#he will NOT shut up about these olives i am mortified in his place

[froget-me-nots]

mike walters is so annoying when hes not controlling the narrative i love him so bad

[qpidkitea]

TRANQUILITY

FARLEIGH START X FEM! READER

PRÉCIS: AU where Oliver is caught before he fully takes over Saltburn, Felix is still dead, and obviously Farleigh is completely torn and in need of comfort at the loss of his best friend and cousin, takes place after the curtain scene

WARNING: Angsty, cursing, mentions of death, cheek kisses, descriptions of a dead body, so much crying, comfort.

Nothing could've prepared you for today. Nothing could've prepared you for the horrified scream of Elspeth that's still ringing in your ears after the finding of Felix's dead body. His face was blue and swollen, a white, foamy, dried substance cascading down his cheek. His wings from his costume were bent and dirtied as he lay face down on the floor. The police discovered Oliver and his schemes almost immediately. They found the discarded powdered poison laying just a few yards away from the crime scene in the maze. His fingerprints were all over it.

Lunch was unbearable. After watching Oliver being pulled away from the mansion in handcuffs, everyone, especially Farleigh, was excused, his previous claims of drug use dismissed. Silent tears streamed down almost everyone's faces. Venetia almost looked dead. She was surely high on some type of pills, her mascara horribly smudged on her pale face. You wanted to help her, but you feared that if you touched her, she would crumble under your touch completely. Farleigh was shaking horribly, trembling with the effort of trying to keep his breakdown at bay, but tears still found their way down his face.

You sat silently beside Farleigh, holding and squeezing his hand underneath the table, staring down at the soon-to-be cold Shepards Pie on the table in front of you. Elspeth clears her throat, and you look up. She smiles at you, lifting her wineglass and taking an almost dangerous gulp of wine. She sets down the glass, the sound of it being painfully loud because of the quietness of the entire place, the only other sounds being small sniffles, and the sound of Jame's fork and knife cutting into his meal.

"Y/N darling?" Elspeth's voice startles you, sucking you out of the silence of your own head.

"Yes?" You didn't know what she could've possibly asked you at the moment. Your thoughts bounced off the walls of your head, wondering if she would ask you anything about Oliver. Maybe a question about if you noticed any of this behavior at school, or while he lived here..

"Did you enjoy the party?" Farleigh chuckles slightly, squeezing your hand impossibly tight. He shook his head in utter disbelief at her question.

Before you could answer, Duncan enters the room quietly, leaning down next to Sir James, who looks completely unfazed but yet mortified. Duncan then whispers in James' ear, something about closing the curtains in case the coroner passes the window of the room that you all sat in.

"Yes. Thank you. Close them."

Duncan closes the curtains smoothly, the room becoming an almost evil looking red as they close. There was one area left of the room that still shun with the beautiful light of the morning, and you can't help but think how the day would be perfect for laying in the tall grass fields underneath the warm sun, ignoring the cold breeze that would pass you. Duncan takes a few steps to close the last curtain, only to struggle horribly. Something must've been caught. His efforts became more aggressive, especially after noticing the coroner walking closer to the window. Sir James became more aggravated at each tug of the curtain.

"Duncan, just get them closed, for Christ's sake!" Sir James yells and angrily lets his fists slam against the table, and it makes everyone in the room jump.

"Yes, I am trying, sir. I can’t-" Duncan gives the curtain a final yank, and the room is plunged into the same red darkness. As if on cue, the sound of the gurney that held Felix's body rolled on the gravel, complete with the ambulance doors shutting harshly. That seemed to be Farleigh's final straw. He stands up abruptly, still holding your hand, which yanks your arm, forcing you to stand up with him. As Farleigh walks away, you walk with him quietly, ignoring the protested yells of Sir James. He walks quickly, still shaking, with tears flowing down his face.

Even though Farleigh was walking incredibly fast, it seems the walk was longer than usual, his long legs working overtime as he walks the enormous expanse of the mansion.

"Farleigh... slow down please'm gonna fall-" You were tripping on your own two feet, whisking down hallways and turning the curves of the wall way too fast to even register you were turning them.

"Shut up"

You weren't trying to submit to him, nor show your weakness, but you knew he was frustrated, so you shut your mouth. Farleigh loved the feeling of control, especially after feeling like he had none recently. As you reach Farleigh's room, you immediately noticed the white powder spread across in a thin line across the brown wooden desk in his room. You take your hand away from his, pushing the door closed gently. As the door closes behind you, Farleigh breaks down, not even making it to his bed before his knees give out. Sobbing quietly with his back turned and his arm and head resting on the edge of the messy, unmade bed, his body jumping with every try to catch his breath.

You walk quickly to him, crouching down next to him, not worried about your skirt riding up, not around him. Rubbing your hand up and down his back, you gave him a minute to let it all out, to let all the tears out that couldn't be let out in the somewhat hostile situation of lunch.

