#forget the arm plate i personally like to think he pulls his guts out like this ty for ur understanding

[mo-ok]

dia jack + wire guts

[son1c]

this part brought to u by defunctland

falling stars fic masterpost

Shadow didn't know how to feel about being compared to a dead guy. Especially when that dead guy was being remembered as a hero. "No one is mourning me," Shadow said. "I'm not dead."

"I know that," Sonic said. "And you know that. But what about everyone else?"

Shadow stared up at the bulletin board, at the blurry face of the hero. A strange feeling was curling in his gut. "We weren't born in that crater," he said. "Something led us there. Who we were before… what we left behind… it remains to be seen."

The feeling wasn't good, Shadow realized suddenly. It tasted bitter on his tongue. Melancholic.

Sonic looked over at him and frowned. The dark expression on Shadow's face made him reach out and set his hand on his shoulder. "Don't get too hung up on it," Sonic told him. "I'm with you 'til we figure it out."

Finally, Shadow turned away from the bulletin board. Its glow cast half of his face in darkness. "You don't seem all that concerned," Shadow observed.

"Should I be?" Sonic asked. He offered Shadow a small shrug. "Personally, I think my plate's already full."

It's not that the motobug's assistance had caused Shadow to forget about Sonic's broken leg. He remembered it. He just hadn't realized how much it was still bothering him. The injury took away a lot of the blue hedgehog's freedom--if Shadow was in his position, he would probably feel similarly occupied by its existence.

"I understand," Shadow said. Then, he paused. He thought about how Sonic had been looking out for him, even with his broken leg. Kicking G.U.N. soldiers in the face and sacrificing his own sleep just to make sure nothing could get to them in the dead of night. The pain he had endured for their sake was a testament to his willpower, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by Shadow.

In that moment, Shadow's expression lost its darker edge. "I will support you, as well," he said.

Sonic smiled. It was small, but sincere. And it quickly grew into a three-thousand watt grin when he clapped Shadow on the back, saying, "Alright! How 'bout we swing by the park next? That's where one of those 'extra events' was supposed to be, anyway."

Shadow was about to respond, but was stopped prematurely by the bulletin board behind him suddenly flashing red. He turned back around to face it, and saw that the hero's face had disappeared, only to be replaced by a warning message.

There were signs of an infestation at the festival. All celebrations would be put on hold until the invaders could be exterminated.

The message was posted by G.U.N.

"Forget pest control," Sonic said, sounding irritated, "someone brought feds to the festival!"

Shadow caught sight of someone behind Sonic. The dark shape shifted, half-concealed by a parked car on the other side of the street. Then, the moonlight glinted off the tip of something metallic, and Shadow quickly grabbed Sonic's arm. He was going to pull him off the motobug and to the ground, but there wasn't time, he could already hear the barrel of what must have been a gun going off, and see the silver streak of a bullet tearing towards them.

They needed to move. They needed to be somewhere else, somewhere like--

The air crackled. Instantly, the two hedgehogs and their motobug companion vanished. The shot struck the bulletin board they had been standing in front of less than a second later, shattering the glass and sending volts of electricity coursing through the damaged screen. It promptly short circuited and flickered out, going dark.

Then, Shadow, Sonic, and the motobug reappeared in a flash of light at the park.

Shadow blinked. Sonic blinked. Even the motobug's eyes briefly pulsed, the surge of energy from Shadow's teleportation stunt running through it like a charge.

Shadow let go of Sonic's arm, his hand shaking slightly. The sudden output of Chaos Energy threatened to overwhelm him, but he forced down the bile rising in his throat, because he knew that they weren't safe yet. They had to run. Run away from the gunman, and the situation that was so horribly familiar to him.

The grim sense of deja vu held his heart in a vice, and the echoes in his mind grew louder, and louder, and louder. The jaunty music from the festival sounded like an alarm, ringing in his ears.

What he had said earlier was true; he wasn't dead. He wasn't dead, but… someone was. He just didn't know who.

Sonic's voice cut through Shadow's thoughts. "Party's over, Stripes," he said urgently. "It's time to go!"

The motobug beeped in agreement.

Shadow struggled to focus on them. He could hear the sounds of boots on pavement in the not-so-far-off distance. His eyes scanned the park, looking for a way out. All of the festival goers had disappeared, leaving only the decorations to fill the space in between the fountains and trees. That was when he saw it--the wooden stars adorning the entrance to the queue for a roller coaster on the other side of the park.

The roller roaster stretched far beyond the park, its tracks reaching up into the clouds and winding through the many skyscrapers of Starlight City.

Wordlessly, Shadow grabbed Sonic's arm again. Crossing the park would be too dangerous with gunmen crawling around like roaches, their bullets so much faster than them. He had to call upon that strange power again. He thought about the roller coaster cars. He thought about their glittery yellow paint, their wide leather seats.

And then he was there.

The motobug's eyes pulsed again, its circuits briefly filled with Chaos Energy, its artificial brain jarred.

Sonic handled the sudden shift in his surroundings a little better. He slid off the motobug's back and onto the seat of the roller coaster car. Then, he grabbed a purse that someone had dropped in their rush to heed G.U.N.'s warning and threw it at the control panel near the coaster's loading dock. It hit the big green button in the middle, and the roller coaster lurched to life.

When the coaster began to climb the lift hill, Sonic held the motobug in place on the floor of the car with his good leg. Then, he turned his attention towards Shadow. The dark hedgehog was still clutching his arm, and it was clear from the way he clenched his jaw--so tightly it was a wonder his teeth didn't crack--that something more than just the threat of being shot at was going through his mind right now.

"Phew! That was some light show," Sonic said. He was talking fast. "It sure came in handy. Hey--you got us out of there, y'know? Take a breath, man. It's no good if you start turnin' blue on me."

The higher the coaster climbed, the more distant the noise from the festival became. It wasn't long before Shadow couldn't hear the music or the boots or the alarms at all anymore. He could only hear Sonic's voice. Slowly, he loosened his grip around the blue hedgehog's arm. He took a breath.

"Apologies," Shadow said quietly. "I suppose not all memories will be pleasant."

Sonic was curious. "You remembered something?"

Shadow curled his hands around the car's guard rail. "I remembered... being afraid."

The nose of the roller coaster dipped down over the top of the lift hill. Gravity quickly took over, pulling the cars towards the ground, rocketing the coaster over the tracks at top speed. The ride continued through the city for awhile, spinning around tall buildings and staying mercifully far away from the ground, where the two hedgehogs could see the tiny figures of soldiers combing the streets.

Shadow looked back over his shoulder at Sonic. He was still ignoring rider safety by standing up in the car. "Once the coaster reaches its highest point, it will begin its descent back to the station. We will need to make our exit then."

"You mean, jump?" Sonic asked, acutely aware of how terribly his last fall had ended up for him. He masked his nerves with enthusiasm. "I'm game. Let's give these military guys the slip for good!"

Unfortunately, G.U.N. chose that moment to cut the power. One by one, the lights on the ground went dark, until the entire city was pitch black. The lack of power caused the roller coaster's emergency brakes to activate, and the cars shuddered to a stop after a few blasts from the compressed air.

The motobug's glowing eyes stood out in the dark. But they weren't blue anymore--now, they were flashing red.

Sonic lifted the motobug onto the hood of the roller coaster car. Then, he climbed up onto its back and turned to Shadow. "Change of plans," he said, "we're ditching these guys the old fashioned way--on foot!"

Shadow and the motobug hopped down onto the tracks with Sonic in tow. The edge of the city was within sight, the highest point of the tracks just two swells and a curve around an office building away.

They started towards it immediately, mindful of the tracks' smooth metal surface. Sonic grabbed the motobug's antennas and bent forward like he was riding a motorcycle, leaning left and right as the motobug turned with the path of the tracks so he could keep his extra weight from throwing it off balance.

After clearing the two swells, Shadow faltered. Harnessing the power of Chaos Energy two times in a row was messing with his head, making it hard to see straight. He missed the centering of his next step by an inch, and his foot slipped on the smooth track. It looked like he was going to tumble off and fall to the ground far below.

That was, until Sonic snatched him, and pulled him onto the back of the motobug with him. "No time to pump the brakes," Sonic told him. "Just hold on tight! We'll make it!"

Shadow wrapped his arms around Sonic's waist and gritted his teeth against the pain building behind his eyes. He had to keep it together until they were out of the city. He couldn't let his body shut down on him like last time.

When the motobug began to ascend the final hill, the tracks started to rumble. Then, a spotlight suddenly flared to life on the ground, illuminating the sky before the soldiers manning it turned it towards the two hedgehogs and their robot companion. It shined in Sonic and Shadow's eyes, forcing them to squint against the bright white light.

Behind them, G.U.N. soldiers were in pursuit on the tracks. They were closing in.

But they were too slow. Sonic, Shadow, and the motobug had finally reached the very top of the track at the edge of the city. Shadow took a deep breath, preparing to warp them all to the ground, as far away from the city as he could, despite the toll it would inevitably take on him.

"DISTRESS SIGNAL LOCATED. SOURCE: PUNY FODDER MODEL."

A large black and red robot dropped down onto the tracks next to Sonic and Shadow. Its weight made the supports creak.

With its shiny red eyes, the large robot looked down at the two hedgehogs. It stared intently at Shadow.

"LOCAL CHAOS ANOMALY ALSO LOCATED," the robot said, its mechanical voice booming. "NEW OBJECTIVE: DEFEND TINY MEATBAGS FROM IMMINENT THREAT. WITH FIRE."

[capondi]

I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about Lonny and mornings for me ☺️ my laptop is going through some stuff right now, so I had to write this on paper like a Neanderthal and transcribe it on my phone.

Lonny Crane x gn!reader for @lonnson

————————————

You slipped his bracelet on in an impulsive urge to be a little brat. He brought that out in you, even when you rose way earlier than your internal clock wanted to, just to make him breakfast.

So you stole the simple circlet of beads from his bedside table, only able to tear your eyes away from the way his dark hair fanned out against the pillow because you had a more important mission than kissing him awake.

Eggs, bacon, toast. An array of fruits (or whatever you had available) to make it passably healthy. And colorful.

The sun was just casting an orange slant of light across the kitchen as you stirred the eggs. You liked the way his bracelet rolled over your skin. Too big, but it caught on the breadth of your palm, and it was a part of him and you loved it in ways you couldn’t describe.

The bacon was popping in the oven and the air smelled like butter, so you really couldn’t be surprised that he woke up. His awkward, half-dead shuffling alerted you to him long before he emerged from the hall, rubbing his eyes.

“Rise and shine, gorgeous,” you say, switching off the stove and spooning the eggs onto a plate.

“Hmmmrgh.”

Lonny was not a morning person. However, after years of working jobs that required it, his body put himself through the agonies of waking early anyway. Food helped. Hence the breakfast.

A quick check to make sure the bacon wasn’t burning, and then you were on to him, wanting your morning kisses, bad breath and all. But he stilled in a way that was unnatural to him, his eyes not on your face, but down… You followed his gaze to your wrist, to where the bracelet hung. Suddenly, you didn’t know what to say. Something in the way he looked threw all the fantasies of the morning to the wind and you didn’t know why, until—

“Bud made that for me.”

And if it was like a punch to the gut for you, than what must he feel? You knew about the Belko experiment. What had happened to Bud had taken longer for Lonny to explain. You would never forget how he had crumpled, how he had sagged in your arms, when he accepted that you didn’t think he was a murderer— a monster. It wasn’t your place to offer forgiveness, but damn did you try, and you promised yourself that you would be there to soothe away every tear, every drop of self-hate and guilt.

He hardly talked about Bud, and you, sensitive to his feelings, never brought him up. But you had donned the gift of a dead man, and now you thought of how Lonny wore it always, how his fingers trailed to it in bad moments, and you never thought to ask—

You’re startled by how quickly he moves, his hand finding your wrist before you even realize you were reaching to take it off. Your fingers and Lonny’s entangle over the beads, his own cinching the jewelry around your skin. He pulls you in, his other arm wrapping around your back. When you blink you feel tears spill over that you never knew were there.

Lonny presses his mouth to the crown of your head in what you think is a kiss, before mumbling, soft and warm:

“He would have loved you.”

[isagisyoichi]

how do u think the boy would be in a party😈😈

NEW RULES!

SYNOPSIS: blue lock at a party

CHARACTERS INCLUDED: isagi, bachira, nagi, reo, rin, chigiri, naruhaya, niko, nanase, gagamaru, kunigami

WARNINGS: mentions of underage drinking and weed (but no one actually takes anything), swearing, mentions of throwing up and food, again pretend they're all friends and go to the same school because it's more fun to think that way. ooc rin maybe? idk i like pretending he's not as miserable as the manga makes him out to be 🤗 he deserves to have fun i think

A/N: no cause this was soooo fun to write tysm anon, i got through this in a flash cause i loved this suggestion sm :') literally one of the most fun requests i've ever gotten eeee!!!!! also this made me miss my irls bye corona can suck my balls fr

ISAGI YOICHI:

i feel like this would be his first big party aw lol, so he’s kind of nervous LMAO.

gets handed a beer by someone, has his first sip of it ever, and immediately spits it out. mutters “how the hell can anyone drink this?” and “discreetly” pours the rest into a bush.

mainly stays with nagi, chigiri, kunigami, and bachira and they just talk throughout the night

(bachira only sits down and talks after his energy dies down. i'll elaborate on this below the cut).

keeps asking nagi “what song is this?” throughout the night LOL. makes a mental note of what songs to add to his playlists.

slightly nods his head to the music, aw cute. goes a little harder and lip syncs/raps along when he really likes the song, though (i stand by my word when i said he loves “neon guts”)

does accidentally bump into someone, but isagi starts a convo with them after he apologizes, and they hit it off right away 🥰

but, the person left early and isagi, ever the dummy, forgets to ask for their number.

and he's actually so disappointed in himself when he realizes, too 😭

BACHIRA MEGURU:

not drunk or anything at all, but boy, the way he’s acting makes it seem like he is.

the self proclaimed “life of the party.”

can be found “dancing,” though i use that word generously because to classify whatever he’s doing as “dancing,” is a stretch, to every song, even if he doesn’t know the words LOL

really likes when throwbacks come on!!!! he does dance to the lyrics and not the beat sometimes, though 😭

but, bachira looks like he’s having so much fun, it’s so cute, he’s definitely been waiting for this moment his whole life 🥰

if you were dancing with him, bachira would 100% take you by the hand and spin you around

also forces gets isagi to dance with him but isagi’s so awkward 😭

bachira also ends up jumping in the pool sometime later that night. yells “cannonball!” and everything, like, okay michael phelps 😭

he doesn’t have extra clothes so reo has to give him some and they're so fucking big on him LOLLL

texts the groupchat “i was sooo crazy last night😂” in the morning LMAOO, okay babe calm down

KUNIGAMI RENSUKE:

takes it upon himself to make sure none of his friends die LOL

only drinks water and diet coke 👍

his mom calls in the middle of the party to ask how he's doing and bachira and nagi are doing stupid shit like yelling “pass the weed” and fake moaning 😭

isagi and chigiri tell him to tell her they say hi LOL

really likes when the dj puts on 90s/2000's r&b/hiphop songs (i'll die by my hc that kunigami's an oldies fan)

mostly sways side to side to the music, but he did also dance a little, per request of bachira, and ended up talking to a cute person a for little, too 🤗

offers to help clean up in the morning

CHIGIRI HYOUMA:

at least two drunk girls have mistaken him for their friend, and another four have asked to touch his hair.

tried to use one of reo’s many bathrooms, found a couple making out, outwardly said “gross,” and then left to find another one 😭

nods his head and taps his foot to the music, not much of a dancer.

also a people-watcher, and he points out things he sees are happening to his friends.

“guys, i think misa and her boyfriend are breaking up, look.” leave that poor girl alone bro 😭

finds himself laughing a lot that night because damn! his friends are funny, whether they try to be or not.

not really a party person, but chigiri actually had a lot of fun 🥰

NARUHAYA ASAHI:

also on the dancefloor! doesn’t really dance, per say, but he jumps up and down and does the fist pump thing 😭 he has the spirit, let's give him that.

drank a lot of soda, so he’s filled with energy. also pees in at least three of reo's bathrooms.

talks to his friends, but also makes new ones! also i feel like he takes a lot of pictures LOL. he needs the finsta content 😭

plays truth or dare, or something like that. ends up having to do some stupid shit like smack raichi’s ass and run away, but naruhaya did make out with the girl next to him, so fair trade, he thinks.

also ends up in the pool, but he’s playing chicken with gagamaru and some other people. does not win a single round, but he had fun 😇

leaves with like four plates of food and one of reo’s decorative towels for some reason???

GAGAMARU GIN:

goes through a bunch of reo's shit 😭 he's not taking anything, but he's just curious LOL

strikes up very, random conversations with a bunch of people out of nowhere, good for him!

weirdly good at darts, very good aim.

although one round, naruhaya accidentally distracted gagamaru and one of darts ended up in reo's wall 💔

“it's fine, he has the money to fix it,” naruhaya shrugs as he walks away from reo's now punctured, wall. so true bestie!

gagamaru somehow ends up giving some drunk stranger some “life-changing” advice. (whether it's good or not is debatable)

they thank gagamaru for changing their life and he never sees them again

NAGI SEISHIRO:

irritates the fuck out the dj because nagi keeps asking him to play one specific song over and over again.

it was good the first time, don't wear it out for the rest of us bae 😭

doesn't really dance, just nods his head, maybe raps along a little, too

when he talks to the girls that come up to him, nagi says stuff like “yeah, the host and i go way back, we’re best friends.”

“way back,” my ass, but whatever nagi 🤨

knocks out in one of reo’s guest rooms. someone finds him when they’re trying to look for the bathroom and they draw a mustache and a bunch of other stupid shit on him 😭

tries to leave before reo makes him help clean up in the morning. does not work 👍

dumbass also ended up losing his phone (reo bought him a new one so nagi doesn't really care)

RAICHI JINGO:

gasses himself up sooo much when he’s trying to hit on girls.

“yeah, i'm about to go D1 after high school, just wait on it,” yeah, okay raichi 🙄

also tries to show them his highlights, bye. babe, i mean this in the nicest possible way but, i do not care, can we just kiss 🙏

i feel like he’s one of those boys who likes to take his shirt off for no reason, so raichi most definitely ends up shirtless at some point of the night 😭

takes pictures with reo’s fancy cars in his garage to flex 💀 gets annoyed when reo says raichi can’t drive them. raichi doesn't even have his license 😑

plays pool and is actually not that bad. does almost accidentally blind isagi with his cue, though.

IMAMURA YUUDAI:

he's with some girls but, he’s a dummy and he didn’t know his other hoes would be there, so imamura had quite a few drinks spilled on him here and there.

still somehow leaves with like three new girls snaps, four numbers, and a bunch of lipstick stains. not even gonna lie, i respect his game.

actually a really good dancer, and he knows he looks good, too. knows the words to every drake song that comes on, argue with your mom.

lip-syncs the words to you when you dance together and it makes you more flustered than you would think 🙄

the type to pull you close and wraps his arms around your waist or around your neck

actually really fun to talk to. always in the loop with drama and stuff, so he's always got some interesting conversation topics. and he's funny 😭

MIKAGE REO:

obviously, the party’s at his house. what’s the point of having a rich teammate if you can’t exploit them for their possessions?

jokes, but reo did offer to throw it at his mansion house in the first place.

actually really likes throwing parties lmao, so he jumped at the opportunity.

posted on his snap, “party at my place su for address‼️” LOL

natural charm + raised with good manners = reo being an amazing host

but, reo does have a little group of girls following him around the entire night 👎

and it irritates the hell out of whoever reo’s trying to talk to because they’re all up on him, making it hard for reo to pay attention 😑

also doesn’t help that he entertains them and flirts back and dances with a couple of them, too

and looks good when he dances, too UGH!!!! he's the type to run his hands up and down your body while he dances with you 😣

i hate this man 👎 /j

ITOSHI RIN:

practicing. he didn’t come. sike! rin has a social life, too, come on now, y'all 🙄

talked a big game about how he wouldn’t show up then he still came anyways, like rin, what 😭??

super good at cup pong and he knows it. he keeps beating ryusei and if you look closely, rin has something reminiscent of a smirk on his face.

a foot-tapper, not a dancer, which sucks because he’s not even bad at dancing, either 👎

a couple of girls come up to rin to flirt, but rin doesn’t give them the time of day. no response or anything just a little side eye 😭

rin just talks to his friends and that’s it, really.

actually internally glad for the chance to kickback and relax for once, tbh.

but, he refuses to admit he had any semblance of fun. (he did, rin’s just a weenie 😒)

NIKO IKKI:

the team forced him to come 😭

niko’s already a homebody and he doesn’t like loud noises or large social scenes, so he wasn’t too jazzed about going somewhere where the both of those things combine.

also he's picky with music so LOL. does like that one remix to the pursuit of happiness, though

he’s a wall-stander, i hate to break it to y’all. just watched everything from a distance and didn't talk to anyone except for isagi and his friends.

bye, if you don’t get off the damn wall and dance (he'd dance with me i'm different 🥰🤗)

keeps opening and closing his phone so he looks busy but that mf is literally just going through the settings app 😭

called his mom to bring him home an hour and a half in 👎

NANASE NIJIROU:

i hate to admit it, but he’s the annoying first year that documents everything on snap bye

he’s just excited to be there but like, there is no reason for his story to be half an hour long.

i'm not watching all of that! sorry that happened to you or good for you 🤗

probably playing games like spin the bottle or seven minutes in heaven. is very proud of himself for kissing four people in one night #bigmoves 🥳

stays with his group of friends and they're sooo loud and rowdy LMAOO. #firstyearthings

you can literally hear them laughing over the music, but they're having fun, so it's fine (at least of those kids hits people when they laugh too)

also dances, too! has super good energy and a natural sense of rhythm surprisingly 🥰 also a good hypeman!!!!! honestly, he's just really fun to be around tbh

overall, has a lot of fun, as you can tell by his story 😇

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 26

Hannibal, Will and y/n host a dinner to put an end to everything

@dovahdokren @deadman-inc-bikeshop @lov3vivian @wisesandwichshark @scpdragon

Trigger warnings: PTSD, violence

"Hannibal, baby," You called down from the wine cellar. "Which one pairs best with the paella?"

"A Spanish white!" Will interjected.

You rolled your eyes, then looked at his shelf full of Spanish whites. "Thanks, Hannibal."

"You're the sommelier, [F/N]." Will shouted back. "Go with your gut!"

"Verdejo it is." You said to yourself, grabbing the high-shouldered bottle from the shelf.

You returned from the cellar and headed to the dining room, where Will was dutifully setting the table.

"Well aren't you the perfect little homemaker?" You commented, making sure he caught you eyeing his backside.

Will playfully snatched the wine from your hands. "We can't all be the breadwinners, can we, Ms. Restaurant Owner?"

You laughed, looking around at your triple-income house and accepting a kiss from your Will. You put your hands on his shoulders and broke the kiss.

"You know Hannibal isn't going to let you attend one of his famous dinner parties in a flannel, right?" You warned him, lips hovering a few inches from his face.

"Two guests is not a dinner party." Will corrected you. "I figured you'd know this after six months but, baby, Hannibal is always overdressed for everything."

"Better overdressed than the other way around, my treasure." Hannibal said, standing in the threshold. "Why don't you go slip in to that suit I bought you?"

Will threw his hands up. "Do you two just live to gang up on me? You know I can buy my own clothes, right?"

You scoffed. "Babe, you spent your last paycheck almost entirely at Bass Pro Shops-"

"And then we spent the day workshopping new seafood dishes for the restaurant with the fish I caught." Will shrugged. "You don’t get to benefit from it then complain."

You put up your hands in surrender. "Fair enough."

"So I don't make an ordeal out of this in front of guests," Hannibal said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out two small drawstring bags and gave one to each of you. "Happy six months, my darlings."

"Six month anniversary presents?" Will laughed. "What are we, high school students?"

