out from under her feet. Last year, Janine had begrudgingly thrown her hands in the air and agreed that, as it was for religious and cultural purposes, she supposed the supply of eggs and flour and milk could be repurposed. Someone had found a semi crushed can of golden syrup, Sam had given over a curly wurly to be melted for the cause, and they’d made so many pancakes they’d gorged until they were stuffed. The kids had loved it, stickiness all over their faces and fingers. It was probably the first time most of them had ever been completely full.

Lent is supposed to be about repenting, you know, Sara had mock admonished a bloated Simon.

Repenting? It’s about eating your body weight! He’d patted his stomach, and belched. The kids giggled. The women had sighed.

This year, Five quickly grabs the ingredients and tucks them into their backpack, before belly crawling back through the pantry, shelves of tins and bags of potatoes pushing at the netting, threatening to spill onto their skull. It won’t even be missed, they tell their guilty conscience. It’s not like Tess. This is for a good cause.

Sam and Paula are waiting in the kitchen, him with bated breath. She just looks extremely tired, sitting in one of the sinks, staring out of the window every now and again. To be reunited, and so quickly left behind, has aged her. Living in a township where nobody trusts her can’t be easy, either, but Five saw the way she held Sara’s hand as she died. Sam knew how much Maxine adored her. And for both of them, that was enough for their friendship and gratitude.

“We never really did pancakes at home, you know,” Sam says cheerfully, measuring out some flour as Five breaks the eggs. “School were very big on it, though. I mean, in China there’s Spring Festival, which I suppose has similarities to Easter in a lot of ways… Five, Paula, have you ever had mooncake?”

Five shakes their head and shrugs. Paula doesn’t respond.

“Oh man, you’re missing OUT. Oh. I just remembered I’ll probably never have mooncake again. I mean, maybe we can figure out how to make it? I don’t really remember the ingredients, but…”

He chatters away as they stir the mixture and heat the stove (which for once, decides to work first time) and send Five on a dramatic quest to find a non-scratched frying pan. The first batter burns black to the pan when the two of them get distracted in conversation, Five’s hands swimming through the air at a pace only he can keep up with. The second falls on the floor in a valiant attempt to flip it.

“Sara made this look really easy, didn’t she.”

“She used to make them for her boys,” Five signs, and swallows. The fun of the afternoon suddenly sticks a little in their throat.

“Yeah. That’s why I wanted… I just wanted to keep today alive. For both of them, really.”

Paula stands, and wordlessly takes the pan, scraping out the mess and methodically starting again, turning the heat down. She makes three perfect circles, and Five slathers them with squandered butter.

“I didn’t think you did pancake day?”

“I don’t, but I can at least work a gas hob, unlike the two of you.” It’s the first time she’s cracked a bit of a smile since Maxine disappeared as she watches their delight biting into them. “You two just wait for Passover. Then you’ll know about cooking.” Then, remembering, looks at her hands again. “Except I can’t risk going near a knife.”

“Don’t worry, Five and I can be your sous chefs!”

“Yeah, that definitely won’t end badly,” Five rolls their eyes so hard even Paula gets the gist, and chuckles.

“What else do you do on Shrove Tuesday?” she asks.

“I’m pretty sure Phil was saying there’s a race?” Five scrawls in their notepad. “I have no idea whether that’s a real thing or a New Canton thing.”

Sam, running water for the dishes, turns and splashes them. “You also thought cheese rolling was just a New Canton thing.”

“I’m sorry that I don’t know your weird English town things!”

“Excuse me, cheese rolling is a legitimate event. Anyway, you could beat every single one of those New Canton runners in a straight up race, hands down.”

“I don’t know, Fifty-three is fast…”

“You’re faster. Hands. Down.”

Five grins up at him with a megawatt smile. He smiles back, reaching out to daub their nose with soap suds -

Pat’s crochety voice suddenly filters through the kitchen doorway. “Hey, did someone take something without signing for it?”

“Oh. So, this is where the running comes in.” Five grabs Sam’s arm, who grabs Paula’s, and the three of them burst out of the kitchen and charge towards the exit before the old man has time to turn and see them.

***

“Are you two,” Paula heaves for breath on the other side of the township. “Are you two always this childish? ”

Sam sputters as Five signs, “I prefer to call it young at heart?”

All she can think of is when her and Maxine were that way, rose tinted smiles, treating the world like it was still brand new despite everything and everyone being against them. I miss that.

Five sees her face, and signs slowly, mouthing the words to let her lipread. “We’ll get her back, Paula, wait and see. She needs to taste pancakes that good.”