"Farleigh..." Before you knew it, five minutes passed, and it seemed as if Farleigh's cries weren't faltering, still crying and sniffing at the intensity that he was when he started.

"Farleigh, darling please, breathe for me." He breathe's in wildly, his breath was so shaky, you thought that if he tried to breathe in properly, his lungs would explode. He finally lifts his head up, his face extremely red from crying and the lack of a proper breath. You cup his wet face in your hands, rubbing your thumbs across his cheeks, drying them as you do.

Instead of words, you do. You breathe in deeply, and Farleigh mocks you shakily, but he still does. You hold your breath for a minute before exhaling. With each inhale you take, he mirrors your breath again, and again, and again, until he returns to normal breathing.

You pull the wreck of a boy into a tight hug. He doesn't hug you back, but you don't mind. Pulling back, you kiss his cheeks and then his forehead, which seems to calm him down all together. A hiccup is heard coming from him and you can't help but giggle. The poor boy cried too hard to the point of hiccups.

"Thank you" Farleigh looks into your eyes as he says this, words sounding strange from the swelling of his sinuses and vocal cords. He looks down at his lap, sighing harshly before leaning his head against his bed, feeling his neck dampen from his own tears that stained the sheets.

"Here, let me get you a cold cloth." You stand up, traveling down the hall to the cold bathroom. It was a chilly day at Saltburn. You open the small closet next to the door, opening it to reveal a stack of purple, white, and beige washcloths. You grab a purple one and walk to the sink. As you turn on the sink, you run your fingers underneath the cold water, your fingers going numb as the water turns colder. You place the rag under the running water, letting it completely soak, the color of the cloth becoming a deep purple.

You turn off the water and squeeze the rag of the remaining water, unfolding it and letting it swing in the air, letting the chilly air make the rag colder. As you walk back down the hall, you were happy to hear silence. Happy to hear that Farleigh hadn't cried again. You walk into the doorway and see Farleigh still where you left him, with his head leaning back on the bed. You sit down next to him on your knees. The hardwood floors hurt, but it was all worth it for your sweet boy.

Placing a cool wet rag on his hot face felt like heaven for Farleigh. He sighed deeply as you pressed the rag to his face. You couldn't see his face, but you could tell he was smiling. His face cooled down quickly, and he soon exhaled harshly because of restricted air flow coming through his covered face. He was okay. And you were glad he was okay.

"What the fuck would I do without you?" His words come out muffled, nasally, and strained, but you still heard him. You pull the rag off his face and gently kiss his cheek for the third time.

"Probably suffer"

[honeysidesarchived]

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

interlude ii ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 2.4k

warnings: none really! just an impending, pervasive sense of doom.

rating: m/t

notes: so happy to have finally gotten this little interlude edited and pieced together! just more soft moments because they deserve it considering what's going to be coming up. thank you everyone who has been reading/interacting with this little love project of mine; it took a minute to get myself dug out of the trenches and posting bite-sized chapters because this is a short-fic is definitely doing something to me (lmao) but we're here!

as always you can find translations on ao3, where it's easier to store them in a place that doesn't get in the way.

There is very little time between when Santino cooks her dinner and when he moves her into his apartment. It happens without much acknowledgment from her; she finds herself swallowed up in moments of casual intimacy that break her down to nothing except a girl in love.

Santino wakes her up by kissing her neck and pulling her against his chest; she makes him dinner barefoot in the kitchen, all of the recipes that her mother taught her, and he drags his hand along her hip to reach over her into the cupboard; he stands still and obedient while Euphemia slides his tie into place, and when he zips her dress for her, he peppers her shoulder with kisses. He tolerates taking a walk through the park, even in the chilliness of late Fall or Winter, because Euphie can’t stand to not get some fresh air once a day. When one of her friends asks why he lets her bully him into the cold weather, he wraps his arms around Euphie with a sly smile and says, “How could I not, when I am the one who gets to warm her up after?”

He is an exceptionally tactile man. There is always a reason for him to touch her, trace each line of her, put his lips against her skin. Santi isn’t a man who loves; he covets. And Euphemia shouldn’t like it as much as she does, but she does. Her therapist says that it isn’t uncommon for a girl who grows up without touching to crave it, desperately, like an addiction.

So, she finds herself living in his loft to feed that addiction—which becomes their loft—and teaching him words in French, and feeding him olives while sauce simmers (and does not boil), and kissing the red-wine taste from his lips. It’s all very romantic and greatly overshadows the moments where Santino comes home raging mad, or when his bad mood takes over their conversation and stirs a fight between them. They’re both hot-headed—her more so than he—and he knows all of the ways to diffuse her while she knows none about him.

But it doesn’t matter, in the end; because Santino always kisses her, and always says, Mi dispiace, cara mi, ti amo, ti amo, ti amo, lip-locking between each break in words until her lungs ache.

Euphie has never wanted to be loved sensibly, anyway.