"Do you not want it?" Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't say that." He mumbled.

You opened the bag and slid the contents into your hand. A beautiful solid white ring with ornate carvings tumbled out.

"It's beautiful." You smiled, sliding it on to your finger. "What is it?"

"A ring, my indulgence." Hannibal chuckled.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Sure, but what is it made of?"

He hesitated for a moment. "Ivory."

"Should I be concerned that you somehow know both of our ring sizes?" Will asked, admiring how his fit perfectly on his finger. 

“I think you mean ‘thank you, Hannibal’.” You corrected him. “Even if it is a little uncanny.”

The doorbell rang. Hannibal threw a dish towel over his shoulder and pointed to Will.

"Go change." He ordered. "I will not have my guests seeing you in such an unsightly state."

"It's Jack and [F/N]'s friend." Will protested.

"Sure, I'll get the door." You said. "Gee, thanks [F/N], that would be so helpful!"

You opened the door with a smile.

"Agent Crawford!" You greeted, shaking his hand.

"Oh, please." He laughed. "Call me Jack."

"And this must be Bella." You said, offering his wife your hand. "Jack has told me all about you."

"So you're the infamous [F/N] [L/N]?" Bella accepted with a smile. "It's so nice to meet you."

Jack removed his hat and coat, then handed you a bag. "For you."

"You shouldn't have." You said, knowing immediately that it was wine. Then you pulled it out of the bag. Your eyes went wide and your jaw hung open.

"Holy shit you really shouldn't have." You repeated.

Jack shrugged and smiled smugly. "I pulled some strings in evidence. Figured you might want it."

You threw your arms around his neck, keeping a tight grip on the 1907 Heidsieck Monopole.

"Hey, do I get a hug?" Said another voice.

Charissa waved to you from the porch.

"Holy shit, hey!" You opened your arms. Charissa jumped into your embrace and squeezed you. She'd always hugged you tighter after seeing you half-alive in a hospital bed with your seldom-seen lovers at your bedside.

"Jack, this is my friend Charissa Rodriquez." You introduced. "She was the one who sent you the address."

"So you're 'tip', huh?" Jack's face lit up. "The FBI owes you a debt of gratitude, Ms. Rodriquez."

"Tip?" You said, looking at both Jack and Charissa.

"The address we received came from an obvious burner email." Jack explained. "We thought it was from Chase, so we arrived with a ton of backup anticipating an attack. Turns out we needed it."

Charissa shrugged. "I thought you could never be too careful."

"Well, intentional or not," Jack said. "You helped us a lot."

"You're Charissa Rodriquez?" Will said from the staircase. He wore a grey suit with a dark blue dress shirt that fit him scarily well considering he hadn't even tried it on.

"Enchanté, monsieur." Charissa said, eyeing him up with a hungry smile. "You must be Will."

"Down, girl." You crossed your arms. Your tone was playful, but had a slight threatening bite. "He's all mine."

"Not all yours." Hannibal corrected, entering the scene to finally greet his guests. "Agent Crawford, Bella, Ms. Rodriquez, welcome."

"Wow." Charissa said, dumbfounded. "I feel like I'm meeting a celebrity."

"Oh, surely the rumors unraveled after the old place went out of business." Hannibal answered. "There are far more interesting things to talk about than myself."

"Very few, but they do exist." Jack commented.

Charissa folded her arms. "Like the bartender who stood up to a psychotic cult leader and found two wonderful boyfriends to take care of her?"

"I've heard that one!" You added. "I hear she bought the restaurant for next to nothing after it became a stigmatized property."

Carissa narrowed her eyes at you. "I still cannot believe you told him."

You shrugged. "I think it all worked out."

Hannibal gathered everyone around the table and tasked you with pouring the wine.

"Surely you know why I've invited you here tonight." He asked, taking a seat at the head. "The high courts have ruled Chase's death a suicide."

"Cheers to that." Will said, raising his glass.

"Nobody actually believes it was a suicide." Jack clarified, trying not to look at you too obviously. "But the jury didn't want to dignify him with a proper homicide ruling."

Charissa glared at you, not trying to not be obvious. "Only one person at the table knows for sure."

You shook your head. "I hit my head really hard, the details are just not there."

"But [F/N]'s DNA was on the gun." Bella added.

"But not her fingerprints." Jack said. "It was saliva. We think he tried to choke her with his fingers before reaching for the gun."

"Did you ever find that finger?" Charissa said like it was nothing.

Jack, who was more interested in the paella than the conversation, shook his head. "Never."

Your eyes widened. You left the finger with the gun, you were sure of it.

"Must we discuss the gory details over dinner?" Will said, sensing your discomfort.

Charissa rested her chin in her hands. "Would you rather talk about your three-person couple?"

"I distinctly remember spitting the finger out." You insisted.

"We found so many pieces of bone in that room," Jack continued. "It's genuinely of far less concern than the dynamite lining the walls and bunker full of cocaine, stolen medical supplies and baby coffins."

"And the stained glass window made of human skin." You added.

"You know a case is fucked when a lost finger is of the least concern." Charissa commented.

"The important thing is that it's over." Will said. "He's dead and [F/N] is alive."

Bella smiled at you. "God really is looking out for you, [F/N]."

You forced a smile, telling yourself that Bella had the best intentions. But her good intentions revived Chase's voice in your head, which was a voice you'd spent the last six months trying to forget. You tightened your grip on your utensils to relieve some tension, but it didn’t work.

The table went quiet, waiting for Bella to realize her mistake. Will put his hand over yours and looked into your eyes. He mouthed the word 'breathe' and some similar affirmations.

Hannibal raised his head, knowing the light casting shadows on his face intimidated people. "Ms. Bella, we generally don't talk religion here."

She covered her mouth with her fingertips. "I'm so sorry, [F/N], I just meant-"

You put your hand up. "Please, just don't."

"The important thing is that [F/N] recovered forty missing women and reunited them with their families." Will said. "And there was no divine presence involved in that."

You smiled softly. "I'll drink to that."

"And you'll also be happy to know that the woman who assisted him in luring all those girls into the cult," Jack added. "She's looking at twenty-five to life without parole."

"What about the babies?" Bella piped up. "Weren't there, like, at least twelve newborns?"

"That's where the department of family and child services took over." Jack answered. "Whether the biological mothers kept them or put them up for adoption is out of our hands, but I do know each child was thoroughly examined and are all up to date on their shots."

"Seriously, though." Charissa interjected. "How do you misplace an entire finger?"

"It's one of the easier appendages to misplace." Hannibal answered, speaking with experience. "I heard it wasn't just the one that you couldn't find."

Jack looked up from his plate, confused. "Now how did you know about that?"

"The man took a 12 gauge bullet directly to the hand, Jack." Hannibal said with a small chuckle. "It's more likely you find no fingers than any at all."

"The bones will turn up somewhere." Jack said, resignedly. 

He just happened to say the word “bones” as you were glancing at your ring. 

You smiled a little too wide. “They just might.”  

[jungshook69]

.:☆.°☾.Jealous.☾°.☆.:

DISCLAIMER: This doesn’t represent the members’ actions or the army’s actions in any manner it’s pure fiction. This is an original work, do not copy. The taglist is open if you want. Taglist is now closed.

WORD COUNT: 1358 words

PAIRING/S: Jungkook X female reader

GENRE: Established relationship au ; Oneshot/Imagine

WARNINGS: None

ABOUT: This oneshot is part of a 7 part BTS imagine called “Jealous”. This oneshot is a reaction imagine of how each member would get jealous of their s/o in a given situation.

7 PARTS: Namjoon || Seokjin || Yoongi || Hoseok || Jimin || Taehyung || Jungkook

STATUS: Complete

☆.。.:*・°☾.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☾☆.。.:*・°☾.。.:*・

You felt a bead of sweat travel down your forehead as your legs moved at an incredulous rate on the treadmill beneath you. Your chest was heaving and completely drenched in sweat as you tried to keep your staggered breath steady. You shut your eyes close, as you tried to engross yourself in the music blasting through your air pods.

Two minutes later you heard the familiar beeping of the machine underneath you, indicating that your hour on the treadmill was over. You hopped off and turned your attention to the rest of the folks in the gym, disconnecting your air pods simultaneously.

You watch Taehyung, Yoongi and Namjoon lifting kettle bells in the corner, Jimin and Hoseok were still running on the treadmills and lastly Jin was situated on a pec-deck machine, and your boyfriend Jungkook was seated beside the older, lifting dumbbells.

You were their personal fitness trainer and took exercise very seriously. You liked to maintain a healthy lifestyle and were incredibly proud of your toned abs that were sprawled across your abdomen, as you took a quick take of your figure in the gym mirror.

You made your way over to Jin and Jungkook and observed Jin’s figure. Now this may sound a little weird, but you never ogled anyone in the gym. You didn’t look at them with lust. When you were observing someone’s figure, who in this case was Jin in a black tank top, you always kept it professional. Your mind immediately kicked into auto drive as you begin thinking about what machine you would recommend them to work at next.

“You know Jin oppa, you don’t need the pec-deck machine.” You spoke up after a minute of thinking.

You caught Jungkook’s attention too. “What?” Jin spoke up.

“See, you already have pretty broad shoulders like Taehyung, but your shoulders are already pretty uplifted naturally. So this makes it appear as though you’re naturally toned at the chest. And trust me when I say you have a great upper toned figure already. I think you should work on your quads. So I think you should ditch the 25 minutes over here every week and swap it out for 40 minutes on the seated leg press machine.” You state your analysis.

“Okay” Jin said without a complaint, moving to switch spots for the rest of the session. This is what you loved about working with them. They always respected your decision and knew that whatever was being suggested was only to make them a better version of themselves.

You were about to move on to the trio lifting the kettle bells, when Jungkook’s feeble voice stopped you, “Noona, what about me? Do I need to change anything?” he said his eyes sparkling.

That was something you found astonishing about him. How his face represented that of a young teenage boy, his doe eyes sparkling, while his body was that of a muscle man. But recently after you had complimented him on his cute face, he had taken it the wrong way, and had decided to grow his hair out, indulging into man buns, in an attempt to make his face look more manly. You absolutely loved his long black hair, but you had kindly explained to him that he needn’t look all macho all the time to impress you. After understanding the situation he had decided to keep his long hair, as he’d fallen in love his new look.

“Noona?” Jungkook’s soft voice disrupted the array of your thoughts.

“Yeah… no… you don’t need to change anything babe, I think your routine is fine, at least for another month.” You said turning on your heels to move towards the trio in the other corner of the gym.

Before you knew it, you were assessing the three and assigning them their respective machines. You were right in the middle of checking Yoongi’s weight plates so it wouldn’t be too strenuous on his fragile shoulders, when a loud yelp echoed off the walls of the gym followed by a loud thump. You motioned the others to wait as you ran towards the source of the familiar voice.

Your eyes met with the sight of Jungkook’s left hand gripping his right shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed, his mouth partially open, gasping for air, a pained expression written all over his sweaty face. Your eyes shifted to multiple giant weight plates all on a pile on the floor, having slid of the dumbbell bar.

“What do you think you’re doing?” your voice half-laced with annoyance, half with concern.

“I was just… lifting weights” he said breathlessly.

“Yeah I can see that. But why are they out of your weight class? Why did you add on an extra 10 pounds to the barbell?” you ask.

“I just wanted to try something…”

“Well you can’t just impulsively change your weight class Jungkook. It’s gonna strain your arm muscles. No wonder you got hurt.” You said crouching down to your knees as you tried to move his arm back and forth, checking on his muscle strain.

“I just wanted to improve my frame…”

“Well you can’t do that Jungkook. We follow a level of professionalism here. There’s a reason I’m your personal trainer.” You said sternly. Nothing came in between you and strict professionalism, and Jungkook knew that. It was part of the reason as to why he found you so enticing.

“I- I’m sorry” he said chest heaving.

“You gonna tell me why you really did that babe?” you say in a softer tone. You could tell Jungkook had a hidden intention behind his impulsive action.

“No reason.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit Jeon, tell me…”

“Fine! I got a bit insecure when you were complimenting Jin hyung’s figure, so I wanted to change things up a bit…” he said sighing.

“Gguk, hey look at me…” he immediately looked up to the voice of you calling him by his nickname.

“Listen… please don’t feel insecure… it’s my job to observe and analyze your guys’ figures and ensure you guys remain healthy and fit. And the comments I throw around about your bodies during our sessions are merely to decide what’s the next step to keep you guys in shape. It’s my job Gguk, you need to understand. I am in no way comparing you guys to each other okay?” you said calmly explaining to him.

“Okay…” he said a small smile forming on his lips.

“Promise me you won’t go ahead and do anything impulsive like that again… because if you hurt yourself, your fans are gonna be really upset and worried about you.”

“Yeah…”

“Mr. Jeon Jungkook, I never thought of you as the jealous type.” You said giggling after a short pause, trying to lift the tension in the room.

“Noona… hush” he says his cheeks turning red, as he refused to meet your eyes.

You drank in his flustered and disheveled state as you bent down to his level and thread your fingers through his long black hair. His eyes visibly widened as you closed the proximity between the two of you.

“You have some guts, telling me what to do Gguk…” you said dominating the chiseled man in front of you. You watched as his Adams apple bobbed up and down nervously.

“N-Noona… someone might see us…” he gulps, his breath uneven.

“Let them” you say connecting your lips in a steamy kiss, the fear of being caught, leaving a feeling of excitement shiver through your body. You let your tongue dart out, tracing a warm trail along his soft lips. Just as he opened his mouth to give you the entrance you ever so subtly asked for, you pulled your tongue away, completely disconnecting your lips from his.

You watched his hooded eyes, blown out with lust, flutter open, as he looks at you with his mouth agape.

“Sorry baby, duty calls.” You say standing up, smirking.

“B-But…” you watched his adorable red cheeks as he struggled to form words.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you tonight.” You say winking and walking away to resume your job, leaving Jungkook’s mess of state behind.

☆.。.:*・°☾.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☾☆.。.:*・°☾.。.:*

A/N: I wanted to try something different and write Y/N as a dom character and the male lead as a sub character. Also I wanted to show that Jungkook is a perfectionist. He wants to be good at everything, and he is, owing to his competitive nature. But I just wanted to make a point that he doesn’t have to be good at everything for us to love him. We all love him no matter what, and that he doesn’t have to strain himself, just to feel loved by us.

Don’t forget to follow @jungshook69​ for more content:) You can check out more works of mine here. Have a great day:)

TAGLIST: @yzkyzkuniverse​

ENDING NOTE: Hey guys! I just wanted to say I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of love my series got. I never expected more than 3 people or so to read my story. But you guys surprised me with the amount of people who liked my series. I just wanted to say a big thank you for the support as it motivates me to work harder and give you guys better works in the future. Sending you all a big virtual hug, stay safe, and I look forward to sharing more of my writing with y’all :)

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 08

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, eating disorder (personal experience, don’t be a bloody twat), heavy(?) angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom trying to be a normal boyfriend

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV.

I am seeing a trend starting to develop where every chapter turns into a behemoth that makes me not want to edit it at all. Nevertheless, I pulled through on this one despite being in the middle of a 32-hour work week and being absolutely exhausted.

Summer holidays, you said? I only see extra shifts and little me-time nor writing time and inspiration. That said, though, be prepared for some heavy worldbuilding because the plot thickens.

Also, and this has been edited in the previous chapter, a new special someone makes his debut in this chapter. Is this also a hint about whose story is next?

Who knows?

I don’t know.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

“Jaebeom? Jay!” I nudge the big man’s shoulder to signal for him to step aside so I can turn the stove off before the burned pancake catches fire. “That’s the third one in a row.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly. “I- I have a... I can’t focus.”

“Is it because of this morning?” If so, then that makes two of us. However, I tried to forget as best I could by working with timed productivity sprints instead of writing the article on Bruges in one go. It worked fairly well until lunch time came around.

That’s when I, too, couldn’t escape the claw mark.

The image of it flashes before my eyes once more, joining my thoughts with his if his blank look is anything to go by.

How did it get there? What did you do?

“Yeah. Morning. I... I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, this should be a nice evening. A cozy night in. You deserve my attention, for me to,” his breath tapers as he finishes the sentence, “be here.”

The quiver in his lips makes the roof of my mouth dry up and my mind empty save for gut-stirring concern, unable to think of a proper response. Nevertheless, I look for words to say what seems best. Like I did this morning when I went to get his medication. “How about I take it from here and bake the pancakes? You already made the batter and I can’t let you do all the work.”

“I like cooking for you.”

“I know you do, but it’s fine. Really,” I gesture at the couch by the living room window, which provides a glimpse of the small balcony, “sit down. I’ll call you once dinner’s ready.”

“Y/N,” he reaches out for my hand yet only dares to hold my fingertips, “I’m sorry I can’t be more.”

The crack in his voice breaks my heart. But its the vulnerability written across his normally stoic face which tears me apart at the seams. Whatever he means, it’s nothing to do with this morning. Rather, it’s about him as a person, the wonderful man he is. 

Throat blocked by something I can’t swallow, I scan his attitude for any hint about what he truly means. “What’re you on about?”

Let’s just forget about it for a little while and be a normal couple. I promise I won’t run away despite what happened.

Unfortunately, Jaebeom dismisses the question to make a point I wish he didn’t. “We both know what’s ahead. But, sometimes it’s as if you’re avoiding the inevitable.”

I let out a deep sigh, caught red-handed. “I’m not, because I know or, rather, can guess where this is going. I just don’t know how to respond at times. And I don’t want you to feel bad so I try to keep the mood high as best I can. To, well, keep us both happy.”

“Is your avoidance of food also part of that?” he asks, carefully formulating the question while keeping a close eye on any change in my demeanour.

“Yes.”

“I hate it when you don’t eat.”

“I know, but if you knew the reasons behind it, you’d understand why it’s difficult for me. Although, I want you to know that I’m trying to keep my promise to you and eat when you tell me to.” I cup his cheek, lovingly swiping my thumb to and fro over the tanned skin. “It’s really hard to escape your determination. You’re very insistent on things.”

“Too much?” Eyes dim and glistening with withheld tears, he nuzzles my palm.

“Sometimes.” I kiss the tip of his nose and smile, a sign of happiness that’s only half a lie. “It doesn’t make me love you any less. Now, let me be a proper girlfriend and cook for you.”

Regardless of the wonderful sight of Jaebeom wearing an apron and being absorbed in his element in the kitchen, it’s equally as wonderful to have something to eat tonight. Secretly, I would rather have made a healthier and less calorie-rich dish, but we both need a bit of a reprieve from last night. Thus, for the sake of us both, I’ve decided to let go of my rules for a little while.

To enjoy something sweet.

As wholesome as the sight of the wolf man seated on the couch, knees pulled up with round gold-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose as he reads the novel he apparently borrowed from my bookshelves. I should write a little note on the title page and give it to him as a present so he’ll have one of my books like I have his.

They’ll be on his shelves for as long as we’re here.

Be there even after he’s gone.

Then they will return to me yet still be his.

He will still be with me.

The pages filled with his love.

It’s everything that will be left of him.

His legacy.

His remains.

The thought leaving me filled with bittersweet affection, I cut the fruit to put on top of the pancakes while gradually using up all the batter. Were it not for the move to the cottage at the end of the month, I could easily be content here if he’d ask me to move in. Wherever we are, evenings like these might become a common occurrence, a splendid reward at the end of a long day at the office.

They could turn any place into our home.

The long road of the lone wolf would finally come to an end.

Because as long as he’s there, I’m home.

“Mind your head.” Despite the warning, Jaebeom nevertheless puts a hand on my head while he opens the cupboard above to grab two plates.

“I was just about to say dinner’s ready.” I let out a breathless laugh, hardly hiding the sobs at the thought of one day having to live without his touch. “Talk about timing.”

For a second, a curious expression treks across his face. It passes by too fast to properly describe it, but it seemed to be triggered by the meaningless remark about his return to the kitchen.

When a dangerously short and sharp breath escapes me, he swallows it with a kiss. Perhaps it’s the sorrow of knowing a storm lies on the horizon that makes me delusional, but a soft whine rises in his throat each time he kisses a stray tear away as he peppers my face in small pecks. 

Satisfied he has taken the sadness more or less away, the corners of his mouth curl into a lop-sided smile as if nothing happened. Notwithstanding, it isn’t hard to figure the blissful ignorance is merely feigned. “Right. Timing.”

Our gazes lock and neither of us says a word until he perks up and motions for me to step back. “Fork and knife.”

Discombobulated by the shared confusion, I indeed set a step backwards so he can open the drawer. In the meanwhile, as Jay sets the dinnerware down, I put the final pancake on the stack and set it down in the middle of the table. 

Chest puffed out, I clap my hands. “Dig in.”

Like yesterday, Jaebeom insists on doing the dishes while I settle down for the night. However, whereas I gladly did before, I now do with an uneasy mind. Arms wrapped around my knees, my thoughts run down a familiar dark path.

I ate too much. Maybe I should go home and do a workout. Then again, I really don’t want to even though I have to.

“Y/N?” The faint though surprising mention of my name breaks the imaginary stones weighing down my shoulders. I snap my head to the side, almost headbutting the wolf man who has appeared at my side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lips pulled into a wistful smile, I scratch him under the chin in hopes of distracting him to the degree he won’t be able to ask further questions. “I’m tired, that's all.”

Unfortunately, Jaebeom is like a guardian who somehow notices a lot despite his absent-minded demeanour. Henceforth, the topic is all but abandoned. 

Without warning, and as effortless as if he were picking up a book, he lifts me up from the couch to hold me in his arms. Instinctively, I clutch his loose black shirt to have a grip of something in case I fall. It’s an ungrounded fear since his arms are sturdy, but it’s comforting nonetheless to have something to hold on to.

My haphazard action elicits a low chuckle that makes my heart skip a beat, although it almost thumps out of my chest again as he rests his forehead against mine. “Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s only eight o’clock,” I sputter, chest tight and no breath sufficient enough to lift the sensation. “Besides, I- I don’t have any fresh change of clothes or toiletries or a pyjama.”

Did he turn the central heating up?

“Doesn’t matter. Can borrow. You. No, that’s not right. You… you can. You can borrow clothes from me. Also, I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere around here.”

“Jay,’’ As best I can, I try to keep my tone steady though the words come out too fast and uneven regardless, ‘’I think I should go home.” 

If I don’t and I won’t get in some more exercise, I’ll gain weight and slowly go back to how I was.

And I’ll lose him.

Back to square one.

Loveless.

Despite the effort, I can’t prevent the crack in my voice as I weakly tug at his shirt. ‘’Let me go.’’

“No.’’ The gentle kindness has malformed into rough sternness, translated in a sound similar to a growl. ‘’You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” I retort, more ferocious and sharper than intended though the equal harshness might help to drive the point home.

For a split second, he snarls and bares his teeth. Simultaneously, a flicker of a second personality passes across his mismatched eyes.

The calm ocean warps into a watery grave with high waves on a stormy night.

The hazelnut cracks to set that which it contains free.

His lashes abruptly flutter shut, as he lets out a pained gasp. Beneath my fingertips, his chest caves as if an imaginary fist has dealt him a blow in the guts.

And in mine as well.

Rippling flesh.

There’s… there’s no… Jay, what is happening to you?

I hold on tighter to the fabric, hyperventilating while trying to refrain from bursting out in tears.

There has to be something I can do! But what? What do I do? How can I make this stop?

How do I get you back?

Withal, shivering lips parted to beg for guidance, are interrupted by a shake of the head hanging low. Slowly, Jaebeom looks up, a light layer of sweat on his skin. Our gazes lock, but whereas the wolf man’s was filled with savage chaos, it’s now returned to the stern tranquility it held before the attack. Nonetheless, an uncomprehending whimper betrays the fact that whatever happened wasn’t experienced consciously.

The rage was beyond him.

Outside him.

Another’s.

Still breathless, he scoffs, the sound gruff and overtly disagreeing. “Let’s watch the moon and stars.”