“And in the meantime, you’re now officially in someone’s bad books for doing something pointlessly stupid.” Sam smiles. “Welcome to Abel.”

[anathemafiction]

Novel Winds

Commission made by the incredibly kind @areyntheheartseeker

A first date with The Pirate King.

5.2k words

"No, I said wine. I will not be serving my peach piss poor rum," he growls at the sailor, throwing the offending bottle in his general direction. 

His man catches it mid-air, thankfully. The last thing The Pirate needs is alcohol staining the planks of his ship's hull. At his dark glare, the man turns on his heel and scurries away. To fetch wine from the storage at the bottom, if he's sensible. 

To jump off-board if he's not, because then The Pirate will make sure to personally throw him over himself.

"How's the sea bass?" he asks the Quartermaster, glaring at a pair of disgraces setting the towel on the table all wrong. 

Quinn, his Quartermaster, turns careful eyes from the horizon, where the sun shines upon a peaceful sea to the buildings looming far too close to the ship. They're docked in a large Greek city, and even if the view is pleasant, there are far too many stones for the Pirate's taste. Still, a strong breeze picks up, filled with the scent of salt and seaweeds and The Pirate takes a moment to inhale deeply. 

The air swirls freely inside his lungs and he closes his eyes as he slowly exhales. Feeling the tension uncurl. 

He's nervous. He doesn't like it, doesn't like the weight on the pit of his stomach, the agitated clench of his fist. He doesn't like to feel like a bare-faced youth that has yet to taste his first kiss, but as good as a liar The Pirate is, he never did lie to himself. 

So he's nervous. Apprehensive. And it's as maddening as it is frustrating. 

Spirits, get yourself together. What kind of man do you think she wants?

"The cook is preparing it as we speak," Quinn's voice pulls him to the present. The Pirate opens his eyes and nods sharply. 

"Perfect," he says. "Let her know I want it ready-"

"By sundown, Captain, yes," Quinn interrupts, and if The Pirate didn't know better, he'd say there's a hint of a smile on the man's lips. He narrows his dark eyes, but before he can say anything, Quinn continues. "All will be ready, don't worry."

Don't worry. As if he couldn't. His peach had said yes, you'd accepted his invitation for dinner and The Pirate needs to make sure it goes as smoothly as a paper boat in a shallow pond. 

Everything is still so new. So novel between you two. Just recently he was able to find what those lovely lips of yours tasted like. Lips that have haunted his dreams for far longer than he'd like to admit. But he still loses himself in the steely grey of your eyes, always so calm, always hiding what thoughts lie beneath. And if your face is akin to gold, it's as equally hard to read. 

His hand curls tightly as his jaw hardens. Stump finger digging into his palm. No. He has to worry. Has to make sure all goes well. Because once a pirate gets his treasure, he's not in the habit of letting it slip away. 

"Just get it done," he gruffs and stalks forward. A group of his men prepares the setting by the steering wheel, where you should be able to watch the night sky. He faintly hopes the eve will be as clear as the day. Your eyes deserve a feast equal to the one he'll get when he sees you. 

The Pirate allows his steps to ease, swagger in place as he stalks the prowl of his ship, king of his castle. The sun shines high, and even if the ugly city is much too near, the ocean still dominates the view. His lips pull to a cocky smirk. He has this. He has wined and dined with a dozen women before, after all. So far he has heard no complaints. 

But she's not like the others, an annoying voice whispers from the back of his head. And you're an idiot if you think she's simply one of many. 

His smirk slowly dies. Spirits. Here are the nerves again. A hand falls to the pommel of one of his axes, and his scowl turns dark while he searches for his next victim. Better angry than shaking pathetically in his boots. 

How do you have the power to render him so? He'd say you got him on his knees if it didn't make him lose all the remaining respect he has for himself. 

"With a scowl like that, you'll woo her alright!" a laugh from his side has The Pirate turning to see Lia approaching. His second has a wide grin on her tanned face and a mocking glint in her eyes that he would tolerate on no one else.

But because it's her, he smirks back. "I am devastatingly handsome," he says, spreading his arms wide. "No matter what face I pull, my friend."

She cackles, a rough sound, as she comes to stand by his side. Sharp eyes examining the procedures. Finally, her lips twitch. "You ain't sparing any expense," she notes. 

The Pirate's smirk tears his face in half. "For my treasure? Never."

She shakes her head, short hair bouncing with the movement. "Just don't go too far and scare the land dweller away," she sighs, crossing her arms. "I actually like that one. Has a good head on her shoulders."