Making money stops becoming an issue. Santino might have been fine letting her wrap up her loose ends, so to speak, encourages her, even—“You should never leave business undone, my Euphie,”—but he’d never tolerate her continuing to skim out of the pockets of his associates. Not out of respect for them, of course, but because Santino is more than happy to provide.

“I have to do something,” Euphie insists, often. But Santino clicks his tongue and shakes his head, inspiring indignation in her. “That money goes to my mother, Santi.”

“Princesa, what are you worrying for?” He replies every time. In this instance, he is reading over some documents, his voice casual, simple, effective at bringing her to heel. “If your mama needs money, she’ll get it. Tutto quello che vuoi �� tuo.”

Euphemia used to think that he was doing it to be generous, but as time goes on, she knows that isn’t the case. If Santino didn’t think he was benefitting from sending her mother money every month, he wouldn’t do it: but he does. Euphemia stops playing at arm candy for other powerful men; he endears himself to her by taking care of her mother; he endears himself to her mother; he’s afforded a sense of control. There is no facet of it where he isn’t getting something out of it. And she thinks, too, that maybe Santino likes it like this, where she is completely reliant on him for everything.

She doesn’t mind so much.

She would, if Santino didn’t drench her in his longing, if he didn’t make her feel, every day, that he is desperate to treasure her. She has always heard about this kind of love—and it is love—and never thought she would have it for herself.

But she does now, and she doesn’t want to let it go.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Tea or coffee, mama?”

Santino is busying himself in the kitchen. They’ve been together for a little over a year now, and they’re on a tour of Italy—not for fun, necessarily, but for integration. They have just spent the last week with Santino’s father and sister, and now they will spend the next two days in the Tuscan countryside with her mother.

Two days for her mother, instead of the week that they gave Santino’s father and sister, in part because his father deserves more time and in part because Euphemia doesn’t think she can tolerate her mother in much more than two-day increments.

“Coffee, please,” her mother says, very charmed by Santino.

“Tea,” Euphemia interjects. She looks at her mother—her face is tired, and older than she really is. Euphie knows that this is a side effect of heavy, abusive drinking and years spent in emotional terror, not the passage of time. Still, she finds it hard to drum up anything except distant pity in her heart. “You don’t need the caffeine.”

“Oh, you always ruin my fun.”

Santino re-enters the room with a small cup—it’s an espresso cup, but he’s poured it with regular coffee.

“A compromise,” Santi explains, handing the cup to her mother, smiling handsomely. “To make both of my girls happy.”

Her mother preens, glows under the affection. “You are so sweet, Santi. A perfect son-in-law.”

He has always called her and her mother his girls. His own mother had passed since before Euphemia; and while he knows that Euphie’s relationship with her mother is strained at best, he does what he can to ease it. Because it makes her happy, he says, and if she’s happy, he’s happy.

“Not yet a son-in-law,” Euphie corrects, and Santino flashes her a quick, amused little smile.

“You see how cruel she is to me, madonna? I have asked her to marry me, you know.”

“Santi,” Euphemia sighs, but it has had its desired effect; her mother looks scandalized, mortified at her daughter’s resistance to marrying a man as good and handsome and charming as Santino.

“Effie, tell me that you haven’t been bullying Santino like this?”

“Mama, there is no reason—he is just teasing. Ascoltami, you don’t need to look so horrified.”

“I do not know where I went wrong with you, Euphemia Sancia.” Her mother clicks her tongue, muttering something under her breath and taking a drink of the coffee Santi made her, and Euphemia can’t bring herself to say that not everything she has done wrong in her life is a slight against her mother’s parenting skills.

Santino smiles and leans across to Euphie, bringing her hand up to kiss it.

“Don’t worry,” he says to her mother, his voice blooming with practiced warmth. “I will ask her as many times as it takes for her to say yes.”

Euphemia feels her heart stutter painfully in her chest. She knows that he means it; he’s suggested it to her three times, now. It seems to be the only thing he doesn’t mind asking more than once.

“She’s always been fussy, my Euphemia,” her mother says, breaking the magic of Santino’s eyes on her. “Never happy with what she has, just like her father. Except for you, Santi—you are the only thing she holds onto.”

Exasperation and disgust flood over her. Both the mention of the man considered to be her father and any similarities they might share has her mood souring. “Mama—”

But Santino is sweeping in, like he always does when he can tell Euphie is getting tired of her mother, coming to a stand and asking her, “We should get started on dinner, cara mia, don’t you think?”

Just like that, he’s taken control of the conversation again. He sees her flailing and steadies her. Euphemia is certain that he doesn’t love her mother—that he doesn’t even like her—but that he can spend his time tolerating her with charm and grace despite knowing what her mother allowed to go on under their roof is indicative of the man that Santino is.

“Yes,” she replies, standing as well. “You look tired, mama. Take a rest while Santi and I make dinner.”

She wanders into the kitchen with Santino trailing after her. As soon as they’re alone, he winds his arms around her waist and kisses the juncture between her shoulder and neck.