There is no chance to ask any questions about the swift changes in demeanour since he promptly moves to the hallway and up the stairs towards his bedroom. The bedframe of the two-person bed also functions as a bookshelf which takes up the entire right wall, the shelves stacked with second-hand paperbacks in various conditions. An empty picture frame is placed on his side of the bed, a pair of glasses next to it.

Jaebeom puts me down on the navy wool blanket on the edge of the bed and leans in to steal a kiss, which is easy to do considering I’m too shaken to offer any protest. Nor do I feel the comfort of his lips. “Take your clothes off. I’ll go find you pyjamas.”

A tad reluctant, mind occupied by guilt and terror, I start to undress as he rummages through the wardrobe on the other end of the room.

Left only in my underwear, I sit down on the edge of the bed. Although he’s seen me naked once, I still wrap my arms around myself to hide my body. A shield to protect a fragile ego housed in equally as vulnerable body flesh.

Afraid of what might happen when those ripples grow out of control.

Terrified of who he will become.

Of who he is.

“Don’t.” Jaebeom turns around with a black hoodie and grey sweatpants in his hands, eyebrows drawn together. He closes the drawer, throws the clothes on the bed, kneels, and firmly yet gently grabs my wrists to break the walls I put up. And I let him. “Don’t hide from me.”

Not understanding where the shame originates from, he grows still as he scrutinizes my face for clues. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Instead of giving an answer, I change into the makeshift pyjamas. The hoodie is oversized yet comfortably baggy while the sweatpants hang disconcertingly low on my hips. Fortunately, any skin it reveals is covered up by the top.

Continuing to avoid his gaze without saying a word, I crawl under the sheets. Face turned to the window, I pull up the blanket he drapes over me and bury my nose in it.

A wild forest and cologne with a musty hint of pages.

It’s undeniably him.

I don’t know what else to do or say. So, I let the silence speak for itself.

A language he is fluent in too despite his oftentimes loud demeanour.

The mattress dips under his weight when he lies down and rearranges the sheets to cover us both. An arm wrapped around my waist and legs tangled, Jaebeom pulls me flush against him, his chest warm against my back.

A sob rises in my throat when I feel his lips place a kiss on my crown with a sigh of contentment.

I don’t deserve this.

Us.

Him.

The fear of losing him to whatever is happening inside.

Then again, Life isn’t fair. It deals everyone the same awful hand and leaves it up to the player to make the best of it.

I guess we’re both dealt a crappier hand than others. That, or we play them wrong.

Can we win at all?

“Talk to me.” As loving and happy as the casual intimacy of the embrace is, as forgetful it could make me if only I’d manage to fall asleep, Jaebeom’s oddly sweet cooing keeps me awake.

Staring at the moon.

A woman as fickle as me.

And infinitely more beautiful.

Funny how I, too, am jealous of a celestial body.

In love with the heavens. 

He continues when he notices I won’t be the one to break the silence, his intonation laced by a whiny undertone like a dog wanting something yet being denied what it wants. “You know what I’m dealing with. But...” he digs his fingers deeper into my hips, the grip iron-like without being painful, “I hope this is okay to ask, but what is it with you and food?”

The encouraging squeeze in my side almost has me bursting out in tears again. There has to be a price to pay somewhere in the shadows, the overwhelming sensation of being genuinely loved and protected must turn out to be as two-sided as the silver goddess in the sky. After all, Life is bittersweet.

“It’s only fair I tell you.” Especially after how open he’s been. Besides, there’s no opportunity to avoid the topic since we’d arrive at it sooner or later. And he deserves to know. In fact, I don’t want him to forget my brokenness the moment I tell him about it.

We both want each other to remember our own missing pieces.

So I sigh, turn over and bald my hands into fists to rest against the warm skin of his bare chest. As I speak up, I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. “I used to be quite a fat kid, to the degree the GP advised my parents to put me on a diet. Queue high school and social pressure which led me to perhaps work out more than is healthy and left me bordering on the edge of anorexia. There are still foods I won’t eat and days I’ll worry about my calorie intake, especially on the days I don’t work out.”

I can’t help the mirthless chuckle which turns into a rueful smile. “It’s the good old cliché. Just another soul broken for the shallow enjoyment and acceptance of others.” 

Lips pulled into a stern line, the wolf man remains silent. Notwithstanding, his eyes speak volumes when I dare to look up at him, the ocean and hazelwood alight with a watery sheen. Perhaps it’s the comfort of his nearness or the familiarity of those one of a kind eyes, but he inspires a confession which I never thought I’d make. “Nevertheless, I’m getting better and it’s partially thanks to you.”

Morgan spamming me with ‘Have you eaten?’ texts and Bam making sure I finish my plate whenever we go out for food either here or abroad help a lot too. Nonetheless, it’s mostly the bookish wolf who makes me want to try.

And be a little better than before.

“What do they feel like, those days?”

“The bad ones?” Jaebeom nods. “They’re ridden with guilt and self-loathing.”

He leans in, leaving only a few centimetres of distance between our faces. His breath is warm on my skin as he bumps his nose against mine. “You’re feeling that way now.”

“I am.”

“Don’t.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re still you. Beautiful as always. And I’ll love you regardless of how you look. I like your mind, which is as weird as mine. The way you hold my hand, as if you’re afraid I’ll walk away. How you unconsciously squeeze it when you need my protection more. How you feel in my arms, soft and warm as a bunny.” He hooks his finger under my chin and tilts it upward to run his tongue over my lips and nose. “Love you. A lot.”

“I love you too.” I turn my head to nuzzle his palm, my face perfectly fitting into it.

Please, no ripples. Let us have this moment. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Let me have him, just him as he is. At least tonight.

The secure affection of the touch transforms into something else when he glides the back of his hand over my cheek and folds his fingers over my throat. Testing the waters, eyes boring into mine to stop at the slightest sign of discomfort, he slowly closes off my access to air.

It’s funny how the body and mind react to certain situations. Whereas I normally would flinch and run in the direction of safety, there is no urge to run. In fact, the tingling in my chest travels down to rekindle a familiar heat between my thighs while my adrenaline-infused system aches for the wolfish lover. Henceforth, instead of jumping up from the bed, I spread my legs so Jaebeom can comfortably nestle between them.

“Let me prove it. Let me mate you.” The calloused fingertip journeying across the collarbone to the crook of the neck sends a pleasant shiver down the spine. Another electric shock follows at the coarse prickly sensation of his moustache rubbing against my skin as his soft lips kisses and nips at it. “It will only sting a bit, I promise. Please, the mark will look pretty.”

“No biting, Jay.” Reminded of our agreement this morning and the movement beneath his skin when his emotions seem to get the better of him, I pull him against my chest. Before he can protest I scratch his jaw exactly in the way he likes it, thus subduing his great ability to argue. “Not today.”

“It’s not... hm, k- keep go- What do- Bit higher. There. Like, hm, mhm, there. But... what normal-’’ Arms wrapped around my waist again and letting out a content hum, dark lashes flutter shut. For a moment, it seems he’s fallen asleep. However, his drowsy murmurs, while growing incomprehensible, still haven’t finished. “It’s not what couples do.”

“You’re learning,” I giggle, amused by the remark which sounds like a student recalling a piece of knowledge during a test and repeating it for himself.

Without understanding the knowledge completely. “What do they do?”

Staring at the ceiling, I run my fingers through his long dark manes as I try to come up with ideas about what we can do next. “Well, you’ve already given me your clothes. We could try jewelry next, maybe a promise ring. It’s an old-fashioned idea, but people who are promised to each other wear matching rings. 

‘’What mean? Promised?’’

I say nothing of the faulty grammar of his question. After all, speaking becomes harder once exhaustion overtakes the body and mind. I have yet to find a sleeper being able to form comprehensible sentences. ‘’They’re sort of similar to engagement rings, but without the immediate implication of getting married soon.”

“Let’s get en- enga- enge-’’ Jaebeom lets out a groan, frustrated by his lack of speech. Nevertheless, it doesn’t perturb him enough to completely give up on the effort to properly pronounce the word he’s struggling with. “En. Gage. Ment. Engagement rings instead.”

I let out a breathless chuckle, amused both by his determination and the absurd proposal. “It’s definitely too early for that.”

“It’s not!” He barks, shooting up with a pinched expression on his face.   

Scratching him like before, I manage to calm him down enough to make him lie down on my chest again. Nonetheless, his discontent shines through in the gruff scoff he lets out. “It is.”

“What if...” Prompted by the idea in his mind, Jay scrambles upright to face me once more. Lips parted, the feral sharpness in his mismatched eyes is replaced by a twinkle of barely contained excitement. However, the enthusiasm dims with a shake of the head and a low self-deprecating chuckle that ignites my curiosity. At the same time, it also tugs at the strings of my heart. “No, it’s wrong of me to ask.”

“What is?”

What were you about to say? Don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me!

“Never mind.” He lies down again, nuzzling my breasts as he snuggles up into me.

Then, he slips his hand under mine to lift and compare it to his. “Cute paw.”

Fine. Keep your secrets, you big burly bastard.

“Go to sleep.” I push him off of me, earning myself a disappointed noise which resembles a yelp. “On the other side of the bed, please and thank you.”

In the days that follow, the movement like water set astir under his skin continues to haunt my mind. In fact, it does to the extent that even the keys beneath my fingers seem to flow rather than be pushed down, causing me to flinch for the third time in a row. 

For the past hour I’ve been trying to type out the notes on an interview with a chocolatier in Bruges and compose them into a coherent article. An otherwise simple task my mind won’t allow me to complete despite the attempts to remember the good moments we had recently. The video calls right before bed, the cuddle session a few days ago when we gazed at the moon, his enthusiastic texts about and photos of new recipes Jaebeom tried. None of it prevents the likely imagined terrible from destroying our happiness.

I’m going insane. He’s a normal person. Somewhat. I was jet-lagged and therefore not thinking clearly.

That’s why I thought I felt his skin move. I was delusional.

Drunk on him.

A buzz pulls me out of my reverie, the screen of my phone lighting up with a message.

Morgan: Starving! Found a new café thanks to a friend.

Y/N: Let me guess. I have no choice but to come along.

Morgan: There wasn’t a choice to begin with :)

Y/N: Of course not. What am I talking about, eh? See you in five.

Chuckling at the woman’s classic brashness, I shake my head, pack my belongings and head to the elevators.

Outside, regardless of the November chill, it’s pleasant. The sun shines brightly and the wind blows the little bundles of fallen leaves at the roots of the birch trees lining the street into motion, scattering them over the neatly swept pavement.

Winter is around the corner. God, I hate the cold. Hopefully, there won’t be snow any time soon.

I sit down on the bench under one of the birch trees, its branches already bare. 

Autumn is truly ending now. Shame. I haven’t even had a pumpkin spice latte and cinnamon roll yet. Maybe I should ask Jay out and find a nice coffee shop where we can get them. After all, if he’s there, we can share the pastry. He’ll be happy and I won’t have to eat the whole thing. A win-win situation.

Enjoying watching the people pass by, each stranger essentially a book with a unique story that is yet not entirely different from someone else’s. Withal, the world feels colder without him, the missing part embodied in the unoccupied spot next to mine.

A delighted sigh on the right makes me snap my head around, alarmed at the notion someone has appeared out of the blue on the empty seat. 

A woman clad in a white suit and matching fur-lined coat with pale skin and brown hair glowing copper in direct light stares contentedly up at the clouds. She’s in her very early twenties, although the freckles dusting her cheekbones and rosy cheeks might simply make her look younger than she is.

For a moment, taken aback and speechless, I cannot help but blatantly gape at the otherworldly stranger.

Wow, she’s like a goddess.

A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach as a dark thought intrudes my mind. My throat dried up, I twist my wrists, the muscles stiff beneath my fingers.

Would Jaebeom like her? If he saw her on the street, would he... would he stop and stare? Prefer her over me or even try and give it a shot by introducing himself?

“It’s a bit chillier than I’d like, but at least it’s better than rain or snow.” The woman turns to face me, her features soft. “I hope spring will come again soon, though.”

I don’t get the chance to respond because a familiar voice calls out. Not that I would be able to form a proper reply otherwise. “You’re here already?”

“I happened to be nearby,” the stranger turns away to answer as Morgan comes to a halt in front of us, a puzzled expression on her face.

“I texted you fifteen minutes ago and you said you had to clean up. I thought you’d join us later.”

“The birth and after birth went faster than I thought so here I am.”

“I’m sorry, but what is going on?” More than a little lost, I look from one to the other in hopes of being given an explanation. “I didn’t know we’d head out with the three of us.”

“Right, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Brigid.” The dark-haired woman holds out her pale hand in greeting. “I work at the hospital as an obstetrician.”

“I’m Y/N,’’ I reply, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Lass,” wonder turned to a darker version of itself yet not saying anything, Morgan shifts her attention to me, “you look famished. Come on, let’s go.”

Offering a few muttered words of agreement, I get up and sheepishly tag along with the other women. As we walk out the street and round a corner, following the signs leading to the artist district nearby the university, I’m occasionally tempted to join the conversation. However, as soon as a short silence falls, I don’t chip in, unsure how to contribute to the small talk they seem to deliberately keep up in order to avoid a topic neither is keen to discuss. Thus I walk in urban loneliness, my train of thought displaced on my face as I let the ghosts of Jaebeom’s skin freely haunt my mind.

Right before the descent into the darkness of the rabbit hole, strong long fingers wrap around my wrist and hold it in an iron grip. The slightly painful squeeze interrupts my reverie.

Jaebeom?

I snap my head to the side to find Morgan standing there, leaning in a bit and her voice low. “We’re here.”

I don’t know how I’ve managed to ignore the bustle of students looking for a free spot on one of the terraces and loud conversations accompanied by the rustle of the paper bags hailing from the shops owned by self-employed artists. It’s also miraculous that I haven’t bumped into anyone by accident.

“Oh,” is all I say, looking at the café we’ve stopped in front of.

Wolf’s is spelled out in a modern font on the sign outside and above the door. A big window provides visitors with a view of the plaza. The interior is simple yet cosy, the white furniture warmed up by oak accents and the bare walls decorated with various art pieces, centered around wolves and various flowers. By the looks of it, they were all made by a single artist who likes to experiment with style every now and then. A few plants are dotted around the place as well to add a hint of free nature to the underlying strangely forest-like aesthetic.

A tall broad-shouldered man with short curly chocolate brown hair partially covering up the scar running over his left eye, strong dark eyebrows and a big koala-like nose stands behind the counter. Both of his arms and hands are decorated with various intricately designed tattoos. Whereas Jay is muscled yet lean, the tanned barista looks like a man who knows how to fight yet is a warrior in a society without combat.

As soon as we walk in, his lifts his head and turns to us. Playful lights illuminate the milky white of his left and raven dark of his right eye. A meadow of snow, its glimmer reflecting off of the smooth feathers of a wise bird. “Hi, welcome. Brigid, long time no see.”

Nobody seems to notice it, but his female colleague, a short woman with long flowy caramel brown hair tied into a ponytail who has her back turned to us and is busy extracting a shot, cringes at the merry mention of the woman’s name. Slowly, she steals a glance at us, hazel eyes sharpening when they fall on the woman in white. Nevertheless, she remains silent and quickly returns her attention to preparing someone’s coffee.

Looks like I’m not the only one envying her.

It is wrong to hate a woman for her beauty. Nonetheless, although it’s shameful, part of me refuses to associate with Morgan’s acquaintance out of a toxic mixture of spite and jealousy.

Such is the female nightmare.  

“So this is what you’ve been up to,” Brigid muses, nodding appreciatively while inspecting the coffee shop. “You’ve got a nice thing going on here, Rome.”

“Please don’t call me that anymore. It’s Christian now. Chris or Ian for short.’’ Muscled arms crossed, he grimaces and shakes his head while looking down. Notwithstanding, the stern attitude melts into casual friendliness as a bright smile forms on his lips. ‘’But I do, don’t I? However, it’s not just me running the place. I’ve had some help.”

He turns around and motions for his colleague to come over. For a second she doesn’t move, darting glances to each of us like an alarmed cat checking for danger. Notwithstanding, though clearly tense, she warily approaches and halts at the man’s side.

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head when Christian places a hand on her shoulder. “In fact, Gráinne here still helps me out every day. She’s basically the second owner.”

“I- I’m not,” she sputters in a soft Ulster accent, fumbling with her fingers and her cheeks flushed, “I just work here some days.”

“You’re a bit more than a colleague,” her co-worker remarks, shoulders lowered and his tone holding more affection than would be the case when talking to a friend. A warm glow seems to form around him, ignited by the fondness he harbours for her.

Funny, Jaebeom wears that same expression when he’s with me.  

“I’m not.” Gráinne stiffens, each word dripping with venom as she steps away, grabs a serving tray and puts the order she was preparing before being called over on it. “Get back to work.”

Lips parted, Ian watches her as she moves past us as fast and agile like a hunting cat without any further acknowledgement of our presence. I hadn’t noticed before, but beneath her apron, she is dressed in clothes reminiscent of the Victorian era. “I know she can be harsh and isn’t easy to get along with, but I’ve never seen her act like this.”

“Och, let it pass. She has every right to be pissed with you since you put her on the spot like that,” Morgan jokes though nobody goes along with it.

She likes him yet doesn’t see it’s mutual. Should I say something? Then again, this is their business, not mine. Furthermore, why would they believe me, a stranger?

So I remain silent.

And leave this to blossom however it is meant to in Fate’s hands.

The icy glare Gráinne gives Brigid behind her back sends a chill down my spine. Evidently, she is a woman not cross paths with once angered. Withal, as the fair beauty looks over her shoulder, the other woman restores her professional composure. 

“You okay?” Christian asks as he watches her retreat into the kitchen, done serving for now.

“I’m fine,” she says thickly, the next breath hitching in her throat. Her focus shifts to the moon-shaped amethyst pendant around his neck. The ghost of a rueful smile forms on her lips, but it fades as fast as it appeared. “It’s not like I’m having a vision or something. Help them.”

She waves her hand dismissively when he doesn’t move, lips parted to say something yet at a loss for words. Notwithstanding, although I can’t see his expression clearly, it’s evident her feigned nonchalance is hurting him. “Go on.”

He clears his throat and forces himself into a rigid posture, frowning as he shifts his attention back to us. Finger hovering over the tablet functioning as a till, he stares at the display with an empty and distant gaze, which is as dull as the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. “What can I get you?”

We place our order and settle down at the table by the window, neither of us offering a word of solace or dedicated to his colleague’s behaviour. 

After a while, Christian comes up to us to serve the food and beverages. As he puts the plates with our sandwiches down, he and Brigid exchange looks like siblings telepathically conversing. Whatever it is they mentally discussed, it only leaves the barista a slight bit less worried though the grave expression plaguing him remains as he returns to the counter.

An expression which must be similar to mine since it prompts Morgan to speak up regardless of having her teeth sunk into sourdough bread, looking equally as somber. “What’s on your mind, lass?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head and stir my cappuccino with the vintage silver spoon next to the porcelain cup, smiling at my own silly assumptions of what happened now four days ago. “Everything’s fine.”

“Except it’s not.” The raven-haired woman cocks an eyebrow, far from willing to dismiss my worries. “Now tell me. Or, well, us.”

“It’s something to do with your lover, isn’t it?” Brigid remarks, head tilted to the side as she assesses me while sipping at her Irish Breakfast Tea. Her features soften when she notices she has hit a sensitive snare, evidently meaning no harm.

I pull back in my seat as I take a sip of my coffee, flustered and cursing myself for being an open book. There is no way out of this conversation since the current company is like-minded in their refusal to simply let the topic pass before it has been discussed.

I swallow, put the cup on the dish again and clear my throat. Fumbling with the spoon and eyes cast on the cappuccino’s silky milk foam, I tell them of what I think happened. The story sounds strange to my own ears, like a terrible fairy tale told by a chaotic storyteller who can’t tell it in a manner that makes sense regardless of how he manipulates the plot.

Afraid of their reaction, unable to fathom the slightest bit of sympathy and empathy, I look from one to the other. Fortunately, my silence can be excused by drinking the remainder of the coffee although it’s futile since the thirst has nothing to do with bodily needs.

“Sounds familiar.” The woman in white scrunches her nose in disgust as she glares at Morgan.

“He was different,” Morgan sneers through gritted teeth, jaw clenched.

“In essence, he was similar to her lover.’’ Brigid points at me though she remains focused on my best friend, her voice dripping with venom. ‘’Or should I say, is similar?”

“Since when does it matter what he is?” Thin lips painted plum purple curl into a mirthless smile, onyx locks shaking in discontent. “How hypocritical you’ve become. Forgetful of the past.”

“A past worth forgetting. It’s never too late to change your political opinions, Morgan.”

Great, now I’m the one to open Pandora’s box. I should have kept my mouth shut, changed the topic.

Desperate for help yet knowing he cannot do anything, I look for Christian among the other customers. Expression stern and standing as rigid as a statue, he watches our table from behind the counter. It appears he, too, feels the sense of danger increasing as the conversation carries on. Notwithstanding, as becomes clear from the apologetic shake of the head when our eyes meet, he also knows his hands are tied at the moment.

We are on the same boat, waiting to see how the situation will develop.

Playthings of Chance and Fate.

“We’re not here to talk politics,’’ the woman in question answers, covering her mouth with her hands while chewing on a bite of goat cheese and pomegranate seeds, ‘’but to have lunch like civilized and amiable women. To help our friend.”

“You’re right,” Brigid concludes. Nonchalantly, she pierces a piece of egg in her salmon salad and puts its on the bread provided with it, a bread called St Michael’s Bannock according to the menu. Then, she points her fork at me. “But the best thing you can do is leave him while you still can.”

“L- Leave?” Utterly confused, I look at the woman calmly eating her lunch. “Why would I do that?”

Who is she? What’s more, who is she to tell me to leave Jaebeom after what I told her? He needs help and support, regardless of what may or may not be there beneath his skin.

Unless she is on to something I am not and judging by the current circumstances, I won’t get an answer even if I dare to ask. Henceforth, if only not to snap, I clear my throat and swallow the vile words dancing on the tip of my tongue. 

“Morgan can tell you why. All I can say is that it’s better to avoid men like your lover in the first place.” She coughs and takes a sip of tea to wash down the salad leaf stuck in her throat while the woman with hair as black as night chuckles darkly. Luckily, it is only loud enough for me to hear and Brigid is too busy preventing herself from choking.  

“Sétan-, I- I mean Seán was the one to leave me, not the other way around. And we mutually agreed to part ways in favour of our own well-being.”

“Sure you did. Totally didn’t resort to throwing plates and other pieces of furniture because he rejected you.”

Morgan growls something under her breath, glaring at the woman seated next to me. However, Brigid doesn’t seem to notice the reaction she has provoked or is indifferent to it. “Or washed clothes at the ford where he so ‘happened’ to pass by. Funny how he died soon after.”

Ford? There are quite a few in Ireland, so where and most importantly, when was this? Then again, what are these two on about? Washing clothes in a ford, people dying, politics, lovers to leave. They’re like arguing voices from ancient times.

Moreover, there is the question of Seán’s life. Is he alive or dead? One moment she speaks of him as if he’s still here, but then why would Brigid remark he’s dead?

“You shut your whoremouth, traitor!” With a loud bang, Morgan slams her fists on the table. She stands up with an expression that makes me cower in fear despite not being the target of her wrath.

Behind the counter, Christian slowly comes into motion, carefully moving with the likely intent to inconspicuously circle our table and jump in if necessary. He flinches as Gráinne places a hand on his arm, holding him hard enough for her knuckles to turn white when he tries to escape from her grip in order to prevent the worst from happening. Notwithstanding, whatever the plan was, it goes to waste since he decides to listen to what his colleague tells him. Sighing deeply, he stands down although he continues to observe us.

Gráinne follows his gaze, which seems to be directed at the brown-haired woman in white, her personal target of envy. Her wolfishly fierce expression falters, growing as bleak as the ash of a great bonfire.