The Pirate turns serious. "I won't," he says, voice barely audible but strong. Final. Black eyes hold hers, and she stares before nodding. 

The Pirate claps her shoulder, throwing her a wink for good measure. "Watch over them for me, Lia," he says, turning to go. 

From behind, a loud scoff. "When do I not?" Lia shouts, and he smirks all the way to the recess of his cabin. 

The inside is blissfully quiet, shaded and cool. The Pirate sighs, and lets his body unwind for the first time in hours. He brings a hand to his forehead, fingers massaging the temples. 

And wonders where you are. If you are feeling as he is. His lips pull to a small, sincere smile. One he means to save just for you. Nerves or not, one thing is for sure: he cannot wait to see you. 

With the thought in place, he lifts his chin with newfound confidence and crosses the room in long strides to his closet. Opening it wide with a dramatic flair, the Pirate puts his hands on his hips as his black eyes slowly inspect the multitude of clothes he owns. 

Now the most important part. The most pressing question. 

What color of shirt does his peach like best?

- - - 

The harbor's cobblestones had been slightly damp, their perpetual state being so near the sea, but the planks to the docks are almost impossible to walk on. You steady yourself for the third time, heart doing somersaults in your chest, as the heel of your new shoes goes flying ahead. 

You manage to keep balance, face impassive to your struggles, even as you regret wearing them. They had been an impulsive buy, something so rare for you to indulge on, but when the merchant presented their delicate built, you found yourself reaching for your coin purse. 

The same happened with the dress you don. Simple but flowing. Hugging your waist and accentuating the long lines of your legs. It's been so long since you've worn one, you feel odd in it. As if your limbs don't quite fit as they should, and your head is too big for your neck. But you walk with your chin held high and your shoulders proud, and the steel in your eyes catches the last light of a setting sun. Making the grey flash. 

The sun burns a bright orange to your right, coating the harbor in its hues, making the clouds seem like tears in the evening sky. A half-moon strives to take the sun's throne, and beyond, stretching for as long as the naked eye can see, the ocean glints with a thousand lights. 

You take it all in, breathing deeply to steady yourself, but even in your rigid self-control, you couldn't keep your eyes away from the massive ship that looms in the furthermost dock. You don't even attempt to. That's where you're headed, after all. 

Your hand curls as you keep walking, a light fluttering beating against the walls of your stomach. His ship. A small smile tugs on your lips.

Your Pirate. 

The thought makes you blush, but you don't have time to indulge in it because you as round a heavy crate, by the end of a long walkway constantly hit by the water below, there he stands. 

Your steps falter for only a heartbeat. 

The Pirate is turned sideways to you, his tall frame outlined against the bulk of his very ship. Long, silky hair is tied in a low knot and a deep red shirt barely covers the tanned lines of his chest. Familiar black pants and leather boots, but the belt his axes hang from is one you've never seen before. 

Thick and wide, black leather polished. Massive strap made of solid gold.

He looks dashing, even as he scowls heavily at the unfortunate man he speaks to. You cock your head, watching the other cower and you fight to keep the smile off your face as you see The Pirate's glare turn sour. 

Always so quick to temper. 

The heels of your new, pretty shoes click after every step you take, the sound a steady companion that aids you in gathering your courage. You're closer when his voice reaches your ears. "... deal with the Harbormaster," The Pirate is saying, and you recognize the tone instantly. Low and gravely. He's in the middle of an argument. 

The mustached man opens his eyes wide. "Y-yes but due to new circumstances, she was forced to raise-"

"What circumstances?" The Pirate growls. 

You take another step and can see the rings and circlets that adorn his fingers and fill his arms. Almost as much as the scars and cuts that cover the skin. "The guards asked about your ship, Sir," the man squeaks, trying to hide behind a wooden slat. "So the Harbormaster requires extra-"

You take a final step, and two dark eyes, pitch black in the light of a dying day, snap to look at you. 

You stop as The Pirate's mouth hangs open... and then bursts in a wide, brilliant smile. "Peach," he says, the nickname he uses only for you leaving his lips like a sigh. His eyes track you up and down, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep your gaze steady on him. 

The Pirate turns away from the dock worker without sparing him another glance, eyes entirely on you as he walks closer. His steps bouncy and cocky, his hands falling to his belt. And when he's right in front of you, the smile he gifts you is as sharp and as dangerous as the edge of his axes. 