“Is it true?” he asks coyly. “That you don’t hold on to anything except for me?”

She doesn’t want to tell him very much, because he knows already, and because to say it out loud will give it legs. A year together, and she still doesn’t want her feelings for him to have legs. Santino splays his fingers against her sternum and kisses her jaw.

“You know that it is,” she says at last, her voice a little unsteady. She can feel Santi smiling against her skin.

“Euphie,” he purrs, “marry me.”

Yes, she wants to say, as her eyes flutter shut. Yes, I’ll marry you, Santi. Anything that you ask. I’ll do anything for you, if you would just keep saying my name like that.

She wants to say it but the words won't come out. There is nothing quite like the feeling of Santino peeling back each individual layer of her defenses, piece by piece; so close, she knows, he is so close, but not quite. Not yet. She is most comfortable keeping him at arm’s length as much as possible—to kiss and to fuck and to let someone hold you at night is one thing. To let someone in past the barbed-wire of defenses is yet another, impossibly reckless. To be seen feeling anything deranges you, as the poets like to say.

“Sancia, hm?” he continues instead, when she can’t bring herself to answer, as the words stick in her throat. It’s one of those things where Santino seems to exercise a surprising amount of patience, this whole ordeal of to marry or not to marry; later, Euphemia will come to understand that it is because Santino believes their life together to be inevitable, that she will always say yes to him, one way or another.

For now, she turns in his arms, cocking a brow at him. He continues, “It means sacred.”

Euphemia nods sagely and props herself up on the counter. “Buon ascolto, my love. I suppose that means you should work very hard to worship me well.”

Santino laughs. He leans in, trapping her against the counter—though it isn’t much of a trap if she’s a willing participant—and noses the slope of her jaw.

“Yes,” he murmurs, “I suppose that it does.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━

On the last leg of their tour of families, Santino insists that they spend a few days in Rome by themselves.

The days are used mostly for doing a lot of nothing; neither of them are particularly interested in sight-seeing, but rather interested in seeing each other, a thing which they don’t seem to tire of particularly quickly. Instead, they shop, or lay in bed together until the afternoon, or go out to eat when street lights kick on and the city takes on a life of its own.

“You are much happier, Euphie,” Santino says one evening, smoothing out his napkin on the table absently, “when you are not around your mother.”

It’s not a question, per se, though she knows that he expects an answer. But she is still young and a little petulant, and she likes to push his buttons and make him say exactly what it is he means, so she takes a sip of her wine and replies, “Yes.”

He arches a brow at her. He looks particularly handsome like this, she thinks—not around his family, just eating dinner in a streetside restaurant in Rome, illuminated in warm candlelight and the glow of the streetlights outside.

“Are you going to tell me why?” he asks, amusedly.

“If you ask.” Euphemia sets her wine glass down on the table, and when Santino reaches for her hand, she lets him take it, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “But it is so boring, Santi, to talk about my mother. Why don’t you ask me about something else?”

The brunette’s mouth is curving in a little smile. “Like…?”

“Like…” Euphie gestures with her free hand, like she has to really think about it. “Euphie, how did I get so lucky to have a woman like you? That is a good place to start. Or, what will you do with me once you get me back to the hotel? Or, Euphie, will I ever be so fortunate as to call you my wife?”

Santino laughs, leaning into their conversation, bringing her fingers up to kiss them. He has long lashes; soft, and dark, and they brush the tops of his cheekbones when his eyes close. Santino glances from her fingers up to her, that boyish grin on his face.

“I already know the answers to the first and last question,” he says casually, like it’s no big deal, but he’s grinning wickedly at her when he says it. She scoffs.

“Dimme poi,” Euphie insists. “I am dying to know, Santi.”

His expression is very sage, very wise, and he nods his head. “Il destino,” he says, winding their fingers together, “e tra un anno.”

There is something very heart-stopping about the way Santino articulates il destino, as though it is fact, as though there is something undeniable about their coming together.

“How do you know?” she asks. “In a year?”

“Because if you do not want to marry me by then,” Santino replies matter-of-factly, “then I am certainly not suited for marriage at all.”

She rolls her eyes, taking a drink of her wine and savoring the way his eyes trail over her, admiring, drinking her in.

“Well?” he prompts. She looks at him expectantly, and he reiterates, his gaze set on her, “What will you do with me once you get me back to the hotel, belladonna?”

Euphemia feels her heart stutter painfully in her chest when he looks at her like that; like she is the only person in the entire universe, like she has become the sun that snags him in her planetary pull, like he will never, ever grow tired of looking at her. It sweeps the breath out of her.

“Anything, mio amato,” she murmurs. “Anything you want, if you promise to never stop looking at me like that.”

[dust2dust34]

Fate (Olicity, College AU, T)

Written for the super fun Halloween Prompts posted by @olicitytropes - check it out here. The prompt I’m using is: Person A is an actor in a haunted house. Person B is the friend in the group who didn’t want to walk through the house. Person B gets scared and punches Person A in the nose.