This time he doesn’t see how she comes apart at the seams.

Brigid calmly finishes her tea, daps her mouth on the napkin and stands up too. “Get over your crush. There’s no future for you with him. As for you, Y/N,” eyes oddly alight with motherly affection, she turns her attention to me, “and as a piece of advice from a friend, end this relationship while you still can. There’s only heartbreak ahead.”

“Thank you, but,” a wistful smile forms on my lips regardless of the urge to give into the savage nagging inside, “I can’t leave him because I made a promise to stay.”

“I see. Perhaps you’ll prove me wrong and the flowers will bloom in spring.”

And with those final cryptic words, she leaves the café after waving at the tattooed barista.

Or so Brigid intends, but her way is cut off by his colleague. 

While clumsily taking off her apron she storms outside, clenching it hard and shivering as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“Gráinne? Gráinne!” Christian runs after his colleague, pale and eyes wide with worry as he comes to a halt in the doorway. “Where are you going? Gráinne!”

Brigid places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a consoling squeeze. After giving him an encouraging slap on the back she sets off, leaving the man standing there like a defeated soldier.

“Poor lass,” Morgan whispers as she watches the female barista pass the window. Something in her tone hints at a level of familiarity between the two.

“You know her?” I ask, frowning.

“I don’t think she remembers me.” She glances at Chris, who has retreated behind the counter. He has his head bowed, smooth black locks hiding his face from the customers. Trembling fingers entwined to conceal his distress as best as possible, he resembles a man of religion fervently praying for forgiveness. “And neither does he. I saw him and his close friend, Finn, once in the woods. No, it was his brother, Jor… was it? When he came to the island. Was that… who was that?’’

A mist clouds her ocean blue eyes, lost in thoughts far removed from this world and time. ‘’He was there. As for Gráinne, we met… somewhere. There was smoke, a burning body. It was- It was at… where? Fuck, I can’t recall. I think it was at his fu-’’ she abruptly cuts herself short to correct herself with a strange undertone in her voice, “not long after I... saw them.”

‘’Morgan, are you alright? You’re looking awfully pale.’’ 

Instead of breaking free from the spell that has taken hold of her, the reverie only seems to deepen. Rocking side to side, she clutches her arms to her chest. Her skin, although naturally pale, grows sickly like a walking corpse.

‘’I- I’m supposed to remember. I’m one of the few that do. No, he and I are the only ones left that do. I can’t forget. If I do, everyone will. I can’t… I can’t!’’

‘’Morgan!’’ I stand up from my seat to rush to her side. Rubbing her arms, I try with all my might to bring her back to reality from the depths of deliria. ‘’It’s all right, Morgan, nobody is going to forget. Please listen to me and follow my voice, use it as a guide back to me from wherever it is you are. Please, come back to me.’’

‘’May I?’’ Christian has appeared with a glass of water, which he sets on the table before crouching down at the woman’s side as well.

Gently he grabs one of her hands and holds it, talking in a voice that is surprisingly steady and soothing in spite of what happened mere moments ago. It’s rougher and more gruff, making it hard to distinguish one word from another if you are not well-acquainted with the speaker.

In fact, it belongs to a completely different person. ‘’Morgan, as long as there are people who remember, there is nothing to fear. The past has taught us that what might seem like the end isn’t necessarily truly the end. We are still here. We remember because you do and you remember because we do. You’re safe and sound. Instead, return and help me make her remember.’’

‘’Why, of everyone, did you have to fall for her?’’ Gaze blinded by her mind, Morgan reaches out to tenderly run her fingers through the barista’s hair. ‘’What makes her special?’’ 

‘’She understands.’’ A similar fog veils the misty white and dark eyes, Chris or, rather, the stranger pulled into the same realm of consciousness as my friend. ‘’She broke the chains that bound me and doesn’t allow me to slip into the shadows of what I once was.’’

‘’You’re all the same, aren’t you?’’

‘’It’s rare to find understanding and acceptance in a world naturally turned against you. So, please help me. Help me find her.’’ His voice breaks, the begging words coming out  high-pitched like a whining wolf. ‘’Help me find my reason to stay in this world and not forget nor be forgotten.’’ 

The veil lifts, the spell broken with the whimpered plea. 

Christian falls back, but manages to catch himself before his head hits the tiles. Refusing every helping hand from the customers hurrying over, he scrambles to his feet. Fortunately, he accepts the chair I offer him when his dangerous swaying almost causes him to hit his head against the wall.

‘’Are you okay?’’

‘’Yeah, I’m only dizzy.’’ The hiss he lets out flows over into a sound akin to a growl. ‘’And a splitting headache.’’

Morgan has a better return to reality, completely fine aside from a dazed mind. ‘’What happened?’’

‘’You tell me.’’ I search her face for clues, a sliver of the knowledge she is lying. However, I find none.

She is telling the truth.

‘’I… I don’t know. It’s the first time.’’ She clears her throat, brow furrowed. As if having heard a noise, she snaps her head to the side. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Drink your tea, eat a sandwich and go home early from work.”

She hands the glass of water to Christian. ‘’And you, you drink this and stay seated for at least five more minutes until the dizziness has faded. Are you nauseous?’’

‘’No. Although,’’ he dry heaves, ‘’never mind.’’

‘’Make it ten. You look as pale as a banshee.’’

‘’Speak for yourself.’’

‘’You’d make a pretty one, though,’’ Morgan muses when she returns her attention to me. ‘’Beauty makes suffering leading to death easier.’’

Apparently, her return to reality has left her as mad as a hatter so perhaps it wasn’t as good as I initially thought.

“Why on earth would you say that? Besides, what kind of comparison is that, us and a banshee?”

“One based on truth. Now,” she shoves the remainder of her goat cheese and pomegranate sandwich to me, “eat, rest up and get cracking again. We’ll be in touch and visit the new café I found yesterday later, alright?”

“Hey, not so fast. Where are you headed off to?’’

She can’t be serious. There is no way she is unaffected by what happened. 

“Attagirl,’’ Morgan says as if I promised to heed her words, ignoring what I actually said. ‘’By the way, ignore what Brigid said and stay with your man. It’s plain to see how he makes you feel.”

“It is?”

“You’re glowing and you come alive when you speak of him. It reminds me of how I was with Seán.” She starts as if awakened from a dream, but tries to hide her awkwardness behind a sheepish smile. “Well, then, take care.”

“You too.’’ The two simple words, otherwise casual, are now carefully chosen in order to not to trigger another ‘attack’.

My gut tight and skin prickling thanks to her inhuman behaviour, I watch the raven-haired woman leave. I hold my wrist, my pulse too rapid to be healthy beneath my thumb.

Like I am at death’s door.

The next morning, there’s an article in the newspaper. A man’s been found dead at the edge of the bogs near town. The cause of his demise is unknown, but there are witness accounts who said they heard a high screech late the night before. In the days that follow, their names show up one by one in funerary advertisements.

A week later, none of the witnesses are alive. Moreover, nobody has heard the screeching since, though everyone remembers the description of the sound.

It was like the howl of a banshee.

[siwoline]

“believe me, i tried unloving you.” — [pjs.]

♫ : an art gallery could never be as unique as you by mrld

note. the painting mentioned here is just a work of fiction. if in case it relates to any painting, craft, or art piece in reality, all is purely coincidental.

word count: 1,506  |  angst, unrequited love

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“y/n!”

as soon as jay reaches you, he hugged you tight as if you did not just see each other two days ago. you laughed at how clingy he is even though you got used to it already because he’s been like that ever since.

he loosened his embrace to take a look at you then asked, “how’s my favorite one?”

he scrunched his nose almost looking like the cute cats you see online, which made you laugh even more and so you bury your face, your cheeks actually, to his chest as a response that you missed him just the same and tightened the hug that you share.

when you initiated to let go of your hug, you saw him pouted his lips but since your time is limited today, he decided to just guide you to the car he brought while you were laughing at how cute he is today. jay opened the car door for you, letting you ride on the shotgun seat. he took a turn and sat on the driver’s seat and looked at you, now showing a smile.

“are you excited?” you smiled, almost laughing at his giddy smile.

“ya, y/n! it’s a museum trip! and we’re just 30 minutes away from it,” and so he started driving.

today is saturday and you are to visit a local museum out of town. it’s like a tradition for you two to go out every weekend and you even made a jar full of papers folded into tiny pieces. written in those papers are names of places you both want to go to, picking one every weekend that passes by.

and today’s trip is actually the last paper you picked from that jar, a museum.

you both agreed that you won’t add more papers when you noticed that it’s slowly emptying itself. instead, you’ll create more on your last day and decided that you’ll share one secret with each other during the trip.

and jay seems to be in the middle of knowing whether he’s nervous or excited, probably thinking of what today brings.

you can’t deny that you’re feeling nervous too, which is quite weird. last night, you went back and forth in your room, thinking of what secret you’ll share with him but you can’t think of any. in your defense, it seems like jay knows almost everything about you already.

jay is observant, very attentive actually. he takes note of the littlest details about you but he doesn’t brag about it. there are times you’re taken aback because he knows what food you want to order when you’re having a lunch out or that he knows what random thing you forgot to bring on a busy day.

he knows the meaning behind your raised brows, your blank stares, or even when you are suddenly spacing out. jay familiarized himself with you that it’s crazy to think of a thing he doesn’t know about you.

“y/n! we’re here!”

you looked outside and saw a tall tower beside what seems like a casa. you turned back to tell him, “the national museum?”

he nodded, smiling, and shrugged his shoulders as if he’s telling you that he got it correct again. you shrieked and pulled him for a tight hug, “thank you, jay.”

growing up, you had sweet little crushes with people whom you met from school or in class. just last month, or maybe a few months ago, you remembered that you always go to the national museum for a first date with the person you were dating. you told jay that you wanted to create new memories on the national museum because you always think of how petty and hopeless romantic you once were.

but the truth is, you just want to forget about the memories you made with the wrong people. you wanted to start anew and think of the places you’ve been through with only happy memories in mind. whenever you think of the national museum, and every other places you’ve been to with the people who hurt you, you could only remember how impulsive, toxic, and love-thirsty you once were.

your thoughts stopped when he let go of your hug and went out the car to open the door for you. when everything’s settled, you linked your arms with his and you walked inside the museum together.

the museum caters thousands of masterpiece that only the national heritage owns. you and jay were being toured to the place and he occasionally tells you a thing or two about the art you’re seeing. the fact that he knows these kinds of information is already known to you because jay always wanted to go to places like this, where there are stories behind every thing that is wonderful.

when the museum guide ended the tour and said that you can now go around the place on your own, jay held your hand and looked at you.

“y/n, i know a piece to show you.”

you were walking past by the paintings about society, about children and family, until you reached the section where it’s about love. you were sure it’s about love. you looked around and you saw a rose quartz painting.

“jay, a rose quartz!” you said, obviously excited with what you saw. he laughed and told you that, “i know, y/n.”

you dragged him in front of the painting. it was rose quartz placed in what seems like a hand plate. the art is beautiful and mesmerizing that you were just admiring it with your eyes while jay is beside you, probably doing the same.

“this room,” jay caught your attention when he suddenly spoke. “this room is said to be a love section, y/n.”

you nodded and said, “it’s pretty obvious, jay. the paintings here,” you were cut off by him.

“but art can be interpreted in so many ways, y/n.” you looked at him, confused with what he’s trying to tell.

“the painting before we enter this room is called The Manifestation,” this time, he’s looking at you too. “i still don’t get it, jay” was the only response you can give.

you remember the painting you saw earlier before you enter this space. it’s an image of two silhouettes but only the other person is drawn with a heart. it was simple, yet, based on what jay is trying to say, it was meaningfully done.

“we are to share a secret today, right?” he asked, changing the topic. you only nodded as a response because you’re getting confused with where this conversation is going.

“y/n,” he called you, now with his body facing you. he reached for both your hands and held them gently. you hummed, gesturing that he continue.

“they say it’s actually bad to manifest for a person to move or act against their own free will, so i didn’t try to do that and i don’t want to. but when people told me that we’re not allowed to touch the art,” he said.

he then slowly envelopes you with his arms, “then why am i hugging one now?”

“jay,” you let go of his embrace, looking at him with confused eyes. “what did you say?”

he’s confessing. for real.

it’s already known to you that jay possibly might have feelings for you but you never got the chance to confirm if it’s true. it’s only your friends and your gut feeling that made you think that way. but you told yourself that jay stays only because he pities you and you were nothing but a mess since the day he met you. and jay being himself, you thought that he just wants to take care of you and nothing more than that.

and so you asked, “aren’t you just being confused with your feelings, jay?”

“i genuinely like you, y/n.”

“but i’m not—”

"look, i know that you’re not interested in romance. i don’t put malice in every hug, every i love you that we share, and in every take care that you give me before going home.”

and he’s not wrong. your tendencies of pushing away people that show meaningful interest and affection to you are all starting to build up within your system, as if it’s caging you again, stopping you from giving all that you have again to a person.

the fear of receiving affection and love takes over like a hunter, attacking those who would dare shower you hearts.

“since when did all of this happen, jay?” was the only words you could think of that would be less hurtful for him.

he looked away, catching words to say, and looked back at you. his eyes, hopeful ones, are looking straight at yours. “since day one?”

absurd.

“then from now on, can you start over?”

because no one can really love consistently. no one can love so genuinely.

“what do you mean?” he is confused.

and even if there is, you don’t want to risk your heart again.

“can you start day one, possibly with someone else?”

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Totems of Comfort [Elriel]

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: The inner circle just had an evening meal following the events of ACOSF and Azriel and Elain are no where to be found. What Feyre and Cassian stumble across pulls more heartstrings than expected.

Pairings: Azriel x Elain, Elriel

Warnings: None - it might be sickly sweet though ;)

A/N: Guys I haven’t read ACOSF. I don’t care about spoilers so I kind of know how the novel ends, but if it seems like anything’s amiss know that’s why! This is just pure fluff, something to keep you going in these difficult times! <3

“What are you looking at?” Feyre finally quipped as she walked into the lounge.

Tonight the inner circle had had their first proper evening meal in what had felt like a lifetime. With Nyx’s arrival to the family, it would be reasonable to say things had been a little hectic. It was Rhys who finally snapped, sick of having his closest friends, his found family, scattered across Prythian like marbles. He had promptly sent out a strongly worded invitation to all their friends, softly demanding their attendance to a family dinner the coming Friday - or else.

Cassian said nothing to Feyre, didn’t even look away from whatever it was that had got him so enthralled, he just held out an arm and lazily gestured for Feyre to join him.

The dinner had passed without a hitch. Amren and Varian had come up from the Summer Court, Mor was even in town, Cassian and Azriel had rescheduled their upcoming training rotas to fit the visit, Nesta was in the best mood she’d been in, in a long time, and Elain was Elain. If Rhys was the spine of the group, Feyre the heart, and if Cassian was the muscle and Azriel the mind, Amren the gut, Mor the face and Nesta the tongue, then Elain was the soul - the whimsical organ, the incomprehensible one. And Nyx - Nyx was their hope. All of their hope.

Rolling her eyes, Feyre moved over to where Cassian was standing in the living room in front of the crackling fire, looking down at the sofa closest to the French windows, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. The dinner had been coming to a close over the past two hours. The group fracturing into pairs and couples who stumbled out onto the chilly streets of Velaris, only the alcohol and their coats to keep them warm. Rhys was now upstairs, finishing off paperwork he’d put on hold for tonight before he would inevitably come to find Feyre. She knew based on the amount he had laughed tonight, his violet eyes nearly brimming with joyous tears, that he was full of love - love he would no doubt pour into her when the house finally fell asleep.

“What is it?” Feyre asked Cassian again as she sidled up to him. Nesta was currently in the library, swapping out a few of their collections for her own before she headed back to the House of Wind with Cassian. The love between her sister and Cassian had been so visceral tonight, like a tangible thread of spun gold between them, she could practically feel it’s summery warmth from across the table.

“Just look,” Cassian murmured softly, his voice like a navy cloud, his eyes sparkling at the scene before him.

“What...oh...” And it seemed that Feyre had just found where Elain and Azriel had ended up - she had wondered where they had gone off to.

Towards the end of the dinner, Nyx had come bounding in, his nanny apologising profusely as she followed. Feyre had merely brushed her apologies off with a grin before taking Nyx and telling her to take the rest of the night off. Mother knew she deserved it. Nyx was more than happy to stay up past his bed time, bouncing from lap to lap of his adoring aunts and uncles.

After Amren and Varian had been the first to leave, Feyre and Rhys quickly found themselves overwhelmed with trying to clear away the plates and pour everyone a fresh glass with Nyx bouncing between them. Elain had walked over and bundled Nyx up in her arms, apparently hearing the couples silent plea.

With Nyx bouncing in her arms, she walked him out of the dining room into the living room, her long skirts swishing around her as she moved. Feyre missed it, but Azriel must’ve followed her out, blending with the shadows as he so often did. Of course he did, Feyre now reprimanded herself with a coy smile. Nothing Elain did these days ever went unnoticed by the shadowsinger. But the soft brushes of fingers, the prolonged longing stares, the heavy breathing and blushing that even Feyre had noticed between them, seemed hilariously shy to what she now saw.

Azriel was splayed on the left hand side of the sofa, his arms stretched out along the sofa’s back and arm. His head was thrown back against the cushions, his neck exposed and his eyes closed as he breathed heavily in sleep. Azriel’s legs were wide, allowing Elain to have thrown her own legs over his lap and curl into his chest. She too had her eyes closed, and her breathing was delayed. And between them both, tucked into Elain’s lap and resting against Azriel’s chest, was Nyx, passed out just like his aunt and uncle.

“Oh my god...” Feyre whispered excitedly, unable to contain the grin that was so large it made her cheeks ache. The picture was so perfect, such a simple moment of the people she loved, an image of this life which never in a million years did she ever think she would be blessed enough to have. “They look...cosy.”

Feyre knew by the slight shaking of Cassian’s shoulder that he was withholding a snort. But tearing her eyes away from the sweet picture in front of her, she didn’t fail in picking up the slightly emotional look in Cassian’s eyes. So similar to his brother’s tonight - the look that threatened to spill joyous tears.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so...relaxed,” Feyre couldn’t stop herself from saying. But it was true. Azriel kept to himself, not just in an emotional way: the reality that even his closest friends, his found family, didn’t truly know everything he had been through. But also in a physical way. He crossed his arms the same way Rhys shoved his hands in his pockets, a physical totem of preservation. As though by wrapping his arms around himself he was forming a barrier, not to let anything in, nor anything out. He stood at the sides of rooms, could never permit himself to get comfortable even when he had scouted the place for threats thrice. He was self-contained and self-conscious, aware of everything whilst remaining in mystery.

And here he just looked so, vulnerable. It dawned on Feyre that she had never seen Azriel with his guard down, not like this. Not to mention Elain who was still sensitive touch, still not used to having her brothers pull her into their chests in greeting. Feyre swallowed something bitter in her throat - like Azirel’s past, no one was quite sure what had happened with Grayson. If he could be so cruel in public, in front of the High Lord of Night, God knew what he had done behind closed doors. Cassian pulled her from her bitter thoughts with ease.

“You know it’s weird...I knew Azriel struggled to be completely comfortable around us but, I thought he had let his guard down.”

“I don’t understand?” Feyre murmured as her eyes followed the curve of Azriel’s exposed throat, an animalistic splay of vulnerability.

“I just...I never realised he could be this happy. I thought he’d just always be closed off, that that was just a part of him. It never occurred to me that he would ever - could ever - open up more than he already had, that he would ever fully relax.”

“Do you really think that this her?” Feyre murmured, wringing her hands to try and ease the itch to paint. “You think Elain’s really helping him?”

“I know Elain now,” Cassian murmured cocking his head as he zoned in on Feyre’s sister, his own sister now, his eyes still uncannily bright. “And...it makes sense doesn’t it? The way they sort of, fit together.” Feyre hummed in agreement.

Feyre hadn’t failed to notice the miasma of harmony that clouded Azriel and Elain whenever they came together. She knew that at their core they shared similar values: honesty, kindness, forgiveness, and beyond that, they seemed more at ease in each other’s company than when they were alone. Often Feyre has caught them sitting together in the library or the living room, not even talking, Azriel rummaging through his paperwork, Elain pouring over her gardening books, more comfortable in each other’s silence than their own.

There was a spark of course. The way the air between them sometimes turned charged, as though electricity was zipping between them when they caught the others eye. Azriel often sought out Elain’s laughter, a hidden smile lighting in his eyes as he searched for the source. Elain went out of her way to tell him all the things he deserved to hear, the things even Feyre found herself forgetting to remind him.

She’d overheard them one day. They were coming back into the garden from the town house, an inch of air between them as they walked, their tones warm and relaxed. Elain was asking him if he was to come to her birthday celebration that evening, Azriel was stumbling on his words, something he only ever did around her. As a joke he made some off-hand comment about how he wouldn’t fit in with the floral decorations that were flowing from every corner of the house. Feyre had scowled from where she was perched in the kitchen, he was brushing her off, claiming he was to ugly, to scarred to be around something, or rather someone, who was so beautiful. Looking up Feyre had watched as Elain stopped walking, the afternoon sun pouring over her like liquid gold. She had looked at Azriel with a sudden intensity, a ferocity that reminded her that Elain was Nesta’s sister. And the same way Elain’s kindness was hidden in Nesta, Nesta’s fire was hidden in Elain.

“I’ve always thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen,” Elain had said simply. Her eyes were bright and clear, her hand reaching up to rest on his shoulder, nothing but earnest truth rippling from her soft voice, so compelling Feyre knew that even Azriel couldn’t deny her statement. And he didn’t, he didn’t do anything, some kind of internal meltdown wringing inside him as he peered at the girl at his side - someone who, Feyre suspected, had come along and had slowly begin to unravel the shadows Azriel had being binding himself in for 500 years.

“I...” Azriel began a sentence that hadn’t fully formed in his mind, but Elain just smiled wider, the action seeming to fill the room with golden light.

“Just be there,” her voice was honey and butter, and Feyre could see some part of Azriel begin to melt. “For me.” 

He had come of course, and whether it was the alcohol or the sun, or perhaps Elain’s compliment ringing in his ears, he had spent the entire evening wearing a lopsided grin.

Elain currently cuddled closer into Azriel’s chest, her arm wrapping around Nyx before gripping onto Azriel’s waist, and as though in response, Azriel moved in his sleep to wrap both of them closer to his chest. The movement, though done unconsciously, had stirred Azriel slightly, enough for him to acknowledge the two figures grinning down at him. He tried not to jump.

“You comfortable there buddy?” Cassian’s thick voice stirred him further, and all at once he seemed to come into his body. Glancing down he first saw Elain’s legs, exposed from where her skirt had been pushed up in her sleep and draped over his thighs. Her soft skin illuminated in the firelight, more of her skin than he’d ever seen. His head snapped up, his eyes now bright and awake and he shifted as though to stand up.

“Woah, woah...don’t move you idiot,” Cassian chuckled as quietly as he could. “You don’t want to wake them.”

Azriel paused. No, he didn’t want to the wake them. But that didn’t mean his body was going to stop screaming at him. Ignoring the snickers of his brother and sister, he glanced down again. 

On his chest lay perhaps the two most precious and vulnerable things in his life. A voice inside his head, a voice that sounded somewhat like his father, was screaming at him to winnow away. That he was going to somehow, somehow hurt them, even now. That the mutilated skin of his palms would mar their delicate, smooth flesh.

But then he saw Elain breathing. Saw the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest which Nyx currently had snuggled into. Unconsciously, Azriel timed his breaths to her own. In, out. In, out. Breathe - he could practically hear her soft voice whisper in his ear. And for the first time, in a long time, he allowed himself to be swayed by someone else. Allowed for his gut instinct to subside and pass, like a black wave that had rolled through his body before evaporating and floating away. Breathe, he imagined her voice again and he felt his muscles loosen under her warmth. Breathe, not taking his eyes off her he permitted himself the indulgence to uncurl the arm wrapped around her, and run his knuckles along her exposed arm, slowly dragging his scarred knuckle up and down.