"I've roamed uncountable seas," he says, reaching a hand for you to take. You hesitate only slightly before slipping your hand in his palm. His fingers close around yours delicately, the rough skin warm and enveloping. "Seen treasures and plunder, sights and spectacles most men can only dream of."

The Pirate bends next in a half bow that takes him to eye level with you. "I have seen so much beauty, Kai," he's whispering now, a low rumble that hangs between the two of you. His eyes hold yours captive, and for a moment, a brief tear in time, the world belongs to just the two of you. "But none compares to the one I witness right before me."

He turns your hand in his and kisses your wrist, right in your pulse point. You feel your heartbeat spike, skin tingling where his lips had touched. "You are a balm for sore eyes and weary souls, Hakuho. Thank you for coming."

He straightens up to his full height, forcing you to tilt your chin back, but keeps close. Your hand is still in his, and the smirk that tears his lips is the cheekiest you've ever seen. 

But his eyes are soft, and the thumb that caresses your skin couldn't be gentler. "If I ever wonder how a peacock would speak," you tell him in a flat tone. "I need only listen to you."

You can't keep from smiling as he gives a sharp laugh.

(…)

Here is a sneak peek!  The full commission is available on Ko-fi for supporters!

The Comission

Thank you so much for making the request, Areyn  ♡♡♡

[allie1804-fan]

New Beginnings (Chapter 9)

1  2 3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12

New Beginnings Baby Drabble

New Beginnings Baby Drabble No2

Warnings: Angst, mentions of babyloss and some smut

Credit to @ficsnroses for the idea of talking to the baby in the way Keanu does here!

Sharing the news with their friends and family was both wonderful and strange. Their hesitation to assume everything would be OK made them temper the excitement about the news and those receiving it were sworn to secrecy.  But it was still joyous and Emily thoroughly enjoyed telling Chloe.  

She had gone to Chloe’s house as it was still pretty tough for Chloe to make it out of the house with a 4 year old and a baby who wasn’t yet 6 month old. Jamie was playing quietly with some toy cars and they were sitting watching him while Rosie was snuggled in Emily’s arms.

“so I have some news” Emily announced  “but first you have to promise me two things.”

“Anything, what?”

 “First you have to swear not to tell a soul and second, you have to remain calm.  I don’t want you to freak out Jamie and Rosie?”

 “He’s asked you to marry him hasn’t he?” Chloe squeaked

 “no,  actually no”

 “Oh sorry, so what then?”

Emily handed Chloe her phone and told her to go to the gallery where she’d saved a copy of the latest scan photo”

Chloe’s hand clamped over her mouth as she fought to contain her reaction.

“OMG” she whispered when she finally managed to breath a little easier.

“When, how, Oh my god”

Tears were running down both of their faces now,

“In Italy, I was on the pill but I got a stomach bug and it interfered with it. We found out when I went to get a coil fitted but they said we couldn’t because I was pregnant!”

“How far along are you? Is everything OK, you know after ….”

“Almost 10 weeks. And yes it’s  in the womb not my tube this time and so far so good but I’m still terrified if I’m honest”

“And Keanu, how’s he?”

“Same, happy and terrified!”

She filled her in on all the details and left a couple of hours later feeling so much better to have someone other than Keanu who knew.

Another 2 weeks passed with the scans at 10 and 11 weeks also showing the baby growing on schedule and with a healthy heartbeat. There was still no sign of the news escaping to the public and they felt grateful to have escaped so far. Emily sent smiley emojis and thumbs ups to Chloe after each scan.

Emily also had her first midwife appointment where she found out that the standard schedule would be an appointment or scan roughly every 3 weeks. She didn’t think she could cope without some kind of weekly check in until she could feel the baby moving so the midwife agreed to still see her weekly until the 20 weeks scan for a quick check in on the heartbeat.  

Emily took the chance to ask if it was safe now to have sex - they had been holding off anything penetrative and while Keanu was more than willing to pleasure her in other ways, she hadn’t even felt comfortable with having an orgasm herself so they’d just been coping with Keanu masturbating or her giving him a blow job for now. The midwife understood her worries but reassured her it would be perfectly fine for now to have penetrative sex and orgasms as long as she felt ready.

Their next appointment would be when they carried out the 12 week scan and a nuchal fold measurement to assess the risks of Down’s Syndrome. Emily went home armed with information about the risks and options to discuss with Keanu.