Rated T for language.

(read on AO3)

*

“I don’t want to be here.”

“Yes, you said that already.”

“I’m serious, Tommy,” Oliver hissed.

He grabbed his best friend’s shoulder and yanked him back as the group of women before them went inside the haunted house. Thankfully the guy managing the door held his hand up, indicating Tommy and Oliver had to wait before they entered. 

The door took its time shutting, letting Oliver hear every single scream and shout and terrifying whoosh echoing from within.

A shiver scraped down his spine. From the crisp night air, he tried to tell himself.

Tommy’s shoulder shook with a chuckle.

Oliver punched him.

“Ow, hey!” Rubbing his sore arm, Tommy glared at him. “This was your bet, not mine. I didn’t tell you to tempt the fates by playing chicken with Slade Wilson.”

“You didn’t have to tell him how much I hate these stupid things.”

“Nice try, but I’m pretty sure that was your drunken ass telling him that, not me.”

“Well, you didn’t have to say ‘Too bad it’s Halloween, haha.’”

“How the hell was I supposed to know he was pulling extra hours at this place? That guy’s shut up tighter than your asshole right now.”

“You’re hilarious.”

Tommy tossed him a cheeky grin. “I know.”

Another scream erupted from somewhere deeper inside the hulking beaten-to-shit barn and a cold sweat broke out across the back of Oliver’s neck.

“Listen,” Tommy said, “we get in, get out, and then it’s over with.”

Easy for him to say.

The man waved them forward.

Oliver’s stomach dropped and for a split second, he considered running. But then he’d never hear the end of it - from Tommy or Slade. He settled for glaring at his friend when Tommy turned to walk backwards so he could shoot Oliver an overly-exuberant grin.

“Just think, all that spinach you’ve been eating means your muscly ass is too heavy for the zombies run off with you - glass half full, buddy!”

“I hate you,” Oliver grumbled as they entered.

Oliver kept himself rigid as they made their way through the maze-like haunted house. It was stupidly dark, and the flashing lights made his head ache as his eyes strained to see. But it was okay. Ish. Even though his heart pounded, his palms turned cold and clammy, and prickly heat inched up the back of his neck to creep over his scalp. It was fine. 

They got through a large room where furniture moved on its own and the walls rippled before a ghost floated towards them. They rounded a corner to a clown jabbing a fake knife at them to the sound of maniacal laughter. A masked man with a chainsaw burst out of a room and ran through the hallways, chasing after at least half a dozen people who took off running. Tommy wound up a little further ahead of him, laughing and jumping accordingly, and catching up to ingratiate himself into the group of women from earlier. He did keep looking back to check on Oliver, which was nice, but the son of a bitch clearly didn’t care that much.

Despite that, Oliver maintained. His shirt was maybe a little sweat-soaked, and his jaw ached a little too much from being clenched so tight, and all the pain in his head was definitely focused on his furrowed brows, but he maintained.

Until a zombie lurched out from behind a curtain and grabbed his arm.

Oliver shouted and punched it in the face.

The zombie’s head rocketed back and Oliver’s jaw dropped on a mortified, “Oh shit.” Shame and humiliation eradicated any ounce of fear he’d harbored as he stumbled after the zombie. The very small zombie who fell back against a wall, her hands on her face. Definitely a her, he realized, and he felt even worse.

He’d just punched a girl.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Oliver babbled, hands hovering over her arms as he bent down to her height. People shoved past them, but he barely noticed, only seeing the dark-haired zombie and the pain on her face. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t-”

The woman abruptly dropped her hands and straightened.

He had enough time to see furious eyes and the smear of blood before her fist collided with his nose.

Pain exploded through his skull, radiating out in a whip of fire. He cried out and crashed into the opposite wall, narrowly missing a couple. He ignored their gleeful laughs - as if this was part of the stupid haunted house - and grabbed his face to assuage the vicious throbbing. He instantly regretted it when an even hotter burst of fire shot through his head.

“Ow!” he groused, opening watery eyes to a makeup-covered hand waving a pointed finger in his face.

“You punched me,” the zombie snarled. Oliver wanted to glare at her - because she freaking punched him, too! - but he didn’t have the right. Because he had punched her. And hard. The lights flashed at too random of intervals for him to see if the blood on her face was from her nose or just makeup, even as she got closer. She seemed fine, though, because she was nowhere near done reaming him. “Who the hell do you think you are? Why are you in here if you’re going to be punching people? I should punch you again for even thinking of coming in here if that was how you were going to react-”

She continued on, her voice growing louder, her yelling including colorful name-calling and a shove on his chest for good measure.

Then she was done.

Somehow the silence between them was louder than the hiss of dry ice underlying eerie music and the terrified shouts echoing through the halls. They stared at each other as people continued streaming past them. He noticed she had a nose ring and that she had black hair - purple, too? But it was her eyes that captivated him. Even in the shadowed hallway, he could see the flashes of blue with spikes of gold striking out from her pupils. They were fierce, matching the passion emanating off her in spades.