He looked at them both now, honestly this time, with no fear.

Elain wasn’t his, wasn’t his mate or even his lover, in the same way Nyx wasn’t his son, and technically not even his nephew. But for the first time, ever, Azriel felt something prick inside his chest. It was pure and gold, and managed to pierce an inch of his shadow-clad heart with perfect light. It was unfamiliar but it’s name rolled into his head as though it had always been there, as though it had been dormant, just waiting for the spark.

Hope. 

For the first time, ever, Azriel had pure, tangible hope in his heart. Not the messy hope of battle or espionage, the erratic hope that he might survive the days predicament and make it back home to his brothers. But a personal hope, something that felt innately closer to his wants and desires - like all at once the idea of happiness, of having someone there to share just some of his love and some of his pain, it all dawned on him in that one prick in his chest.

Elain. Her name whisked through his head like a lone petal in the wind. And he felt safe, he felt his own personal sense of home.

Ignoring Cassian and Feyre, ignoring the voice in head, ignoring the world - Azriel stroked the golden hair away from her neck, relishing in the feeling of her snuggling closer into his chest, a soft content sigh escaping her lips. He did it again, slowly stroking her hair, then running his knuckles down her arm, then back to her hair. This would be all he permitted himself tonight. This inch of indulgence; this totem of comfort.

And it would be enough. It was more than enough - it was everything. 

[aknosde]

Amicus Certus in re Incerta Cernitur

The first installment of my Reyna Swap AU, Alea Iacta Est // Percy Jackson & Reyna Avilla Ramírez Arellano // Hurt - Comfort // roughly two or three days post-Tartarus // tw vomiting & tw implied/referenced past child sexual assault // light swearing // 3.4k

(hey, @specific-dreamer, i started writing it :))

ao3

—————

Reyna exits her bed smoothly, flicking on the lamp as she goes. At night, when her cabin feels too dark and too small, the light is one of her only wards against her stiff spine and the shake of her shoulders. She ghosts her hands through her closet, searching for something thick and substantial, like the light and the reassuring click of the lock as she opens her door.

The floor of the quarter deck is cold under her bare feet, but the polished wood is soothing in its smoothness. She tugs on her sweatshirt against the cool temperature that accompanies flying far above the warm Mediterranean. Someone must have screwed with the thermostat last night–tonight–otherwise it would be compensating for the chill in the air.

It doesn’t affect the rest of the ship. The wood doesn’t contract or expand under the temperature, the boat doesn’t creak. It’s immune to the cold air and warm water in that way. She can’t quite decide if the silence that accompanies it is comforting or not as she descends to the main deck.

All of the lights are on down here, the rooms devoid of people. She knows that the lights of the lower deck will be off, because Leo sleeps down in the engine room, but the main deck is no man's land at this time of night. Someone has swept the floors, and with the lights on and undisturbed by organic shadow, this level seems more like a model of a ship than somewhere where people live. When the feeling turns from interesting to uncanny she finishes her route to the galley.

Though the galley is less of a galley, straight and narrow, than an actual kitchen you would find in a home. It’s large, even though Leo claims it’s unnecessary given his plate technology, and rather comfortable. A counter winds around the room, a large refrigerator with people’s personal food labeled, an oven and stove, and lastly, the sink: her destination.

She’s almost to the kitchen island before she sees Percy, sitting on the counter, looking for all the world as if he is a fixture of the kitchen itself. She doesn’t freeze when she sees him–she’s better than that–but she does let herself take stock of him, one leg hanging off the counter and his other knee propped under his chin, holding his head up.

His eyes look irritated, bags underneath that more closely resemble bruises, and a few pieces of hair are falling into his eyes, but he doesn’t do more than glance her way as she crosses to the sink next to him, so she leaves him be. Percy’s always been… observant. She could tell by the way he looked at her as she dropped from the Argo’s rope ladder. But since Tartarus he’s gotten quieter. Before, it used to just be a thing about him, not speaking unless he had something to say. Now it’s more obvious, like something or someone is keeping him.

She fills her glass of water and leans against the island, staring at the fridge.

She and Jason had had their own kitchen, as praetors. It was in the Principa, tucked out of the way, cold blue-greys and aggressively modern appliances. It reminded her of her childhood kitchen in that way. Cleanly impersonal–it more closely resembled an office break room. She and Jason barely used it, but still, they tucked their s’more supplies into a corner cupboard, and occasionally they would find each other there, making tea during late nights and early mornings.

The Argo kitchen is nicer, filled with warm colors and the smell of cinnamon. Percy cooks in here, she knows, though she has never seen him at it. When she had woken up that first morning after the disaster in New Rome there had been conchas on the counter. Leo, for all his initial grumbling, took to cooking in here while Percy and Annabeth were gone. His own little way of grieving, she thinks, taking a sip of water.

Percy lurches as if the ship has, uncharacteristically uncoordinated in his urgency. She straightens immediately as he twists off the counter and onto his feet. His forearms come down hard on the ledge of the counter, bracketing himself, and then he retches into the sink.

Strings of hair hang in his face as he does, she can now see that they are separated by sweat, and before she knows what she’s doing she’s across the aisle and holding his hair back and gives him the privacy of looking away, tucking away loose strands of hair. It’s deceptively soft, even with charred and patchy places here and there, and curlier than Leo’s. Memories of Hylla rage strong as she twists it around her finger, leaving no chance of it falling in the way again, the grey streak resembling a swirl.

Reyna can practically feel Hylla’s hands in her hair, her body sprawled against the wall of their cabin, head in a bucket. Hylla’s body, pressed against one side of her back, not overbearing, just a reminder that she was there now. On good nights they would end up in their bed before Reyna fell asleep, talking until Reyna’s brain could come back home. Hylla would twist Reyna’s hair into braids more beautiful and pure than Reyna could ever imagine being, and Reyna would complain about the smell of the bucket until Hylla got up to throw the contents overboard.

“Better your lunch than yourself,” Hylla sometimes joked upon her return, in that way people do when they are living through horrible things, doing horrible things, having horrible things thrust upon them. The memory burns now that Reyna isn’t there. She can’t find the humor in the joke now, only the threat of the first mate holding Reyna by the hair and threatening to make her walk the plank if she didn’t stop crying.

She couldn’t stop, but he didn’t seem to understand that, he just held her wrists until Hylla was there, in his cabin, talking with her voice smooth in a way it had never been before the Queen Anne’s Revenge. She talked until Reyna was allowed to leave, until the door shut with her still inside.

That was the night Blackbeard and his crew decided Reyna wasn’t worth it, a night she would forever be thankful for. Reyna couldn’t recover as fast as Hylla, she couldn’t put up with as much, she was wrecked after each encounter, and that night she would be thankful for it, and the day after, and the next, until she and Hylla were running the ship and she never had to think about it again.

Percy pants against the sink, signaling that he is done, and she takes a step back, suddenly uncomfortable and anxious for something to do.

She decides on giving him her glass of water–gods know he needs it more than she does–and watches him down the whole thing greedily. An air of clarity seems to blow through him, clearing his eyes and fixing his posture. Maybe that is the magic of a child of Poseidon. Water: an instant cure to all ailments.

“Thank you,” he says with a gasp as he finishes drinking. He wipes some vomit off a corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, frowning before he rinses it off in the sink. Reyna nods serenely in response, no judgement.

It’s a wrestle with herself, to decide if she wants to ask what has him puking his guts out. The fine line she always walks is taunting her, telling her not to alienate people, telling her that knowledge is power. The voice sounds suspiciously like Michelle, which only makes her prickle further. It’s a moot point, regardless. She can remember sitting with Thalia, legs swinging over the edge of a bridge, “I loved him to pieces, Reyna, but that asshole wouldn’t tell me he was hurt unless I pinned him down and threatened to zap his eyebrows off.” She’s going to ask.

“Are you okay?” They are hollow words, because none of them are, and she knows his answer.

“I’m fine,” And then a second later he is over the sink again, all of the water coming right back up.

She takes a place behind him, Hylla’s place, holding his hair back and drawing on his back with her other hand. She can feel his muscles clench each time more of his stomach empties, takes in his breathy swears, traces the letters on the back of his New Rome hoodie. She thinks it might have been hers at one point. It swallows him.  

He pulls back, eventually, putting space between them. She lets him have it, but sticks to her spot, crossing her arms.

“Want to try that again?”

He breathes raggedly, head hung. “I can’t–” he lifts a hand to gesture to himself vaguely, but rests it swiftly, looking like he regrets the action. “I haven’t been able to keep food down. Since we got back. It’s too rich. Too much. I was stupid, forgetting how that worked,” he explains, reading the pull of her brow. “Forgot how it felt, too,” he adds, quietly.

She flicks the sink on, letting his remnants wash down the drain, and looks at him thoughtfully. He’s too tired to notice, or maybe to care. His knuckles white out on the edge of the counter, pulsing no doubt in tandem with his stomach. One of his legs begins to quake and she nudges it with her knee. He shifts.

“Is there a reason you’re camped out in here and not the bathroom?”

His breathing, slow and steady, a trained pattern, is interrupted by a faint chuckle. “Thought I wouldn’t run into no one. It’s not working out, clearly.”

He sits back on the counter gently, already clutching his stomach again. “I’ll get over it soon. Just a couple more days. I just–need to make sure I don’t tear my stomach lining.” His words come spaced out and slow, working between his breaths.

“Annabeth?” she asks, unable to mask concern, or maybe uninterested in doing so.

“Got over it,” he answers swiftly. It almost sounds like he is going to say more, but he doesn’t, and she lets it drop in favor of watching him. When he gulps she’s already by his side.

This time bile is the only thing that comes up. He hacks, searching for more, but all that's left is acid. She’s supporting almost his entire weight with one arm. A twitch of worry makes her muscles tense, alien to any type of worry she experienced while he and Annabeth were in the pits of hell. This is immediate, intimate, not abstract. Like seeing Jason’s face dripping gold.

Percy’s whole body shudders, head so deep in the sink she thinks he might be able to touch the sick and the porcelain with his nose if he were to go any further, but the spell seems to have stopped. His arms shake against the counter, and before he can follow through with getting his own vomit plastered across his face she uses her hold on his hair to gently tilt his head towards her.

His eyes are almost completely unfocused, squinting against the kitchen lighting behind her. His water lines have released their tears, finally surmounting the amount of control he had been maintaining. He looks utterly wrecked, and not in the deranged and semi-wild way he had been fresh out of the Doors of Death.

She switches her arm from propping him up to wrapping it around him, keeping him from falling back against the sink and grunting between his weight and his condition. His limbs are loose with relief, now. Almost limp. She orients him until he’s pressed against her hip, utterly malleable under her hands. An odd sense of warmth seems to travel up her arms and into her heart as he slots against her. From what she’s seen, from what she knows, Percy is not one to be controlled. He rebels against it, particularly resistant to anyone who is not a peer, or better yet, a friend. Yet here he is, letting her move his body for him.

It’s something she could never imagine herself doing; willingly handing herself over like this. But with the warmth is a new desire, a spark of hope that one day she will grow with people until she can let them take care of her like this.

“Let’s get you to the med bay,” she says.

“No.” It comes quiet and breathy, and then again with urgency, “No. Annabeth likes to take inventory there when she can’t sleep. Not the med bay.”

Avoiding the med bay on account of Annabeth is a stupid decision, but she reminds herself that Percy cares more about other people than he does himself. He doesn’t want Annabeth to be worried, Reyna thinks, to keep his problems to himself, and though that is not always the best plan, it’s not the worst. Reyna recognizes the necessity of keeping your shit to yourself. Percy might be one of the only people she knows that understands that and deserves it, so she just sighs.

“Okay.” She hooks her other arm under his, making sure he’s steady, and lowers him to the floor. “We’ll just set up camp here.”

He presses the back of his head against the cabinets, hands groping the cool stone floor, and then lets himself tip fully onto it. No complaints. Apparently he likes the change in location. She grabs a dish towel, folding it up and sliding it under his head, and a bowl, if he needs to give up his internal organs while she’s gone and can’t quite make it to the sink. With a shove of his shoulder he turns on his side, loosely grabbing his stomach and making her feel safe in the fact that he can’t choke on his own vomit.

She feels funny when she stands again, brushing her hands against her pant legs. She’s never taken care of someone like this before, never had to. She and Jason were there for each other during their fair share of unfortunate situations, but she never had to watch him like this; curled up on the ground, shaking, weak. She wonders if he was ever caught like this, in the bathroom across the hall. If he had ever wanted to ask her for help.

Annabeth isn’t in the med bay when Reyna goes to scrounge up some anti-nausea medication, and she isn’t coming down the stairs when Reyna makes her way back to the kitchen. Percy’s in the same spot, though. She supposes that counts for something as she sits next to his head, reading the directions on the back of the box.

It’s generic, a syrupy red that reminds her of fake blood in old horror movies. Percy coughs as it goes down, making a face and muttering something about cherry flavoring and scented markers.

When she’s sure he’s not going to up chuck the medicine, which would be a type of irony she is not ready for, she goes searching for something he can eat. The stores on the Argo II are significantly better than that of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, and greatly aided by the presence of a fridge, but she ends up with a packet of pedialyte powder she remembers seeing Percy use during their first week on the Argo. It’s orange, which she can respect as it’s the best artificial flavor.

Percy groans while she’s stirring it, and before she knows it she’s sitting by his side, letting him press his face into her leg. Her body seems to know what to do, even if she doesn’t, and she’s grateful for it.

“Would you rather rehydrate or take more medication?”

He groans again, nose brushing her thigh, and says, “Both.”

“Disregard the instructions?”

He hums against her leg, whispering her resolve into the ground, because she doesn’t argue. It doesn’t hurt that she couldn’t decide either, or that she has always been good at knowing when to break the rules.

“Whatever repercussions there are to this, it’s your fault,” she says instead, already measuring another dose.

He downs it like a shot and with a grimace, even though he is still laying on the floor. It manages to wring a snort out of her, as does the way he remarks that the straw she put in the pedialyte looks like a worm: “Which I’ll allow only because you chose blue; the best color.”

He fumbles in and out of consciousness, mind half addled, and she thinks she’s found a cheat code to becoming his friend. With his sharp eyes half closed and his height stolen by his horizontal position on the floor, too tired to keep his body wired and slurping through a straw because the energy to sit up seems like a far flung concept, he’s easy to see and even easier to like.

“You made the good shit,” he half slurs as he takes another sip.

“Yeah?”

“Grew up on this stuff,” he says by way of explanation. “It was free at my first school, low income and what not. Wanted to make sure we had enough calories to suffer through the school day. Picked it up at food banks, too.”

She hums, pretending he hasn’t just revealed something that she doubts he’s told anyone else. “Kept it around for the taste?”

“Malnourished after Lupa, just a bit,” he says arching his neck in discomfort before taking another sip. “I made sure to pick some up while we were still in the states. ‘Beth knows I like it though. I think she already bought some.”

“Yeah.” Reyna can vaguely remember something along those lines, sitting with Annabeth and going over supply lists for the ship. She’d been rambling and scatterbrained, which Reyna now knew was her default state.

He switches subjects after that, nothing sticking for long. It’s an interesting contrast to the Percy that she’s met. She wonders if he was like ths as a kid, or maybe it was longer than that. Maybe it was until they were swapped, maybe it was until Tartarus and she just never got the chance to see.

“You’re talkative when half your guts are down the drain,” she tells him, after listening to him ramble about the Knicks for a couple minutes.

“Blame my state.”

“I am, dumbass.”

“So rude,” he says in Spanish, sounding like her neighbors in Puerto Rico, getting together under the shade during the heat of the day, complaining about their daughters. “What’re you doing here anyway,” he asks, “Why aren’t you nice and cozy in your bed.”

“Obviously sitting on the floor with you is superior.”

He coughs out a laugh, there. Weak, but she can feel his amusement from the crinkle of his eyes before he sobers. “Really, why?”

“Nightmare.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Want to talk about Tartarus?” she snaps, because no, she does not want to talk about her historical issues with boats, or how she’s thinking of Jason, out there escorting a forty foot statue in an attempt to stop yet another war.

“Sorry,” Percy whispers, pulling his head back a bit.

“No, I’m sorry.” She’s supposed to be better than this. She’s supposed to be a leader, which does not include letting her frustrations out on others, no matter the time of day–or night. “That was unprofessional of me.”

He snorts. “We’re lying on the kitchen floor and I’m wearing Black panther pajama pants. Trust me, you don’t have to be professional here… And I’m sorry–for asking.”

“It’s alright,” she ends up saying, mostly thinking that he’s right. She’s about to tell him so when she notices that his eyes have slipped closed. “Let's get you to bed.”

“I’m not gonna sleep,” he grumbles.

“Well if I get you some more magic potion can you lie to me?”

He smiles at that, one side of his mouth going up farther than the other, like in almost every photo she saw of him during her months at Camp Half-Blood. “If you, Reyna Ramírez Allreano, get me more orange pedialyte, I will absolutely fall asleep as soon as I’m in my bed.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

[tryingmybestpls]

Do Me A Favour (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve Rogers seeks out his ex-teammate (and ex-fiancée) as he tries to gather the team in order to reverse Thanos’s actions, but she isn’t happy to see him. (Part 2, Part 3)

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Swearing, that’s about it

Steve hadn't seen her in almost four years.

Y/N had left him and the rest of the team a year after the Snap. She didn't say goodbye to any of them, just gathered all of her things and disappeared into the night. Steve didn't realize she had left until he had came back to their shared apartment and saw that all of her things were gone. During those four years, she didn't reach out to him and if she was reaching out to anyone else on the team, they weren't telling him. It was like his teammate had disappeared off the face of the earth. He couldn't be too mad at her. Steve was the reason why she left.

Months after the Snap, he had proposed to her. She had been so excited and her happiness had rubbed off of him slightly. It seemed right, it felt right. Everyone kept telling them that it was about time they finally tied the knot. Yet, as time progressed and the severity of a post-Thanos world settled in, Steve wondered if this was actually a good idea. He didn't want to voice his worries to Y/N though. He missed seeing her this happy so Steve tried to tell himself that this nervousness would soon disappear.

Then the day of the wedding rolled around and Steve couldn't bring himself to drive to the church. His phone kept ringing as various members of the team called and texted him, trying to get a hold of him. As the start of wedding neared, Steve went down to the hall where he holds grief counseling and stayed there until the day ended. When he got back to the apartment, all of her things were gone. The only thing Y/N had left behind was her engagement ring and the wedding dress she had been wearing hours earlier.

Steve pulled up in front of the address that Natasha had given him, nervousness and guilt eating away at him. He was already confused when he pulled into the residential neighborhood, but the house he was currently parked in front of didn't help. Steve double checked and triple checked to make sure that the address was correct before he got out. He walked up the little stepping stones that lead to the cookie cutter house. She had told him that she never ever wanted to live in the suburbs, living in a house that was identical to the ones surrounded them. It was the perfect place for her to hide out.

Never in a thousand years did he think that Y/N would be living in a place like this. As he looked around, eyes landing on the carefully manicured lawn and the flowers planted in flower beds surrounding the house, he felt a sinking feeling in his gut. The thought of Y/N being married or even having children made him feel ill. Steve knew that he shouldn't feel like that at all. Y/N wasn't his, never truly ever was his. He was the one that had fucked up everything so he really shouldn't feel like this over the possibly of her being married. Steve looked up at the little cream colored two story house as he walked up the porch steps. There was a swing-like bench on one end, surrounded by various potted plants. It was all very...homey.

Steve tries his best to relax as he stands in front of the door. He swallows hard before ringing the doorbell and knocking on the the red door. Would Y/N still be pissed off at him? Most likely. She wasn't the type to forgive and forget, especially with what he did. Would she be even more pissed when she finds out he's here to try to get her to come back, to try to defeat Thanos? He was probably going back to the Compound in a body bag.

The front door opening ripped him out of his thoughts.

"What are you doing here?" Y/N asks, only peeking her head of the door. From what he could see of her, she looked good. Y/N always looked good, but the past four years have been good to her. In that last year after the snap, she lost her color. Sure, there would be times where she was happy, but as the wedding date neared and Steve continued to be distant, those moments of happiness were few and far between. Now, she looks happy, healthy. Well, she wasn't happy right now. Steve shifts slightly, looking around in her little neighborhood before looking at back at her. Y/N was glaring at him.

"Can I come in, Y/N? We need to talk." Steve tries and just as she opens her mouth, a child's head squeezes her way through the door and Y/N herself. Y/N's eyes widen and the color seems to drain from her face. Steve feels like he's been shot at the introduction of a child. What if she's moved on, had a family during this time? He would have no one to blame but himself.

"Mama, who's this?" The child asks, practically glaring at Steve. Like mother, like daughter. He didn't know that she had a kid. Natasha didn't tell him that there was a kid involved when she handed him the address, a sad look on the ex-Russian spy's face. Steve knew that she had wanted to go retrieve her friend, but someone had to get Clint. Now, he knew why she was so reluctant to hand over the address. Y/N never even mentioned that she'd ever want kids. She would always brush off the question when Steve would ask, immediately changing the subject. But then again, four years is a long time and people can change. The rest of their team surely did. Y/N muttered a curse under her breath, weighing her options in her mind. Steve is surprised when she opens the door a little more.

"Sarah, this is my coworker, Steve. Steve, this is my daughter Sarah." Y/N introduces them to each other, her hand moving to rest on the back of Sarah's head. The way she says "coworker" made Steve feel like shit, but then again, he does deserve it. He tries his best to ignore it and moves to squat in front of Sarah, smiling at the little girl. Her hair is pulled into two pigtails and she's wearing a black dress covered in white dinosaurs. Sarah is practically a carbon copy of Y/N, down to her hair and features. The only thing that's different about Sarah is her eyes. She has bright blue eyes that seem vaguely familiar, but Steve can't quite place them.

"Hi Sarah. It's nice to meet you." Steve tries, holding out his hand. The little girl moves to hide behind her mother, holding onto Y/N's leg. Steve's smile fades and he puts his hand down, moving to stand back up. Y/N doesn't even bother to look at him as she guides her daughter back into the house.

Steve is greeted by the evidence of her changed life. Children's toys litter the grey colored wood floors and pictures of mother and daughter cover the walls. Not a single picture of his teammate from anytime before the four years she's been gone, but there was pictures of members of the team and her. A picture of Natasha, Y/N, and Sarah here. A picture of Tony, Morgan, Y/N, and Sarah there. No evidence of any sort of father figure. The smell of pancakes and coffee hang in the air. This is a home.

Time travel and Thanos are a million miles from his mind now. All he could think about is that Y/N, the woman he was supposed to marry, has a child.

"No talking business around her. Please." Y/N announces as she walks further into the house, Sarah following hot on her heels. The blonde wonders if someone had tipped her off that someone from the team was coming or maybe she just knew him too well and knew that he wasn't here for personal reasons. Either way, Steve feels the immense tension hanging in between them and gives mother and daughter both a little space as he takes in the house. It looked almost normal.

"Of course." Steve replies as he follows them into the kitchen. Sarah is already sitting at the island, looking at him as her mother sets a plate down in front of her. Steve stands beside the fridge, leaning slightly on the wall. He doesn't know exactly what to do, everything feels awkward. Y/N has a kid. Y/N has a kid.

"Sarah, it isn't polite to stare. Now eat your breakfast." Y/N scolds softly, no anger present in her voice as she speaks to the child. Sarah turns her attention to her mom as she picks up her fork.

"I sorry, Mama. 'teve eat?" The little girl asks and Y/N glances at Steve, who is smiling at how the little girl pronounced his name. His smile melts away as soon as he meets Y/N's eyes Anger is still deeply etched into her face, no matter how much she tries to mask it.

"I'm okay, Sarah. Thank you for asking though." Steve quickly fills in and Sarah nods, seemingly pleased with his answer. Y/N crosses the room, moving past her old teammate to go over to the living room. She turns on the tv, switching the channel from the news to some cartoon. A distraction.