As Emily drove home after the appointment she reflected on how this conversation might go – she had some instinct but she didn’t really know. Would he want to  have the amnio if there was a slightly elevated risk. If they were having a Down’s child, would he want to abort? They’d never had cause to discuss their views specifically.  Thankfully the conversation had been swift and conflict free. They both thought they would want to know and do an amnio if her risk was above average but neither would consider aborting a Down’s child. If there was something else seriously wrong that would mean the child had little chance of surviving or an extremely severe condition, then they might reconsider but overall they wanted this child come what may. As it turned out the following week the scan showed she was at low risk especially given she was now 38. Crossing the 12 week point was a huge milestone, easing their terror to medium levels

“what are we on now?” Keanu joked, “is it like defcon 3 now down from a 2?”

“I’d say so since you just put a scan pic in your wallet and on your phone!”

“Do you want to go out for dinner? You know the counselling  said it would do us good to allow ourselves to celebrate”

They agreed on their favourite Italian, Madeo  where they knew the menu well and Emily figured she’d be able to choose safe options without having to ask obvious questions about ingredients. Whilst her stomach was thickening and becoming firmer,  she could still make leggings,  long boots and a fancy loose top work and a shawl thrown over would help to distract attention from the tiny bump.

They hadn’t eaten out together for 2 months so it was a treat to do something fun and ‘normal’

“you’re starting to glow did you know that” Keanu commented as they sat having their coffee and tea after dinner.

She smiled seductively

“you old smoothie, fancy taking a girl home and showing her a good time?”

“you sure?”

She nodded and giggled as Keanu hurriedly gulped down his coffee and beckoned the waiter to pay the check.

As the drove back to their home in the hills, it was with great anticipation that they each contemplated resuming this part of their relationship that had so recently been a part of daily life. Keanu’s hand rested on her thigh squeezing gently and rhythmically. Once home they wasted no time, going straight to their bedroom where he took her in his arms  and kissed her with a mix of such passion yet also gentleness, it took her breath away.

With some of their clothes already littered on the floor, Keanu urged her to sit on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of her to unzip her knee high boots, easing them off and running his hands up her thighs.

 He leaned in to kiss her belly whispering against it.

“maybe you should go to sleep little one coz Daddy’s gonna make mummy scream and move around quite a bit soon but don’t worry you’ll be safe inside your cocoon”

Emily giggled

“promises promises”

“Oh, you don’t think I can make you scream any more?”

“I’m happy for you to come and prove me wrong” she joked.

Keanu growled making short work of slipping his hands under her bottom to grasp the waistband of her leggings and pull them off in one go along with her panties. He gave her a hot look and sank his face between her legs, moaning as he tasted her for the first time in 6 weeks.  He pressed the flat of his tongue over her entrance then began a sensuous onslaught on her clit, mixing rapid flicks, gentle sucking and slow rotations of his tongue around the rapidly stiffening nub of nerves.

He soon has her quivering underneath him and she felt the tingling increase, the sensation like a spring coiling up inside, ready to snap. She gently rocked her hips up, pressing her pussy rhythmically into his face and he slipped one finger gently inside, curling it up and softly rubbing over the rough patch of skin. Her orgasm hit her at last,  her screams filling the room, music to his ears. Afterwards, she lay back panting, red in the face, eyes closed, a smile on her face as she whispered

“Ok you win” 

Keanu wasted no time crawling up onto the bed beside her, kissing her forehead 

“you OK?”

“mmmm I so needed that” she breathed. “Your turn now”

 She urged him onto his back and climbed on top of him, pressing her pussy against his rock hard cock making him wince.

Sensing his need was urgent she wasted no time and lifted up to line herself up with him sinking slowly down on his thick  member. They both groaned loudly – him at the heat that surrounded him and her at the girth filling and stretching her.

“You OK” he asked, a worried expression on his face momentarily.

She nodded starting to move up and down and he  let his head fall back on the pillow, relishing the  sensations in his cock and groin.

His hands ran up and down her arms sending shivers through her and he played gently with her tender nipples, relishing the more rounded shape of her breasts.

She lent back a little , allowing his cock to press right up against her g spot causing her to groan and press down on his chest to aid a more rapid pace.

His eyes squeezed shut as he felt the wild rush  of orgasm start and  he gripped hard on her hips as he thrust up dragging her 2nd orgasm out of her and reaching his own.

She fell down against his heaving chest, out of breath and quivering, placing soft kisses on his nipples, neck and mouth.

“I missed you”

“Me too, hope we didn’t disturb little one” he grinned

“I think they’re just fine” and for the first time, she realised that she really believed that.

1  2 3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12

New Beginnings Baby Drabble

New Beginnings Baby Drabble No2