Oliver wanted to say something, but his mind blanked.

All he could do was stare.

She exhaled loudly, rolled her eyes, and grabbed his hand. “C’mon.”

A tiny zap shot up his arm when she touched him.

“Where?” he asked dumbly.

“Well,” she replied caustically, her words hard to hear because she didn’t bother looking back at him as she dragged him back towards the front of the house. “We just punched each other, so I’m thinking ice is on the menu.”

Yeah. That was probably smart.

The haunted house still had zero appeal, but the terror that had dogged him since Slade had issued his challenge was nowhere to be seen. It was probably the pain more than anything, and the shock, but he wondered if it wasn’t a little bit of her too. Her hand was so tiny where it was tucked inside his, but he knew nothing bad would happen with her by his side. That was a completely ridiculous thought, wasn’t it? But it still rang true.

If she noticed his hand tightening around hers, she didn’t say anything.

They burst out the front door.

“Hey, Doyle,” she said in greeting to the guy manning the door, but she didn’t stop, even when he asked, “You okay, love?” in a lilting Irish accent.

“Men are stupid,” she shouted over her shoulder.

Several people in the line shouted their agreement as Doyle yelled back, “You’re not wrong!”

The sun had long ago set, leaving low-lit lanterns strewn about to light their way. His zombie dragged him from the haunted house-slash-barn, around the beginning edges of the cornfield maze, and towards a rows of food tents. When they reached the back of one, she told him to, “Stay,” and disappeared inside.

Oliver did just that, not moving even an inch, not until she swept back out with two packs of towel-covered piles of ice.

He got his first good look at her face. No blood, he saw with relief. Just makeup.

And a beautiful girl.

His heart skipped a beat as she glared at him.

“Here.” She shoved one of the towels into his hands and nudged him over to a rickety picnic table. It was covered in random crap that she unceremoniously pushed aside so she could plop down on the tabletop and prop her feet on the bench. “I’m not sorry.”

“I am,” he told her, leaning against the other end of the picnic table. He hissed when he pressed the ice to his nose. “I am very sorry.”

She stared at him for a beat and then huffed. “Alright. Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

She pressed the ice to her nose, not even flinching. “Tell me why you punched me. Because there better be a really good reason for it.”

Oliver grimaced and dropped the ice to stare at his hands.

“Put that back on your nose unless you want to look even more like an elephant’s ass tomorrow.”

He laughed, even though it hurt. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re pushy?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Do you want me to punch you again?”

“No, no, please.” He sighed and did as she said. “I don’t like haunted houses.”

“Obviously.”

“No, I mean…” Oliver’s chest tightened as the memory came back up. “I’m terrified of them. I have been since I was little when a, uh… when a zombie grabbed me and ran off. It wasn’t far, it was maybe ten feet, but I was…” He blew out a heavy breath and blurted out the rest. “I was having a recurring nightmare at the time of my best friend’s mom grabbing me from under the bed. She had just died - shot, actually. Tommy and I were supposed to be with her that night, and I don’t know, I think I felt guilty or something, so she was kind of… haunting me. I guess. Then that guy grabbed me and it all, you know…” He made a clicking noise. “Linked together.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “Oh.”

Oliver blew out another breath and was grateful for the ice when his cheeks heated. “I’ve never told anyone that was why I got so freaked out that day.”

“And you went into a haunted house now, why?”

“Because my friend Slade is an asshole. And I lost a bet.”

“Let me get this straight: you dove into a house full of childhood trauma because you lost a bet?”

“Well, when you put it that way.”

“What was the bet?”

Oliver’s cheeks warmed even more and he ducked his head. He’d already spilled his guts about one of his deepest, darkest fears, so why not give her all of his shame?

“We bet the other couldn’t streak through one of our classes without getting caught.”

The beginning of a laugh fell out of her. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes. He cheated, just so we’re clear - he’s sleeping with the TA of the class he chose, so he knew when the professor wasn’t going to be there. Me, on the other hand, did not have that advantage. And on top of that, I went all the way and skipped shoes, so when I was running down the stairs of the classroom, my bare foot slipped about halfway down, and I proceeded to fall down the rest of the steps.”

“Nooo,” she groaned on a laugh. “You fell down the stairs naked?”

“Naked. Landed on my back right in front of the podium. Somehow hurt my junk in the process.”

She laughed again, and this time he joined her, shaking his head in amazement as she laughed harder. He watched her, transfixed, all the pain disappearing. She had an amazing laugh. She didn’t stop, not until she had to with a pained, “Ow,” and her hand hovering over her nose.

Oliver hissed and slid closer. “I am so sorry.”

“I believe you,” she said sincerely, touching his arm. Warmth blossomed from the spot and he smiled wider. “I’m still not sorry I punched you back.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he agreed. “I deserved that.”