"Baby, Steve and I are going to my office, okay?  If you need anything, come get me." Y/N tells her daughter. Sarah just nods in response, her focusing going to the mess of bright colors and shapes on the television. Y/N motions her head for Steve to follow her as she walks out of the room and down the hall. She opens a door, flipping on a light. This is room is a sharp contrast to the rest of the home. It's cold and uninviting. Big, flat white cabinets line the walls, filled with God knows what. Steve wants to smile at her 'home office' because it's like she brought her weapons room from the Compound home with her.

But the look she is giving him keeps the smile off his face. Y/N's about to open her mouth, to question him no doubt, but Steve cannot help what flies out of his mouth. He just has to ask.

"Why didn't you tell me you had a kid, Y/N?" The Captain questions, his eyes softening as he looks at his ex-fiancée. Y/N leans against the table in the center of the room, crossing her arms over her chest. She no longer trying to mask her anger.

"You weren't in my life, Rogers. Why would I tell you that I had a child if we aren't speaking?" Y/N retorts, shrugging her shoulders like it wasn't a big deal. They both know that this is a huge, colossal deal. There's stomach acid in Steve's throat and he feels like he's going to throw up as he forces out his next question. He is dying to know, but he dreads the answer.

"Who-"

"Don't ask me that." Her voice is ice cold as she shakes her head, "Please, don't ask me that."

That's when it slowly starts to dawn on Steve. He swallows the bile down in his throat as he takes a step towards her. Her angry facade is cracking as tears brim her eyelids. Her carefully built world is crumbling down around her and there isn't a thing she could do about it.

"Y/N, how old is she? Just-Just tell me how old she is." Steve's practically begging as Y/N looks away. She's fiddling with the necklace she has on, moving the pendant side to side on the rose colored chain. It feels like an eternity before she decides to speak again.

"Three. Sarah-She's three." Y/N finally speaks, looking back at him. It's like Steve's heart shatters in his chest and he has to lean against the wall for support. Steve Rogers isn't as smart as the others on his team and math has never been his thing, but it doesn't take him long to do the math in his head.

"Were-Were you ever going to tell me?" Steve asks as Y/N chuckles drily. The smile that's on her face doesn't reach her eyes.

"Of course I was and then you left me at the altar. Forgive me for not wanting anything to do with after that." Her tone was full of bitterness as she looks at him, "I was going to tell you that day-God, I was so fucking excited and then you just didn't show up. That's when I realized your priorities were greatly skewed and that you didn't really care about me anymore."

"That-That's not true, Y/N." Steve starts and the woman scoffs.

"Really, Rogers? You weren't even fucking talking to me anymore. You only came to me when you wanted to relieve a little stress. Why you asked me to marry you is besides me." She snaps, her words full of poison, "I wasn't about to bring a kid into the mix."

"So what? You were just going to hide away here forever? Never tell me that I had a kid?" Steve responds, motioning to the door. He's clearly angry at the woman in front of him. Y/N chuckles.

"You know what hurt the most about you leaving me at the altar? You didn't even call. There was no "Hey babe, I realized I don't want to be bound to you by law, hope you understand!". Three fucking hours passed before I finally realized that you weren't coming. By then, Natasha had already hunted you down and saw that you were at one of your meetings, acting like you had nothing else to do that day." Y/N tells him as she runs a hand through her hair, "But sure, go ahead and be mad at me because I didn't tell you I was pregnant. Be mad because I left because you apparently did nothing wrong."

"Look I'm sorry-" A knock on the quickly cut him off. Y/N sent a glare his way before walking past him and opening the door. Steve watched as she squatted so she was at eye level with her-their daughter. Steve looked at Sarah, trying to memorize her face just in case this is the last time he sees her. Blue eyes that resemble his glance at him for a moment before they return to look at Y/N.

"Mama? Help?" Sarah asks, her outstretched hands covered in something sticky. The smile that Y/N gave the little girl made something rise in Steve's chest. Neither of them glance at Steve as Y/N leads her back towards the kitchen, leaving the Star Spangled Man With a Plan alone in the room. He did not know what to do with all of this information. Steve had a child, a daughter. A little girl who was fifty percent him and fifty percent Y/N. He knew he had fucked up, but didn't realize he had fucked up this bad. Steve was numb as he walked out of the pristine room, walking down a hall full of pictures of Y/N and their daughter. He leans against the wall as he watches the two of them.

"How did you get this sticky, baby? I gave you a fork." Y/N teases softly, lifting up Sarah so she can wash her hands in the sink. The little girl giggles and Steve thinks it's the best sound in the whole world.

"I sorry, Mama. 'ticky." Sarah responds, which makes Y/N laugh. Steve can't help but smile at the sight in front of him. His head quickly becomes filled with thoughts of "what if". It's not until he feels something tug on his hand, yanking him out of the various scenarios running through his head. Sarah's tiny hand is wrapped around two of his fingers. His heart swells in his chest and he suddenly understands why Tony was willing to give up everything for Pepper and Morgan. He wishes he had made the same decision.

"Go to park?" Sarah questions, looking up at him with those big blue eyes. Steve is at a loss for words and he looks up at Y/N for some sort of help. Y/N is still drying her hands off as she clears her throat.

"Sarah, I don't think Steve wants to go to the park with us. He has to go back to work." The woman tries, walking towards the two of them. Sarah looks disappointed, pouting and making a noise. Y/N glances at Steve, once more weighing the options in her mind.

"I-I have enough time. I'd love to go to the park with you-If your mom is okay with it." Steve responds and the little girl turns to look at her mom. Y/N's features soften and she nods.

-

"Tony called before you arrived. Said you're trying to create time travel." Y/N announces as they sit beside each other at the little park that was in her neighborhood. Sarah is running around, laughing loudly. Steve glances at the woman beside him. She knew why he had showed up on her porch but still had let him in. Y/N had every right to not let him in, to not even answer the door. Hell, she didn't have to tell him that Sarah was his, but she did.

"Yeah. Lang is pretty sure we can do it. We just need to get the team back together." Steve replies, to which Y/N just nods. Her eyes stay on Sarah, never letting the little girl out of her sight. Steve turns his head to look at his daughter, who is currently sliding down a slide as he continues, "But I understand if you don't want to. Things have...changed."

"If we have a chance to fix things, I want to be there." Y/N responds, fiddling with the necklace she was wearing. Worry was written all over her face and Steve regrets even coming out here try to get her to join them. Her eyes stay on Sarah as she runs around, "If something happens to me, you have to tell her dressed in the suit."

"W-Why?" He is confused at her request, but he wasn't going to tell her no. Steve doesn't even try to tell her that everything is going to be okay if she joins them. They both know the risks involved with their job and he'd be lying if he told her that this was going to be an easy mission. For the first time since they got to the park-Hell for the first time in four years, she turns to him and smiles.

"Because Sarah knows that her daddy is Captain America and she's been dying to meet him."

[the-lady-writes-what]

Cabin Fever, Part One

Yandere Prompt #3: I know they’re uncomfortable, but bare with it for a while. Please?

Requested by no one. I just wanted to write this myself. 

Mirio Togata x Fem!Reader x Tamaki Amajiki

I was originally going to do this as a one-shot, but then my imagination got the better of me and it started to get too long. I don’t want to make you read through a mile of text before you get to the NSFW content, so I’ll write a second part featuring that. There’s some saucy stuff at the end with implications of dub con/non con, but the heavier stuff will come in the second part. 

More Prompts

Part Two

Your eyelids cracked open. You awoke in the back of a car, arms pinned behind your back. City lights all disappeared in favor of giants made of pine lit by moonlight and a huge scattering of stars. A thick woolen blanket was wrapped around you and an actual pillow was placed under your head. With the way you were positioned, you couldn’t see the driver except for the back of his seat. Despite the warmth of the blanket, your feet were cold. That was likely due to the fact that your kidnapper took off your shoes and left your feet bare. 

Shuffling around in the backseat, you tried to squirm. You wanted to move your arms and pull the blanket off you, but you couldn’t. The blanket muffled a dull metal sound. As your senses slowly came back to you, you felt cold metal snapped around your wrists. 

Panic set in quickly. You tried to sit up, however you were so wrapped up in the blanket that you couldn’t move. Like a human burrito. It might have been endearing if you weren’t stuck in the back of a car with your wrists handcuffed behind your back. You craned your neck this way and that to make out even the barest of glances at your captor to no avail. He was quite throughly protected by his large driver’s seat or being very lean and sneaky himself. 

“Where are we going? Who the hell are you?” 

Your captor made no response. He switched on the radio to tune you out. In your predicament, trying to fight would get you hurt or killed. The best way to survive now was to use your brains. Trapped as you were, you could take this time to come up with something. But first, you had to remember how you managed to get into this in the first place. You laid back down, half-listening to whatever happened to be on the radio, and racked your brain. The last thing you recalled was stepping into a parking garage. There was someone with you...who was it? 

You couldn’t move your head high enough to even check the time on the dash. It must have been a while because you found yourself falling asleep again. You didn’t wake up until the vehicle came to stop. You only noticed because the trees stopped zooming past you and the radio turned off. The driver side door closing loudly startled you awake. Your blood was pumping. Your first instinct was to start kicking when your captor came to get you, but that would have only worked if he approached the other side. The door closest to your head was pulled open. A bright light stood overhead, blinding you. It didn’t help the fact that your captor wore a dark hood to prevent you from getting a good look at him. 

With ease and the strength of ten men, you remained in your fuzzy woolen burrito as you were pulled out of the backseat. He heaved you unto his shoulder like a potato sack. You didn’t see much in the dark, however when you looked, your heart sank. Trees, even in the night, were all you could see. Looking up, the number of stars made you believe that you were far from the nearest town. There were too many of them in the sky for you to think you could hitch a ride somewhere and get a hold of the police. You were miles and miles away from civilization. 

Gravel crunched underneath your captor’s feet as he hiked up a little hill. It gave way to carved stone path. It wound its way to a set of wooden stairs. It took those without ever losing his breath while carrying you. Keys jingled. He unlocked a door, which he swung open. 

Cool night air gave way to stifling warmth. You watched as woodwork and rugs greeted you as your head helplessly dangled against his back. You could hear a crackling fire place. Somewhere in the house, someone was making dinner. You smelt the cooking of beef, spices, and bread overwhelm the air. You wriggled while still on top of your captor’s shoulder. He turned into what looked like a living room where he settled you on the couch. At last, he began to peel off the blanket that was slowly cooking you alive now that you were in such a warm room heated by an actual fire. 

“Tamaki, is that you?” Footsteps. 

Wait. You knew that voice. But more importantly...

You whipped your head behind you. Sure enough, Tamaki was there. He didn’t have the guts to turn away for shame or guilt. There was a bright red color to his cheeks, but he almost looked pleased with himself. You opened your mouth to speak but was cut short by the other person entering the room.

“I wasn’t expecting...what is y/n doing here?” Mirio stood there, dumbfounded. He looked like he was in the middle of making the dinner that smelled so lovely. The image was complete with the dish rag thrown over his shoulder and the smear on his cheek. 

“I-I’m sorry, Mirio. I couldn’t...I couldn’t control myself. I couldn’t wait,” answered Tamaki. 

It came back to you. You had been walking to your car, alone at night. But the parking garage never had security issues nor would you be a target. Plus, a pro-hero agency was across the street. Blood drained from your face. The agency belonged to Mirio and Tamaki. 

Mirio’s shifted between you and Tamaki. His face was drawn in what looked like disappointment. For a moment, you thought that you were about to see a fall out between friends because Tamaki had taken a joke too far or had gone off the deep end. You expected for Mirio to start a fight and take you to safety, but then he opened his mouth again. 

“It was too soon to bring her here. I told you we needed more time. Now, her co-workers will think something terrible happened to her. Tamaki, what were you thinking?” 

Too soon? More time? Just when you thought that you were saved, Mirio dashed your hope like fragile glass. He still looked disappointed but not because he friend did something highly immoral and illegal. You shuddered to think what they planned out if Tamaki had followed along with it instead of grabbing you prematurely. Mirio walked to the couch and knelt in front of you. The contrast of a man plotting to kidnap you and the image on his knees before you was almost too much for your mind to take. 

"This wasn't quite what I imagined, Y/N, but..." Mirio rubbed circles in your knees. "We'll just have to make the best of it, won't we?"

You shrank out of his reach and pulled your legs up to your chest. You stared in shock at him, one of the top heroes. He graduated near the top of his class how could he consider kidnapping a choice he could make.

"You have to let me go. I won't say anything and we'll forget all about this, but you have to let me go. Now."

Mirio shook his head. "If we did that, you'd move far away and that would be too painful. That is if you don't lie and sneak off to the police. Or Deku. You'd tell him the moment you got the chance."

Your blood ran cold. 

Mirio stood up. His smile no longer any kind of warmth or kindness for you. He turned to head back to the kitchen. 

“I better get back to cooking. I’ll have to make another portion on the spot. I wasn’t expecting more than two plates,” said Mirio. 

That left you alone with Tamaki. Unfortunately, he wasn’t talking to you. He wedged himself into the corner furthest away from you and stuck his head against the wall. This behavior of his would normally invoke pity in you. You hated to see him like that, so afraid to look another person in the face. You couldn’t feel such a way now, not with your hands handcuffed behind your back. Mirio didn’t return for a while to announce dinner. Only when you were at the dinner table did Tamaki gingerly uncuff one of your hands. He released your dominant hand so you could eat but cuffed the other end to the dining room chair’s arm. You pouted at the instrument of your imprisonment. 

“I promise we’ll explain later,” said Mirio. 

You almost didn’t want to eat. You could have thrown the plate in front of you across the table, then thought better of it. Two strong pro-heroes and you didn’t even a good quirk to beat them back. You didn’t have a quirk at all. You were a lamb in a lion’s den. Choosing the path of least resistance, you ate quietly. Tamaki reached over to the hand he cuffed to the chair. He was shaking and couldn’t be brave enough to look at your face. You felt his sweaty, clammy palm hold your hand in his shaky grip. All you could do was play along for now.

The minutes ticked by and slowly, so slowly, turned into hours. Immediately after dinner, Mirio and Tamaki were preparing to go to bed. You were still handcuffed to the dining room chair. You watched them tidy up and wash the dishes as if you weren't trapped in their house in the middle of the woods. But the time eventually came when Mirio uncuffed you and rubbed your wrists. He was smiling so genuinely, but it didn't escape your notice that he put the handcuffs in his back pocket.

Mirio gently took your hand guided you to the bedroom. He went to the dresser and pulled out a large flannel shirt.

Handing it to you, Mirio said, "I'll be right back. You can change in here. I promise I won't peak."

He turned, exited, and closed the door. You looked down at the shirt in your hands. You didn’t trust him, not with that quirk of his. To think once upon a time you were ecstatic that he was able to get his quirk back. Now, it only reminded you that he could take a peek if he really wanted to and might not even notice until it was too late. But you were shivering in your thin shirt and jeans. You ditched your clothes and put on the flannel shirt that reached to the top of your thigh. A few minutes later the bedroom door swung open again. Tamaki and Mirio had both changed as well. Tamaki wore a matching set of blue flannel pajamas while Mirio opted for dark gray sweatpants and no shirt. 

Mirio was behind you in a second pulling your wrists together behind your back. You struggled for a minute before the cuffs were snapped right back on. He rubbed your arms as he guided you to the large bed big enough for a six-person orgy. Before you knew it, you were nestled between Tamaki against your back and Mirio pressed against your front. Mirio was the one who kept his arms around you while Tamaki buried his face in you shoulder. None of this stopped you from wriggling around and trying to snap the handcuffs. 

“I-I know they’re uncomfortable,” Tamaki murmured against your skin. “J-just, just bare with it for a while. Please?” 

That didn’t stop you from wriggling around. You brushed against Tamaki’s crotch, making him hiss. Then, something hard pushed against your lower back. Mirio’s hand snaked its way to the back of your head where his fingers gently coiled in your hair. He titled your head up to make you look him in the eyes. Your struggles ceased. 

“Tamaki, I think we should do something to help Y/N simmer down and go to sleep. She won’t be wriggling around so much if she releases some of that pent up energy.” 

“D-Do you think so?” Asked Tamaki. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to try!” Mirio kissed you on the mouth, tongue brushing your lips before forcing its way past them. 

[elizabeethan]

Watch the Sunlight Fade: 13 / 17

Emma Swan finds out that her boyfriend has been hiding something from her: he’s in a gang and trying to get out. Reluctantly, she decides to support him, sticking it out with him until they have enough money to flee to Florida. All she has to do is wait and ignore that feeling in her gut that something is seriously wrong. With the help of a kind and handsome stranger, she just might make it out alive.

Or, alternate summary: I’m horrible at summaries, please just read it.

Something of a cross between a What Still Remains AU and a Sons of Anarchy AU.

A/N: Heyooo time for more smut! And more answers. And more cliffhangers.

Rated M

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Read on Ao3

~~~~

The destruction in the apartment is clear the moment she walks in, feeling Killian’s watchful eye leave her as she shuts the door. There’s broken glasses and plates on the floor, Neal having cleared off the counter in what she assumes is his anger. She can’t think of another reason for him to be so destructive, picture frames smashed in the living room and fluffy pillow feathers flying through the air, but she certainly allows her mind to wander. 

  What if he knows? They’ve been careful, but what if someone besides Rufio had seen them? 

  “Neal?” She asks tentatively, clutching the strap of her purse tightly. 

  She hears another crash from his bedroom in response to her voice and cringes. The door opens forcefully, slamming shut behind him as he storms into the living room to meet her. 

  “Where the fuck were you?” he asks threateningly. 

  “I was at the store,” she answers, her voice small and weak, although she thinks it unwise to make a show of strength. “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong?” he spits. He fumes in anger again and picks up a vase that she had filled with flowers she bought herself, hurling it at the wall to her right and sending water and glass towards her. “Rufio is fucking dead , that’s what’s wrong!”

She pales immediately, realizing that he must know of their involvement in his death. There’s not much for her to say, unable to defend herself as she and Killian both know that their actions were wrong. She only wonders now if he also knows of the affair they’ve started. “Neal…” she croaks out in terror, unsure how to continue. 

  But to her surprise, he falls to his knees, his hands catching his head as he lets out a sob. “Who would do this?” he cries, sending her mind racing. “Who would kill my friend?”

  She shifts, the sudden realization striking that he isn’t angry at her, he simply finds it appropriate to take his anger out on her. She has to adjust now, unable to hold onto the fear of him discovering her dangerous secret and required to shift into her role as doting girlfriend. She has to keep up appearances, as much as it pains her to do so. 

  “Babe,” she says softly, “I’m so sorry.”

  Once she’s close enough to him, he grabs at her hand, pulling her roughly into his arms and squeezing her too tight. His actions are forceful, but not at all surprising. He holds onto her, sobbing into her hair and making her cringe as he cries for his loss. He says things like, how could someone do this to me, and it makes her realize that he isn’t sad about his friend’s death. He’s sad that someone has hurt him. He thinks this is personal. 

  While he cries, she looks around the apartment and wants to cry herself. He’s broken so many things, and even though almost none of it was hers, she still feels sadness in the wake of the destruction she sits in. When she looks to the bookshelf frightfully, she realizes she doesn’t see the one and only object that she covets as hers and lets a tear escape. 

  He’s angry. But he didn’t have to take his anger out on the one thing that he knows means something to her. 

  ~~~~

  “The Kings of Elsinore will pay for what they’ve done to us,” Peter says commandingly, his fist slamming against the table before him and making Emma startle. Many of the men around the table nod, grunting in agreement, including Killian. 

  He’s careful not to stare at her too much, although it’s difficult. Aside from his love for her and his disbelief at her beauty, it’s hard not to stare in an attempt to ensure that she’s alright. They haven’t been able to talk since she left this morning, but he doesn’t see any evidence that she’s been harmed. He knows that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been, though. 

  “The murder of Rufio was a heartless and psychotic act with the intention of hitting us where it hurts. Rufio was heir to one of our club’s founding members, and his death will not go unpunished.”

  Killian shudders in his seat, the action making Rob turn to look at him and cock his head. He’s sure Peter means it, and he’s sure Killian’s punishment will be worse than anything he doles out to the Kings if he finds out. 

  He can’t find out, though. Because if he does, he could find out why it happened, and he can’t risk Emma’s safety like that. 

  “We’re going to hit back, which is why Miss Swan is here today,” he continues. His words draw Emma’s attention up from her hands as her big eyes stare at Peter. “It has become imperative that you identify something we can use against the Kings. Any help you need, you’ll have. Hook,” he calls, shifting his focus.

  “Aye?” 

  “Continue to assist Miss Swan in her search. Remove the security features if you have to.” 

  “If it’s alright,” Robin starts, causing Killian’s eyes to grow twice their size, “I’d like to help as well. I believe my tracking skills may be useful in helping Miss Swan decide where to look.” 

  “Fine,” Peter agrees, waving him off. “As for the rest of you, prepare for a battle. If it’s a fight they want, then a fight they shall have.” 

  ~~~~

  She drops into the too-firm chair and it squeaks under her weight, a groan escaping her lips as she jimmies the mouse of her computer. He can’t help the small smile that pulls at one corner of his mouth, her dramatic entrance bringing him joy despite the stress they're all under. 

  No one says anything at first; it’s awkward with Rob being here despite him being one of Killian’s closest friends. Even though he trusts him with his life, he isn’t sure he’s ready to hear the truth of their relationship after how many times he insisted that Killian avoid this. 

  Once her computer boots up, she straightens and he takes a seat in his usual spot, gesturing to another folding chair across the room in an invitation for Rob to sit. “Want me to remove the securities, love?” 

  “No, I don’t want you to remove the securities ,” she responds in a mocking tone, mimicking his accent as she rolls her eyes. “I’m not a damn child; I know how to take off parental controls.” 

  Killian raises his brows, looking at her in surprise, and asks, “then why haven’t you?” 

  “Because I’m also not an idiot,” she responds, glaring at him before turning back to the aged screen. “I’m not stupid enough to try and go against Peter’s rules.” 

  He gives her a small smile, one that he can’t seem to give to anyone else, and can't seem to help giving her, and nods. “That’s right,” he agrees softly, his voice just barely above a whisper. He almost forgets his place, wanting nothing more than to lean forward and plant a kiss on her beautiful-- if not thoroughly chewed up-- lips. It’s obvious enough that something’s irritated her, and he wants to get to the bottom of it and console her so that the light comes back into her eyes. He’s greedy like that, he supposes. 

  “I bloody knew it,” he hears, Rob’s grumbling voice yanking him violently from his thoughts and his desires. 

  Killian turns quickly, as does Emma, both of them staring at Robin in surprise, as if they forgot about their audience. 

  “You’re fucking her,” he accuses, nodding and tightening his jaw. “Killian, mate, how many times have we talked about this--” 

  “Rob,” he starts hurriedly as he stands, his hands held out in a plea. Without words, only his eyes communicating to his friend, he begs for forgiveness and discretion and kindness. “Mate…” 

  He can’t even look at Emma yet because he knows that the look on her face will break him. He knows that she must be gnawing at her lip, her brows high on her forehead and her eyes desperate and terrified. “I’m not going to say anything,” Rob finally says, his eyes meeting Emma’s rather than Killians, confirming his hunch. “You two have royally fucked up, but your secret’s safe with me.” 

  He hears her sigh and worries that she could be crying, so he turns to her. He’s met with her dropping her head into her hands in relief, and he hurries to squat in front of her, taking her hands in his. “It’s alright,” he whispers, running his thumbs over her knuckles. Her dim, glassy eyes meet his and she shakes her head. 

  “We can’t-- he knew after two minutes. We have to go,” she murmurs softly, but he sees something shift in her. She sits up slightly straighter and gazes into his eyes seriously. “Can we trust him?” 

  “Yes,” he confirms while he squeezes her hands. He knows they can, but he turns back to look at Rob anyway. 

  “You can trust me, lass,” he vows, understanding as Killian begs him to. “I swear I won’t say a thing, but you’re playing a dangerous game. What’s the plan here?”

  “We’re leaving,” Killian answers simply. “As soon as possible. We would have tonight, but Neal came back early.”

  “He didn’t come back early, you dolt. They never left.”

  He pales, his face falling, and he feels Emma's squeezing his hand. She must be thinking exactly what he is. They had both assumed that Peter and Neal somehow heard about Rufio and had returned, but the fact that they hadn’t even left is somehow more concerning. 

  “How… how did they find out?”

  Rob snorts, shaking his head. “Right, you were too busy to-- hang on. Killian… tell me you didn’t--”

  “Rob--”

  “You didn’t. ” His face falls pale as well, the look he gives his friend chilling. Killian can feel the disappointment and terror radiating off of his oldest friend easily, and it does nothing to quell his nerves. “Killian, tell me right now that you didn’t kill him.” 

  “I had to,” he whispers, shaking his head in self hatred. “He attacked her. Said he would-- he said--”

  “ Fuck, he caught you, didn’t he?”

  “Robin,” Emma interrupts, trying to stop the two of them from going at it and speaking too loudly. They’re bound to tip someone off if they keep this up. “What Killian did… He knows it was wrong, but there wasn’t much of a choice. Rufio attacked me. He was protecting me, and now… I have to protect him. We have to get out of here, because if they find out that Killian shot Rufio, he’ll be worse off than your friend, Liam.”

  Rob is quiet for a moment, allowing Killian to absorb her words. She’s right, of course. They’ll deliver him a fate much worse than that of his brother if they find out. 

  “Too right, love,” Rob agrees finally, nodding and running his hands over his face. “I’ll help you however I can, so long as the two of you take me as well.”

  “Of course, brother. I’d hoped to grab Tink and Elsa as well.”

  He and Emma hadn’t spoken of his previous dalliances, and he only hopes that his intention to bring Tink along with them doesn’t offend her. It’s not as if he plans on staying with her long, but she deserves to get out just as much as they do. 

  “Only because of Liam, and Tink is--”

  “It’s okay,” she cuts him off with a smile, her hand squeezing his. “Of course we’ll bring them.”

  He can hardly take the amount of love he has for her, her unequivocal understanding of every piece of him hard to wrap his mind around. He gives her a genuine smile, and her gaze meets his, giving him the beaming sunlight in her eyes of which he’ll never tire. 