“Although I do feel a little bad yelling at you now, considering why you punched me in the first place.”

“Don’t. I’m the idiot with too much pride to tell my dick friend to screw off.”

“Hey,” she said, gripping his arm with a little shake. “At least you know yourself.”

He snorted. “Thanks for that.” He held out his hand. “I’m Oliver.”

“Felicity,” she replied, taking his hand.

“Felicity,” he repeated, unwittingly dragging it out. It felt good on his tongue, and he repeated it silently to himself. He felt like he was tasting something incredible for the first time, and instead of satiating a craving, he found he wanted more. “This probably won’t end well for me, considering how we just met, and that I basically confirmed that I’m a walking moron, but…” Oliver took a deep breath. “What are the chances of you giving me your number?”

“Hmm.” Felicity rolled her lips into a line and narrowed her eyes. “Pretty good. If you do one thing.”

“What?” Oliver shifted to face her. “Anything.”

Amusement and what he hoped was delight lit up her face before she pressed her lips together harder, as if fighting back a smile.

“Okay.” She pointed down the makeshift walkway between the food tents. “Run through there. Naked.”

Oliver’s jaw dropped, but then a second later, he was on his feet. Felicity snorted out a half-laugh as he set the ice down and started undressing.

“Oh my god, you wouldn’t-”

And that right there was a dare.

“Oh yes I would,” he replied, shrugging out of his jacket before grabbing the bottom of his t-shirt. He paused. “You’ll give me your number?”

She shook her head in disbelief, grinning, but she did confirm, “Yes, I will give you my number.”

That was all he had to hear.

In the next minute, he had his clothes off and he was streaking down the line between the tents. He heard the gasps and shouts of surprise and more than a few people laugh when they realized what was happening, but he didn’t care about any of it.

Because that was the second time he made his future wife laugh that night, and in that minute, he vowed to do everything in his power to hear that sound as often as possible.

*

I think we can all agree that college-era Felicity would have definitely kicked college-era Oliver’s ass. 

Thank you for reading!

Reviews literally feed the soul and muse.

[secretsickficsyo]

Pukeposal

About the time Nathan almost proposed to Elise. This is more from Elise's perspective. I'm not sure how married (badum tss) I am to writing from the perspective of the caretaker (especially her since she's very straight to the point when it comes to her and others' physical comfort) but here goes.

Elise squinted at her boyfriend. Nathan was picking at his food and staring at his wine for the last few minutes. He'd already been to the toilet three times and he was sporting an extra pale complexion.

"Angel?"

He looked up at that and smiled slightly, then broke eye contact again. He used to make fun of her for calling him that, or any other nickname, for that matter. He didn't get the whole English people calling everyone 'love' and 'dear' and 'sweetheart'. She did make sure to refer only to him as 'angel', so it would feel special.

"Nathan," she drew his attention again, "are you alright?"

"Yeah," he immediately said, "I just ate too much, I think."

Elise made a sympathetic, 'aw' sound. "Let's order the check, then."

Nathan nodded and took a long sip of his wine. He stifled a small burp into his fist. "'Scuse me."

She put her hand on his, smiled and scrunched up her nose. "Ew."

He huffed a laugh and signaled to the waiter for the check.

Elise kept her eye on him when they went outside, and while she unchained her scooter and handed Nathan his helmet. She watched him struggle to get the straps ready and huff a sigh of frustration. He had a sheen of sweat coating his face and arms. His cheeks were dusted pink, probably from the wine. He looked like he could barely keep his eyes open and his chin was all wrinkled in that 'I'm forcing my face to do this' kind of way.

"Nathan, are you feeling okay?"

He slipped his jacket on and grabbed the nearest streetlight pole. "I'm fine."

He shut his eyes tight and shivered for a split second. Elise scowled. "Angel, you look like you're going to pass out."

Nathan bent slightly at the waist. "Wait, wait, wait-"

Elise put her own helmet down and quickly removed his. She tried touching his shoulder but he shook her off. "No, no, no." He was almost whining, and bent even further.

"Nathan, please, talk to me. What's wrong?"

He took his jacket off and she grabbed it before he could decide to do anything else with it. He half hugged the streetlight, swallowing profusely. "I'm going to throw up."

Elise's heart dropped. She chained her scooter faster than she ever had before and grabbed Nathan by the shoulders. He tried to shake her off again but he was abnormally weak at the moment. Elise led him to a nearby trash bin. He had a hand on his mouth, a hand on his stomach and was hunched over, blinking away what looked like some fresh tears.

Elise stabilized him over the bin. "Breath, babe. I need you to breath."

Nathan took a deep breath through his nose, then doubled over and grabbed the edges of the bin. Elise rubbed his back, but she stopped when his entire body lurched forward violently. She swore under her breath when she heard the vomit spilling into the plastic bag and the trash. He was bent too far down for her liking so she moved to his side and kept rubbing his back. She watched him carefully, cringing, but making sure he didn't bang his head on the rim. She gave a nasty glare to a couple of staring bystanders and the two left soon after.