  ~~~~

  The service they hold at the Rabbit Hole is only slightly deranged. The message is clear enough: Rufio’s loss of life is seen as a personal attack against the club. His death is not sad because his life ended, it’s sad because the club is suffering. 

  It’s nauseating. 

  The only thing that keeps her head on straight is Killian, the gentle looks he shoots her from across the bar where he sits with Rob shooting warmth through her heart and to the pit of her stomach. His presence is so soothing, so grounding. It makes her feel steady and strong to be with him, to even be near him. 

  Each time she catches him glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, she feels her heart rate picking up. He drives her mad, she’s discovered. They’ve only just begun their relationship with one another, but it feels stronger than any she’s ever been in if only based on the physical connection they have with one another. She’s never felt this way about anyone before. She’s been with men before, men before Neal, but it was always transactional and cold. It was fine, but it wasn’t great. With Killian, it’s mind numbing. 

  He reads her effortlessly and flawlessly. He knows exactly what she needs when she needs it. He’s known exactly how to bring her over the edge each time, and she can only foresee their sex life getting better as they grow closer and closer. She can’t wait to grow closer to him. 

  The overwhelming feelings of disgust and discomfort are washed away easily each time he stares at her and are replaced by a feeling of undeniable need. The pressure builds where she needs him the most, arousal washing over her and through her until she can barely stand it, and the feeling of Neal’s hand landing on her shoulder makes her jump. “Want a drink, babe?” he asks, as if completely forgetting the conversation they had last night. He hasn’t even bothered to ask her of the results of her tests yet. 

  “I’m actually gonna just run to the bathroom,” she says with a smile. “Not feeling great, I’ll be back.” 

  She doesn’t give him a chance to respond before she stands and heads towards the bathroom, relying on the dank darkness and the slowly dripping faucet to distract from the overwhelming moodiness of the bar and her overwhelming arousal at the thought of Killian’s hands on her. 

  She focuses on her breathing for a moment, hoping to slow things down around her and calm her racing pulse. The sense of peace is short lived; the door opens slowly, making her heart rate pick up. But when she sees him, she relaxes easily, a smile creeping onto her face. “You need to be careful,” she insists quietly, although she can’t help but giggle as he locks the door and pounces on her. 

  He lifts her onto the counter and his lips are on hers instantly, his hands gripping her ass and pulling her towards him. Her legs wrap around his and her arms grab for his shoulders, her nails digging into the rough fabric of his button down shirt. 

  With his mouth trailing hot kisses along her flesh, his teeth scraping against her neck, he finds his way to her collarbone and murmurs, “I couldn’t stand being away from you a moment longer.” 

  She gasps in surprise at his words, a wave of arousal rushing through her and landing in her core, twisting her and encouraging her to tighten her legs around him in search of friction and pressure. “Fuck,” she whispers as his hands and lips move the cup of her bra to the side. 

  “Do you want this?” he asks, seeking consent before latching his lips to her hardened nipple. She nods fiercely. “ Gods , how I crave you.”

  “Killian,” she breathes, “touch me.” 

  His mouth devours hers again, his hand sliding down the front of her and finding the waist of her jeans. He tugs, drawing her closer to him and, without breaking their lips apart, snaps her button undone and slides her zipper down quickly. 

  “Are you wet already, Emma?” he asks roughly, his fingers sliding over the cotton that’s already nearly soaked through. He growls. “You are; that’s a good girl.”

  “Yours,” she mumbles, her arousal taking over and her mind barely able to keep up with what her mouth says. 

  “Aye, mine,” he agrees, nipping at her bottom lip. He pushes her garment aside and slips his fingers through her folds, groaning when he finds her sodden for him. “So responsive,” he praises. “So perfect for me.”

  With a moan as his mouth presses to the sensitive skin under her earlobe, she nods again, wanting to reinforce to him that she’s his . Only his. Simply, she tells him, “I love you.”

  His fingers glide over her clit, pinching quickly and dragging a whimper from her throat. “I love you so much I can scarcely breathe,” he whispers. “I can’t stand to be away from you.”

  “Then don’t make me wait,” she begs in a whisper herself. 

  He moves his hand away from where she craves him and quickly moves his own jeans, and Emma wriggles until her pants are falling around her knees. “We’ll leave tomorrow,” he vows, smoothing his weeping cock along her clit as she wrestles with the condom wrapper. When she finally has it open, she places it over his tip and slides her fist down to the base. 

  “Where will we go?” 

  She gasps when one finger slips into her followed closely by a second, curling against her expertly and sending her searching for his mouth with hers. He swallows her cries when his thumb gently presses against her clit. 

  “Your heart’s desire, Swan,” he says, lining his cock up to her waiting entrance. “I promise, that’s all I want you to have.” 

  Their foreheads press together, their noses too, and she bites her lip as he pushes inside. She clings to him, her fingers gripping the back of his shoulders, her heels digging into his backside, her core squeezing around his cock. After a few perfectly timed, perfectly angled thrusts, she whispers, “I just want you.”

  He holds her so close to him as one hand grabs onto her ass and the other holds her jaw and neck. His thrusts are quick, but deep and effective, striking her exactly where she needs him. He groans when she clenches around his cock again. 

  His hand slips around from her back so that his fingers can dance over her clit with each thrust. Emma moves her hands up to the back of his neck, gripping his hair and begging him for more in each moan against his mouth. It’s not long before he has her a writhing mess in his arms, pleading for release. 

  “Come on, angel,” he encourages gently but firmly as he gives her another flawless thrust. “Nice and tight for me, aren’t you? I know you’re ready, love. Come for me.”

  His voice is tenacious, but still so tender, so caring in the way that he loves her. She’s never felt so loved and safe while being spoken to in such a dominating tone, and she loves it. She loves the freedom that comes with being commanded and feeling safe at the same time. She never knew the two could coexist. 

  At his behest, she clenches once more and cries out his name, his mouth muffling the sound as he spills into her. They hold each other firmly, panting as they ride out their highs together, although they’ll never be sated. They’ll never have enough of each other, always craving more. 

  “Bloody hell, I love you,” he says when they catch their breath. 

  She hums happily, if only because she’s still panting too hard to speak. She kisses his neck, her lips lingering on his soft, sweat coated skin. “I love you,” she whispers. Then, because telling him once will never be enough, she moves so that her tongue traces his earlobe and repeats, “I love you.”

  He moves her hair out of her face when she pulls away slightly, then presses a kiss to her cheek. “I’m sorry to come in here so… rudely,” he laughs. “But I--”

  “I’m glad you did,” she smiles. She winces slightly as he pulls out, stepping away to dispose of the condom and exposing his bare ass to her, tempting her to pull him back to her. “Are we really gonna be able to go tomorrow?”

  “Aye,” he smiles and returns to her to kiss her once more. “I just need to tell Tink and Elsa. We’re to meet by the docks; Robin knows already.”

  “You have a plan?”

  “Somewhere quiet,” he answers, “hidden away, unsuspecting… but it must be by the beach, aye?”

  “Aye,” she giggles and he straightens her shirt with a smile. “And?”

  “Nantucket.”

  “Nantucket?”

  “Mmm,” he hums as he helps her off of the counter so that she can fix her pants. “Quiet, secluded island, enough tourists to help us blend in. Plus, infamously beautiful beaches for an infamously beautiful woman.”

  She wraps her arms around his neck, pushing onto her toes and kissing him. “Sounds perfect.” 

  “Emma…” he starts, and she can sense the shift between them. He’s thinking, his self-anger and self-hatred sneaking through the joy he felt moments ago. “If it weren’t for what I did--”

  “Please,” she whispers. “You know that I love you. The fact that you killed Rufio doesn’t change that. I know you regret it, but if you need forgiveness, you have it.”

  He leans against her heavily, forehead to hers again, and nods. “I do regret it. But I know it had to be done.”

  “Exactly. And where will I meet you?”

  “I’ll find you, my love. The less you know, the safer you’ll be with Neal. Robin knows the plan, though.” She nods against him now. “You’ll be alright,” he whispers, and she almost wonders who he’s promising. 

  “I know; I trust you.”

  ~~~~

  A knock sounds against a heavy door. It’s pushed open slowly, and behind it stands a young and conflicted soul, trying to make the best decision for her family. The things she overheard as she stood outside of the women’s restroom serve to threaten the family she has found, and she cannot let that stand. 

  “Enter,” commands a strong and powerful voice, the man looking up from his ledgers and giving the woman a pensive look. “Elsa, to what do I owe this pleasure?” 

  “Peter,” she answers, moving towards the chair across from him. “I’m afraid I have some… troubling news.”

  The man hums, leaning forward and pressing his arms to the desk. “And what is that, my dear?”

  The woman takes a deep breath, sadly shaking her head at the truth she’s uncovered. She didn’t think her friend Killian capable of such a thing, but discovering that he’s murdered a member of the club has stunned her. “It’s Rufio,” she says wistfully. “I found out who killed him.”

  “That’s very interesting indeed,” the man agrees. “Are you implying that it wasn’t a member of the Kings of Elsinore who murdered a member of our family?”

  “Yes,” she nods with a deep sigh. “But it pains me to put the truth to words.”

  “Elsa,” he starts again, leaning back in his chair authoritatively. “If you know something, you must tell me. How can we protect you if you don’t protect us in return?”

  “Of course. After what happened to Liam, of course I want to protect the club.”

  The man nods in sad agreement. “Yes, his death was a tragedy, but the club has been keeping you safe ever since.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Go on, then,” he gestures towards her. “Whatever you’ve discovered, you must remember that the club’s interests as a whole must come above those of one.” 

  The woman nods once more and takes a deep breath in, feeling the cool air hit her lungs. “It was Killian,” she whispers. “Killian killed Rufio.”

~~~~

~~~~

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[evanstanhoney]

Drunk. //Badboy!Shawn

a/n: this has been in my drafts for well over a year lol i hope you guys like it. 

⚠️warnings: angst with some fluff if you squint 

pairing: badboy!shawn x reader

word count: 2.3k 

“Honey…” Shawn slurs into the phone and your heart nearly breaks. 

 Your heart stops at the sound of his voice. The last time you’d heard it, it was laced with venom saying words that cut through you like knives. 

 “Just leave.” 

 “I don’t want to see you.” 

 “I don’t want you here.” 

But now you could hear something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but it put you on edge. The thought crossed your mind to not say a word, in hopes that he’d hang up. Or maybe you’d hang up first and pretend you’d never gotten the call in the first place but you were never one to go with your gut, if you had you wouldn’t even be in the position you are in now. 

 “Shawn...” 

 “How  - what are you doing right now?” He mumbles into the phone. You hadn’t a clue how many drinks he’s had, but if he’s calling you then you know it must have been a rough night. 

 “Shawn where are you?” you asked. Why you were concerned, you couldn’t figure out, but the idea of him being in as bad of shape as he was wandering around or somewhere where he could get himself into trouble worried you.  

 “I’m- I’m home. But I miss you.” 

 “Shawn go to sleep.”

 “No. Not without you. I can’t without you, it’s too hard.” He whines petulantly.

 “Just - can you drink some water? Can you do that for me?” 

 “Can you come here?” 

 “Shawn I can’t.” 

 “Sure you can. You just don’t want to. Because I’m bad. I’m a bad person” 

 Of course, you want to go to him. You want to go to his place cuddle him up and nurse him back to sobriety, but it's a terrible idea for the both of you. The back and forth between you needed to stop, and since it seemed as though he was incapable of thinking of anyone other than himself you were going to have to be the one to their foot down. You couldn’t see him. If you did then you’d be dragged back into the cycle.  

 “You’re not bad Shawn.” 

 “Yes, I am. If I wasn’t then you’d be here right now. But you’re not.” there's a long silence between the two of you before you barely make out a whisper, “You’re so far away.” 

 “Shawn. You’re very drunk.” you sigh. You kept telling yourself that he didn’t mean it, no matter how much he was tugging at your heartstrings, none of it meant anything. He was drunk and for some reason thought that it was a good idea to call you but none of this meant anything. He wouldn’t even remember in the morning and he’d go back to pushing you away….until he wants you again. 

 “I am. I also miss you. Anything else you want to point out?” he hisses into the phone, and he immediately regrets it rushing with apologies, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please don’t hang up. I didn’t mean that.” 

 “I’m not going to hang up.” You sigh rubbing at your temple. 

 Why were you still entertaining this? All you had to do was hit the little red button on your phone and he would go away. Just like he wanted. But here you are. 

 “I’m sorry for what I said.” He 

 “I know you are.” 

 “I mean it.” 

 “I know you do bub,” The nickname slips out, and you flinch and you tense up biting your lip. 

 There’s a long pause on the other end and for a moment you think he hung up until you hear him sigh into the phone, “Can you come over. Please.” he asks suddenly a little soberer. 

 You pull your phone away from your ear looking at the time, it’s late but it’s not terribly late, and no matter how much you wanted to pretend like he no longer had an effect on you, there was no point in lying to yourself. 

 “Yeah, okay.” 

 “Really?” He quips, voice a little lighter. 

 “Yeah. I’ll be over in twenty.” 

  …..…..

You’re standing on his doorstep for about a minute, reminding yourself that at any time you can leave. You could turn around get back in your car and go home and forget all about Shawn Mendes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do you. Hesitantly you raise your fist up knocking on the door lightly hoping not to wake the rest of his roommates. There’s a little bit of clattering before Shawn’s clumsily opening the door for you, leaning against the frame with a dopey grin on his face. 

 “You’re here.” 

 “I told you I’d be didn’t I.,” you say giving him a sad smile. He was in bad shape. Hair a mess, eyes bloodshot, with dark circles underneath, and a fresh cut on his cheek. You raise your hand up, turning his head to the side to get a better look at the wound “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

 You take his hand, and he follows behind you as you make your way to his bedroom. You set him down on his bed, and he plops down his hands going straight to your waist pulling you in close as you stand in between his legs. You run your fingers through his hair, and he leans into your touch letting out a contented sigh. “I’ll be right back,” you say pulling yourself away from him. 

 You head into the bathroom, rummaging through his bathroom cabinet trying to find the supplies needed to clean up his face, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.  You didn’t look much better than him, your hair just as a mess, eyes just as bloodshot, and the same pained look behind your eyes. 

 What were you doing? What is it about this boy that’s got you running to him at all hours of the night to take care of him? Didn’t you deserve better than this? 

 You come back into the room and see him laying down on the bed. 

 “Up for a second, please,” you say tapping his knee. He lets out a little groan but follows your instructions, “It’s going to sting a little.” you warn beginning to clean him up. Any other night you would have asked him what he’d gotten himself into, who he’d pissed off but it would probably only end with a fight, so you didn’t. 

“Thank you,” he whispers to you, and you just nod your head knawing at your lip. “I really am sorry.” 

 “You don’t have to apologize. Let’s just get you in bed, yeah?”  you reply, almost robotically. This is your routine, you’ve done it all before. The drunken apologies and you just have to smile and nod and wait for him to sober up, just for him to be his normal emotionally unavailable self in the morning. 

 You lean down and help him take off his boots and once you do he stands stipping down to his boxers, and it's not that it’s something you haven't seen before, but now it felt like an invasion of privacy. Like you’ve lost the right to see one other in such away. You catch yourself staring and decide it’s time for some hangover prep. So you go down to the kitchen, getting a glass of water and some crackers, and finding some pain killers to set next to his bed. 

 “You’re all set. I think I should go.” 

 “No,” He complains from where he’s layed in bed, “stay with me.” 

 “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Shawn.” 

 “I know it’s not, and I know I don’t deserve it. But please stay.” He asks suddenly a lot more sober than he’d been since you walked in. And it’s embarrassing just how easy it was for you to change your mind. 

 “Okay.” 

 He pulls his covers to the side, allowing you to scoot in next to him. You lay back against the pillows, and Shawn is quick to take comfort in you, laying his head on your chest. It throws you off how comfortable he is wrapping himself around you, and you hesitate for a movement before you sink into the pillows wrapping your arms around him in return.  

…..…..

The sun peaking through the blinds is what wakes you the next morning. You had almost forgotten where you were as if the events of the night before never happened. But soon the familiar scent of Shawn’s cologne filled your senses and there was no denying where you were. Your stomach did somersaults at the realization, but as you turned over finding Shawn's side of the bed empty you started the think of an escape plan. But as you went through it all in your head, something came over you and decided not to run. Running is what’s gotten you in this situation in the first place. You needed to face him, to deal with whatever mess is to come. 

So you got yourself relatively presentable and made your way out of the bedroom to find Shawn’s shirtless back to you over the stove. You take a seat at the island and he doesn’t seem to notice you, too focused on what he’s doing so you awkwardly cleared your throat hoping that it’d do the trick, and it does. 

“Morning,” he says with a small smile, before turning back around plating a pancake. 

“Good morning.”

“I figured I’d make you breakfast. As a thank you, I don’t remember much about last night but, um….I feel like an apology is in order.” 

“Shawn- no it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry you came all the way over here. And you definitely didn’t need to spend the night so - thanks.” 

“It’s no big deal Shawn really.” He doesn’t argue with you anymore, just gives you a sad smile, and shakes his head fondly. “What?” 

“You’re just always so self-less. I will never understand you.” 

“I’m not self-less.” you scoff shaking your head. 

“Yes you are,” he says firmly. “The last time I saw you….” 

“We don’t have to talk about it.” 

“Yes, we do. Because the last time we spoke I said some awful, vile things.” 

“Shawn really it’s -” 

“No! No it’s not fine.” he snaps, before letting out a deep breath, “Why do you do that? Why do you keep making excuses for me?” 

“I don’t - I don’t know.” 

“I was awful to you. I said awful things and then I call you, blackout drunk and you come over. Not only that, but you spend the night when I ask, and you want to tell me that you’re selfless.” 

“I just don’t want you to hurt Shawn that’s all.” 

“Even after everything, I put you through.” 

“Yeah. Even after everything. I wish I didn’t care so much, believe me, my life would be much easier, but I can’t help it.” 

He looks at you with sad eyes and sets a plate down in front of you with pancakes and some bacon. He comes around the counter and takes a seat next to you, 

“You’re not eating?” you ask 

“Nah, I’m not hungry. Just wanted to do something for you,” he says through a sad smile. “Go ahead, eat.” he encourages, and you pick up your fork and dig in.  

You eat in relative silence for a few moments unsure of what to say next. In all your time together, whatever your relationship was, Shawn seldom did anything like this for you. He would do things for you sure, but they always ended up leading to him asking for a favor, and it always felt like he was making a deal rather than trying to do something nice. So you sat and waited for the other shoe to drop, for him to say something to ruin the nice gesture. 

But it doesn’t come. He lets you finish your food in peace, and then when you finish, he cleans up for you. 

“I should probably get going.”

There was a flash of disappointment on Shawn’s face but he knew better. He knew what this was for you and he knew he’d be stupid to think that you’d see it anything other than a mistake. 

“Yeah- yeah. Of course.”

You go to collect your things that you’d haphazardly dropped onto the small living room couch the night before, but Shawn stops you. 

“Actually, wait.” you look up at him and it’s like the first time you ever were together alone all over again. You were nervous, heart pounding in your chest butterflies in your stomach. You wanted to run, but you also needed to hear what he had to say. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Shawn.” 

“Not without you hearing this. I just - I want to fix this. I know I don’t deserve it. I know that I’m a piece of shit and I put you through hell-”

“You did.” 

“Yeah. I did. And words can’t describe how sorry I am for it. I wish I could take it back, but I can’t.” 

“No, you can’t.” 

“But,” he takes a step closer to you taking your hands in his and your heart rate picks up, “I can do everything I can to make it up to you.” He says quietly, “If you let me. Please.” 

Everything in you is screaming ‘NO!’. But the heart wants what the heart wants, or so they say. 

“Okay.” 

Shawns eyes lit up, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had to have been dreaming. Everything he’s ever wanted, a second chance with you, was just granted just like that? It couldn’t be. “Okay?” 

“Yeah. You can make it up to me. But Shawn, you fuck up and I’m gone.” 

“Yes. I - okay. I won’t fuck up. I promise. “ 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.". 

 shawn masterlist // chris evans masterlist // tell me what you think? // requests? // wattpad // ao3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By the king’s hand 🐍 XV

Warnings: noncon/rape, violence, trauma, allusions to torture.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The trial begins and takes it toll on those involved.

Note: Chapter fifteen already?! I dunno what I’m doing but it’s happening. Everyone it’s happening! Hahah. I’m having too much fun. Also call out to @lokislastlove​ because you know she fuels the fire too much.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your days formed a pattern. You woke as the king readied for the day ahead. When he left, Hal remained and kept you company. He helped you with your letters or read from you from his code of honour. You sewed or reclined on the chaise as you listened. Sometimes, you spoke of yourselves; the boy hadn’t the sense to be secretive but he was young and had little intricacy to his character.

When the king returned, he dismissed the boy. Often, he took his pleasure. You could do little but let him in hopes of keeping him pleasant; of avoiding a fight you couldn’t win. Other nights, he merely sat and thought, a few words offered on his inner turmoil. It was a peculiar, if not absurd, routine; the two of you in denial of the past as the present bore down on you.

A week passed. It felt longer and shorter all at once. Time seemed warped in your mind since your return to the palace. But you felt the changes inside of you. Your hunger grew insatiable and the nausea more persistent. Your emotions swelled and swayed between despair and anger; between buoyancy and blight. And as you were kept in better condition, your flesh began to soften and even after a few days, you noticed how you began to grow.

That day, you felt unready. You’d been awake for much of the night after a knock came at the door. Loki went to attend to his visitor and returned with jarring news. Thor had arrived in the capital and had been secured in his royal prison. His trial would commence within days.

Loki was restless too though he would not admit it. He lay beside you and feigned sleep. You stared up at the top of the bedpost and found it difficult to get comfortable. To think that Thor was just across the green in Boulder Tower. It was a trap meant for noble criminals, a historic landmark that had held traitors since the early days of the kingdom. You just didn’t believe it could hold Thor. Nothing could. In your mind, he was unstoppable.

You said little to the king before he left you that morning. His mind was on his brother, as yours was. Even Hal could not lift the gloom from you as he appeared with his usual smile. You ate with the boy and he helped you to the chaise as you grew weary from your fitful night. He sat at your feet and listened as you recited your letters.

“You remembered them all,” he beamed.

You smiled. It felt ridiculous but you were just as proud of yourself. You went through your letters every night after Loki was done with you. You repeated the sounds in your head as Hal had shown you and though your progress was slow, it was better than none.

You were silent as you struggled to keep your mind on the lessons. You hadn’t the energy to take up your needle and you found yourself fidgeting until Hal touched your ankle. You yawned and propped yourself up on your elbows.

“My lady, I can tell you are distracted,” he prodded.

“I am,” you dropped back and sighed. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t sleep and I cannot stop thinking of…” You couldn’t say the words and so you only shook your head.

“The prince?” He ventured. “I did see them escort him to the tower last night. They had him chained and… I never saw him look so worn.” Hal almost whispered, “And angry. I admit I did not sleep much, either.”

Your lip trembled and you covered your face with your arm. You might start sobbing if you thought of the prince too long. You could not do so without feeling his cold grip on your body, feeling his intrusions over and over, hearing his raw voice as he mocked you.

“Do you believe they can bring him to justice?” You asked. “That the king could ever rein in his own brother?”

“I know that the king is clever and that he would not proceed if he did not have some plan,” Hal said, “And I pray that Prince Thor is dealt with swiftly and rightly.”

You sniffed and flung your arm away from your head. You sat up and frowned. “Hal,” you said softly, “I wouldn’t think that the king feels much more for me than shallow want but… he might resent me for whatever becomes of his brother. Might resent the child inside of me.” You lowered your head, “I feel awfully alone and frightfully lost.”

“The king… no, it isn’t your fault,” Hal said. “You couldn’t--”

“Promise me,” you breathed and looked up meekly, “If this child is born and I am not kept around to see it grow, that you will look in on it. For me.”

“What do-- You are its mother, you will be there.”

“I am a peasant. I am a bed warmer, not a wife. I haven’t rights, even though I bear the seed myself.” You blinked away the tears, “I have no one else. You must see that in my absence, that this child is well.”

Hal gulped and nodded. His youth struck you and made you feel terribly for what you asked of him. You drew your legs down and sidled over to him. You touched his slender hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry, Hal.”

“No, I think I am sorry.” He replied. “I haven’t listened to you. I forget…” He chewed his words, “I… sometimes, I find myself believing that you and the king, that you are his wife and that he is happy with you.” He inhaled deeply, “It is unfair of me to think of it as such because I know of all he’s done. It is only that I cannot understand it. I love the king but I do not love what he does.”

“I don’t understand it either,” you muttered, “I don’t think I can.”

He looked at you and his boyish cheeks paled. “How can you not? You are the wisest person I’ve ever met.”

You laughed, grimly. You touched his shoulder and retracted your hand as you stood. “Then, if you think me wise, listen to me. Do not try to understand the king or the prince or men like them. Only learn from them. Do not become them. Hal,” you turned back to him and clutched your hands, “Don’t let them take your decency.”

His eyes rounded and he rubbed his hands together as he thought. He hung his head. “My mother…” he spoke so quietly you could barely hear him, “She died birthing me. I never knew her and my father wanted me away so bad. The king, he has been the only constant in my life and I never questioned him before.”

“And you shouldn’t. There are things he can teach you. For all his cruelty, you can learn to be kind. For all his trickiness, you can learn to be honest. For all his sins, you can learn good deeds.” You swayed on your feet and hugged yourself, “And maybe one day, he will have the grace to learn from you.”

Hal’s eyes were glossy. He stood so quickly you hadn’t time to react before his arms were around you and his face was buried in your shoulder. Stunned, you slowly untwined your arms and hugged him in turn. You held him until he drew back, his face rosy with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accost you.” He rubbed his cheek.

“No, you didn’t,” you found it hard not to weep at the realisation that this boy had likely never been embraced thus. “Don’t apologise.” You drew him back and rocked him in your arms. “You’re a good boy, Hal, and you will be a great man.”

🐍

The prince’s trial commenced three days after his arrival in Boulder Tower. Loki didn’t touch you the night before and left without disturbing you. You woke, confused and alone. You spent much of your day over a basin, spilling your guts as the anxiety added to your sickness.

That night, the king remained silent. You caught him staring at you but he looked away quickly each time you did. You sat and sewed the hem of the nightshirt meant for your child. The tail was closed to keep the child’s legs warm and the collar was to be embroidered as a final touch.

You laid down but Loki did not. You fell asleep after some time but did not sink far into slumber. You awoke as a log clacked into the hearth and the king’s shadow retreated into the front chamber again. You rolled over and slept some more. You woke and rose to relieve yourself before peeking in on the king.

Loki had the nightshirt in his hands and traced the stitches with his thumbs. He grumbled to himself and replaced it where you’d left it hanging from a hook. He rubbed his eyes and sat heavily at the table. His hand balled into a fist and he hit the wood. You backed away before he could see you and hid yourself in the bed once more.

When the morning came, Loki still wasn’t abed. You heard the door and Hal’s voice permeated the early lull. “Your majesty,” he whispered and the king grunted, “It is time.”

You listened to the movement in the next chamber and the boy came to retrieve clean attire for the king. You pretended to doze as he did, your ears pricked as you tucked your chin down beneath the covers. The rustle of cloth and tinkle of metal followed.

“Weeks. It will be weeks.” Loki uttered. “Will I ever be done with my fool brother?”

Hal said nothing. He wasn’t expected to. He listened to the king’s qualms and went about his duty.

“Distract the woman,” he slithered, “Let her not think of Thor or the rest of my troubles. Birger will be at hand if you require him.”

The door opened and closed not long after. You realised that Hal was more than a placeholder, he was to keep you from asking questions. You didn’t want to dwell on Thor and all he’d done to you, but you hated to feel as if you knew nothing. Did you not deserve to hear of the fate of your worst tormentor?

You sat up and dressed in a dark blue gown. You washed your face from the basin and pulled on fur-lined slippers before you strode through to the front room. Hal read, a covered plate awaited you on the table. He bid you good morning and you sat and ate the hearty breakfast. It did little too soothe the ache of your stomach.

As the morning turned to noon, you took out the papers from the desk drawer and practiced your writing. Hal watched and helped you spell out simple words; table, chair, desk, your name, and his. When it came to Loki’s name, you dropped the pen and turned to glare at the boy.

“Tell me what you know of the trial.” You insisted.

“The trial?” He repeated, “Well, not much, I’ve been here with you, my lady.”

“Yes, but you’ve time without. You have friends in the palace. You are close to the king.” You tapped your fingers impatiently, “So tell me what keeps him so quiet.”

“I…” Hal sputtered and wrung his hands. “I don’t know if I should--”

“What do you think I’ll do? Surely I won’t say it to him. But… I am bored in here and kept ignorant. I deserve to know, for my peace of mind. Don’t you think?”

Hal huffed and fidgeted as he tried to come up with some argument. “Promise you won’t say a word.”

“I haven’t a particular urge to face the king’s wrath,” you said, “So?”

“The trial’s only just open,” he straightened the stack of parchment as he spoke, “Witnesses will not be heard for at least another week. As of now, they’ve only sworn in the prince and begun to review the evidence.” Hal poked his cheek with his tongue, “I had it from one of the servants in attendance that the prince threatened to choke each judge with his bare hands and lastly, the king.”

“He threatened them? At his own trial?” You gasped.

“He is angered that they took his wife and child. He swears he is framed and that the people will not let him be convicted on false charges.” Hal looked at you, “And as they began to present the evidence, he grew angrier. He attacked a guard and the session was ended early.”

You gaped at him. “Do you think he is right? That the people will harry behind him?”

“Who knows? He was king once but the council wasn’t entirely distraught to hear of his resignation. And King Loki has since tidied up much of the mess he left.” Hal scratched his chin, “There will be some loyalists but enough to save him? I hope and think not.”

You mulled over the revelations. Loki’s detached manner made more sense, and you admitted, was a blessing. You could not handle both the stress of the prince’s proximity and the king’s unyielding desire.

“I hope not, as well,” you said at last. “I won’t mention any of it to the king.”

🐍

Loki said less and less as the days passed. Some nights, he slept beside you, others you found him snoring in the chair as the fire dwindled. Aside from Hal, you felt terribly alone. It was as if you were living with a ghost. You might not long for his attentions but you were troubled by his silence.

A week after the trial began, you were woken by a sudden yank on the blanket. Loki stood by the bed and stared down at you. He lifted a brow and beckoned you with two fingers. He turned as you sat up and retrieved a stack of clothing from the low bench. He dropped it beside you and crossed his arms.

“Get dressed. You will break your fast and come with me,” he ordered.

You lifted the tunic, a dull grey embroidered with silver. The trousers were black and thick, and the boots were too big for you. “And covered your head,” he tossed a cap at you, “Try not to sway as a lady would.”

“What? I don’t--”

“Do as I say, mouse, all will make sense soon,” he backed away and left you in the flickered of a single lamp.

You pulled on the tunic, loose enough for your stomach and tied up the breeches as well as you could. You slid into the boots and tucked the cap into your pocket. You found the king chewing on a rasher and sat to eat with him. His long fingers were restless between bites and his forehead wrinkled in thought.

When he finished, he wiped his mouth and hands and took the cap from your pocket. He pulled it over your hair and gave you a dark cloak. “Keep your head down,” he led you to the door and you found Hal waiting in the corridor. “Go with the boy.”

“I don’t--”

He shushed you and pointed a single finger at you. “Wait. We will discuss after.” He snipped. “Keep quiet and don’t make a scene.”

Confused and too tired to resist much more, you followed Hal away from the king. You were nervous that you might not return to the chamber. That perhaps you might be taken some place where you would see only your own shadow. Had the king finally decided to be rid of you? The thought was not entirely dreaded but you would hate to be confined further.

As you were led out into the snowy yards, you were further disoriented. Hal helped you up into a carriage and sat across from you silently. You asked where you were going and he only shook your head as he gave a helpless look.

You pulled up outside a pillared facade with ancient statues. You hesitated as you descended the step onto the ground. It was the theatre. The trial was being held there, as Loki said, and you realised what was happening.

“What?” You grasped Hal’s wrist. “No, I can’t-- the prince--”

“Is restrained. By chain and by guard.” Hal assured. “He won’t even know you’re here, my lady.”

You shuddered and clung to Hal. “Why am I here?”

“To see. To listen.” He said cryptically. “I won’t leave you, alright?”

You nodded and braced yourself. You let go of him and followed him through the wide doors. You were guided up a flight of narrow stairs and into a balcony meant for the aristocratic patrons of the stage. You sat beside hall on the fine bench and peered out between the curtains.

The council members streamed in and filled the seats along a dais and the judges sat on the stage, a single stool at the centre for the witness. The doors opened to let in the audience, both common and noble, and they filled the benches meant for purveyors of a much less grave show.

The jury entered next, followed  by the king, and order was called by the judge who sat at the center of the triarch. A hush went over the buzzing crowd and a staunch and dire tension filled the air. 

Finally, the prince himself was shown in with chains at his hands and throat. He was sat in the box before the rows of benches to face his crimes. He was seething though his appearance bore evidence of his exhaustion. You reached to hall and squeezed his hand.

Loki sat with his head high as the judge began the proceedings and handed it over Lord Mariton, who was chosen to prosecute the case.

You weren’t entirely certain of what was going on and you leaned forward as you listened. Commoners were seen in the lower courts and often the disputes were over property and swiftly cycled through. You had never seen anything so… big. The scene could not be anything less than historic.

“The court will proceed from the last day’s activity. We continue down our list of witnesses and having heard from servants and lesser, we would call on our more reliable voices this day. We would call to the stand a conspirer in the prince’s plot.” Mariton strode along the edge of the stage, “One Magnus Dorson. The king’s former guard.”

Your breath caught deep in your chest and your head swam. You gripped Hal’s entire arm and let out a pathetic whimper. The boy touched your hand. “My lady, I’m here.”

“How-- When?” You gasped, “He--”

You gaped down from the balcony as the doors beside the stage opened and a silhouette appeared. The former guard entered with his head down between two others. His broad shoulders slumped like a beaten dog and he limped heavily as he was shoved up the steps of the stage. He was forced into the witness box and sat in the chair with a thump.

Even from a distance, you could see all that had been done to Magnus. His eye was swollen, his lip split, and half his face was off-kilter. You barely recognized him but it could be no other. You brought your hand to your mouth as tears trickled from your eyes.

You couldn’t focus as Mariton swore in Magnus and you shook your head as you felt it hard to breathe. Your eyes kept bouncing between Magnus and Thor. The prince was visibly shocked at the site of his accomplice as the other man seemed barely able to see through his swollen eye.

“You served the king for how long?” Mariton began lightly.

You stared at Magnus. Waited for that voice, the one that haunted you, and when it came, it was brittle and broken. You looked at the king. He turned and met your gaze, though likely he could not see you past the shadows. He nodded and for an instant, his lips curved.

“Since his father’s reign. Almost five years.” Magnus hissed and shifted in pain.

“And when, in those five years, did you decide to betray him?”

Magnus sniffed and choked. He cough and a splotch of red spattered across his hand. He shook his head and swallowed.

“I never wanted-- The prince came to me. He said that he required an ear in the king’s presence. He said he was kept from courtly business though he only gave up the crown, not his nobility. I thought it harmless--”

“But you divulged royal business to the prince? The king’s business.” Mariton insisted.

“I… I did but--”

“And when the prince used this information and decided that he would reclaim the throne he willingly gave up on admittance of his own incompetence, you did not warn the king?”

Magnus coughed again. “No.”

“In fact, you left the palace on the Prince’s orders to carry out his will? His conspiracy?”

“Y-yes,” Magnus answered and kept his head down.

“So you admit your treason.”

“I-- I do,” Magnus’ voice crackled and he winced as he raised his shackled hands to touch his face. “I did it. I betrayed the king. I intended on handing over his throne to his brother. And the prince…” He shuddered, “The prince wanted a war.”

The audience broke out in a chatter. The king sat stoically and the jury huddled to whisper. The judges looked to each other and shouts echoed off the high ceilings.

“Traitor!” A shoe flew from the rabble and hit the prince. “Cunt!”

“Order!” A judge cried out and hit the floor with his staff. “Order!”

You covered your face at the chaos. Your mind erupted as you rocked and tried not to think of those dark days. Thor roared back at the maddened audience and you sobbed. Your entire body was racked with your dismay as you leaned against Hal.

“They can’t-- They can’t know I’m here! They’ll hurt me!” You whined into his tunic, “They’ll hurt me. Hurt me. Hurt…”

Hal rubbed your back and hushed you and he cooed in your ear. “My lady, they cannot. They will not. They are chained. They are caught.” He whispered. “Please, my lady, breathe.”

“Take me away,” you begged. “Take me away now.”

The boy held you and carefully helped you to your feet. You clutched his arm as you feared you would stumble and he took you back down the stairs. He ushered you to the carriage and you stumbled inside. He shut the door behind him and sat with you on the bench as you covered your face and continued to weep.

He hit the ceiling of the carriage and it jerked as the wheels groaned and churned through the slush. Hal touched your shoulder and rubbed your arm as you continued to blubber. You barely noticed the city as it passed you by. You weren’t there; you were in that room below the butcher’s shop, waiting for them.

[jellyfishloveletterghosts]

More Nurse/Helper Billy

@magicalzonkbagelcolor I liked your idea and I ran a little with it. 

The first part

Billy is in college, he attends the small local place thirty minutes away on the government's dime at night. At first it's fine but he wants more than his shitty little apartment and the stipend from the government for the future, which is why he takes the job listing the Harrington’s post. He expects to annoy/flirt with Steve while taking care of his mom or dad, maybe an elderly grandparent, he is thrown when it is Steve who he is told he will be taking care of.

Billy starts applying to other colleges before he even gets the job, not planning to stay in Hawkins any longer than he has to. Pissed as  a few weeks later when he gets a letter from the government informing him that they are aware of his applications and that he is not actually permitted to leave Hawkins yet. He maybe takes it out on Steve that day a little meaner until Steve demands he leave, breath heaving as he tries to control himself and not cry after Billy points out those caps are only supposed to keep children out not dumb adults. 

Billy knows he crossed a line, hears the bottle hit the wall half a minute after he walks out, leaning against the wall outside as he tries to reign in the guilt building. He is not angry at Steve, none of this is his fault and Billy feels bad for picking until he broke, usually it is not him that pulls at Steve’s last straw. Billy has not actually been the reason for Steve sobbing on the floor before and Billy hates that he took his shit out on Steve again.

Billy waits gut sour, heart clenching until Steve's breathing evens out and he gives a weak little "Billy?"

"Yeah I'm here pretty boy." Billy calls back, not moving, waiting for Steve to tell him what he needs, he learned early it is better that way.

"You're an asshole, come help me." A little stronger this time.

"Yeah I know, I'm coming. " Billy says with a heavy sigh before helping Steve.

Billy kind of forgets about the applications he sent, wrapped up in taking care of Steve and his classes. Sure the government tanked them anyhow and instead of focusing on them and getting mad he focuses on helping Steve with the therapy his therapist wants him to go through insisting Steve needs to keep as active as he can. Billy is thinking about maybe looking into it as a profession he likes helping Steve with all his stretches and low stress exercises. He gets a sense of satisfaction from more than Steve’s blushing, knows it really does help, he can see the improvement in Steve after.

He forgets about them until he finds a few thick envelopes stuffed in his dinky little mailbox and he feels excitement  over knowing he got in despite the fact that he can't go. He stuffs them under his arm on his way with the intention of bragging to Steve later. He kind of forgets about them again, dumping them on the little bench Steve keeps his shoes under in the entry hall when he smells something burning.

"Well this smells terrible." Billy says grinning when Steve turns to glare at him, some sort of batter smeared on his face and Billy thinks the thing in the pan may have once been a pancake. "Couldn't wait until I got here?"

"It’s not your job."  Steve parrots as he flushes and Billy’s grin widens as he notices the two place setting on the table and the two plates by the stove. The messy bowl full of batter is definitely more than enough for one person, it is a dead give away.

"Did you try to make me breakfast?" Billy asks, grin softening to something a little more fond even as Steve hunches trying to hide and deny.

"No,” Steve going pink from the tips of his ears, disappearing under the loose collar of his shirt gives him away “why would I do that."

“Oh so you made enough batter for what two dozen pancakes and were going to eat all of them yourself?” Billy teases dipping a finger into the batter and popping it into his mouth, face contorting at how salty and gritty it is. 

“Yes, I had a very active morning.” Billy knows Steve had a therapy session with Chelsea this morning, focusing on helping him regain some hand eye coordination, she makes house calls unlike Chad who gets a little too handsy with Steve for Billy’s taste, that is his thing and he does not like some old weirdo feeling up on Steve. 

“Not active enough for two dozen pancakes, you really are looking to have something other than your ass to hold onto.” Billy says pinching his fingers on the softest part of Steve’s belly, where he knows the pudge is the thickest because he has been looking, been wanting to touch outside of stretches and teases but still slow rolling it.

“Shut up, how did you get back into shape after…” Steve trials off trying to pull away from Billy and frowning when he pinches a little harder.

“Got some cushion of my own, been eating better…” Billy leaves the since Starcourt, since getting out from under Neil’s thumb hanging in the air, Steve already knows that. “Maybe if you're good I’ll let you get a feel.” Billy says with a wink and he is not really talking about his own softened abs or his even thicker thighs but he thinks Steve gets it by the way his flush deepens and he chokes a little eyes cutting away as he smiles. 

“Now go get me some blueberries from my garden while I mix up some new batter, this stuff is atrocious, leave the cooking to me from now on pretty boy.” Billy grabs the bowl of batter and dumps it, letting it fill with water while he dumps the burnt pancake, feeling warm in the chest at all of the failed attempts he can see in the bin, Steve must have been at it for a while.

“My garden, it's my garden.” Steve grumbles pouting as he leans against the counter.

“Who spends hours kneeling in that garden, me, now go get my some blueberries you brat or I won’t let you have any pancakes.” Billy uses a kitchen towel to swat at him, grinning at the way it makes Steve squirm.

“I planted them.” Steve mumbles as he grabs a bowl, Billy watching his hands just to make sure he is doing alright, Billy can always judge how bad a day Steve is having by the shake of his hands, today there is barely a tremble.

“Fine go pick the blueberries from our garden, that better baby?” Billy concedes no less teasing as he wipes out the bowl and the pan before starting the new batter. Steve is still grumbling but he is smiling widely as he leaves flush still heavy.

Billy grows concerned when he gets through the first half of the batter and Steve still has not returned with the blueberries, worries something has gone wrong and turns the burner off as he takes off the current pancake golden brown and perfect. He slides the pan over to a cool burner before wiping his hands on a kitchen towel and going in search of Steve. 

Billy is confused when he finds Steve seated on the bench in the entryway, bowl discarded at his side, shoes on his feet but laces left undone. His hands are shaking and his breathing is heavy, head bowed as he stares down at something crumpled in his hands.

“Pretty boy,” Billy calls, stopping in his tracks a few feet away, giving Steve his space. “What do you need?” Billy asks, hoping for a reaction, gut sour as he sees tears drip down Steve’s cheek staining the paper crumpled in his hands darker.

“Nothingfromyou.” Steve hisses, the words tangled the way they get when Steve is upset but Billy’s been doing this long enough to get it on the first try. Confusion and a little anger filling him at Steve being upset at him, he has not done anything this time, he knows he has not. 

Billy blinks as a thick crumpled envelope smacks him in the stomach as Steve stumbles to his feet, movements uneasy. Billy stares down at the college acceptance letter even more confused until Steve stops fists clenched and shaking, leaning against the door for support, words slow as he tries to get it out without showing how upset he really is, like Billy does not know all of his tells. 

“Why? Why wouldyou?” Steve motions between them hand shaking harder and Billy frowns takes a step toward Steve but he hisses like an angry cat leaning more heavily on the door frame. “Why getclose, justgoingtoleave!” oh BIlly can see how this looks like that.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Billy says with a heavy sigh, resisting tossing something at Steve when he throws another envelope and this time it hits Billy in the shoulder. “Don’t you fucking throw another one at me!” Billy shouts before Steve can toss the third envelope, Steve is glaring at him through his tears, lip wavering as he holds the envelope up debating if it will be worth Billy’s wrath or not.

“I’m not going anywhere, I fucking can’t, government won’t let me leave Hakwins. I filled those applications out before I took this job and got close to you. Now put it the fuck down.” Steve's face goes from ready to break sadness to hopeful as he lets the last of the envelopes drop harmlessly to the ground, chewing on his lip as he looks at Billy through his wet lashes.

“That’s shitty, theyshouldn't, youdeserve” Billy cuts Steve off, knowing he is to worked up for all the words that want to tumble out of him.

“Found something worth staying for in this shitty town anyway.” Billy offers, Steve choking out a little delighted laugh, still crying and Billy just wants him to stop but at least his shaking has eased up.

“Now stop being a dramatic baby and come have breakfast” Steve pushes off the door frame and Billy finds his arms going around him immediately as Steve’s arms go around his waist holding tight, tears staining his shirt pancake batter reconstituting and no doubt smearing into the fabric as Steve keeps letting out little half hysterical laughs working out the nerves and stress built up in him as relief fills him “with me” Billy finishes smiling against Steve stupid soft hair.