"You're okay, baby." She moved thick curls from his sweaty forehead. "Just get it out."

Nathan burped up another torrent and then finally stopped. Elise took hold of his shoulders again and wiped his face with her hand without even thinking. She immediately regretted doing that when she felt the slimey texture of the liquidy mix. She put her arm around Nathan's shoulders and led him to the closest bench she could spot. It had another bin next to it so even if he wasn't done they wouldn't have to travel far. Nathan bent again with his head between his knees. "I-" he burped, "I don't feel goo-"

He rolled with a heave and vomited a small amount of thick, chunky sick.

Elise rubbed his back with her clean hand. "You're okay, baby." She put his jacket by her. "We'll get you home, right?"

He nodded and sniffed and spat into the mess. "I can't get on the scooter." He whined. "I can't breath."

Elise kissed his wet temple and wiped her mouth on her shoulder out of his sight. "I'll get a cab for us." She unlocked her phone. "And I'll come get my scooter once you're in bed."

Nathan nodded again, then spat again, then gagged again. He croaked a groan and rubbed his stomach. "We'll have to pay extra if I puke in it, though."

"That's what windows are for, love. "

He huffed and put his head on her shoulder. "I love you. Sorry for being gross."

She kissed the top of his head. "You can't ever gross me out."

Thankfully, Nathan fell asleep on the ride home. She covered his shaking shoulders with his jacket and pet his hair. The driver looked at them from the rearview mirror. "Is he alright?"

"Yeah," she said, "he's just not feeling well."

The driver half smiled at her. "Hope he gets better."

Elise smiled back. "Thanks."

The driver kindly waited for her to wake Nathan up and help him stumble out of the cab. Elise thanked him and dragged Nathan to the building. They had a close call in the elevator where Nathan had to swallow back some sick and hold some in his hands, but they got into their flat just fine. Nathan immediately bent over the kitchen sink and Elise had never been happier to have washed the dishes ahead of time. She washed her hands and tossed his jacket on a chair.

"Elise." Nathan whined when she came back. "I'mb soring, id was zuppozed tob ee perfegt."

She shushed him and wiped his face with a wet washcloth. "Do you think you're done?"

He nodded and turned the faucet on to wash away whatever atrocities came out of him.

She lead him to the bedroom, where she helped him change into a fresh tshirt and some new boxers. He collapsed into bed and Elise turned on the ceiling fan. She left a glass of water with a note on the nightstand at his side of the bed and went out to get her scooter.

Upon deciding to make the five story descent down the stairs, Elise took this time to check her messages. Her mom sent photos of her little sister and Nathan's sister asked how dinner went. Nothing too urgent. She did update Olive that Nathan wasn't well but didn't elaborate. He'd be embarrassed.

She also decided to turn the trip back to the restaurant into a late evening walk. She plugged her headphones in, leaving one earbud out, for safety.

When Elise got back to the restaurant the hostess was outside, clearly not very happy to see her. Elise scanned the crime scene and realized the sick that should have been by the bench was gone. Someone from the restaurant must have cleaned it up. That sucks.

"Good evening." The hostess said coldly.

Elise smiled sweetly at her, but the way her brows arched made her look like she was up to some shit. "Yes, a swell one, even!"

She unchained her scooter and took off pretty fast after that but she was grateful to avoid confrontation.

Nathan was still out cold when she got back to the flat. She took the quickest of showers and slipped into fresh pajamas. She checked on Nathan one last time before scheduling a doctor's appointment for the next day at noon and switched the telly on, volumelow enough to hear the next door neighbor singing to his baby. Thankfully, it was the middle of October, which means as many horror movies as her twisted little heart could handle. Elise was about to set up on the couch, fluffy blanket and all, when she decided to take Nathan's jacket to the wash since it was all sweaty and whatnot. She was emptying the pockets when she found a green velvet box. Well, shit.

Her heart sank as she fought the urge to crack it open. She put everything back in the jack and hung it on their coat hanger in the entrance. Without thinking twice she just sat on the couch and cuddled deep into the fluff of her blanket. Holy. Fucking. Hell. Was she crying? When did she start crying? She was also half convinced that she might have been having a heart attack. She leaned back on the couch and watched the screen with a slightly mortified look. Was he going to propose? Was he sick from the nerves? Was he going to ask her in a public place? Was she going to say yes? Is he still going to ask her?

"Hey," Elise jumped at the croak.

"Hey!" She stood instantly. "How are you? Any better?"

"A little." He looked deflated, like someone vacuumed his insides. "Are you crying?"

Elise wiped her face frantically. "Yeah, Hatchiku was playing earlier. Still not over it."

Nathan smiled. "He was good boy."

"And a patient one." She interrupted. "Come, sit."

He joined her and cringed when he saw what was on. "Babe, I'm not well enough to watch Texas Chainsaw. I WILL puke on you."

[crystalwillow]

What The Future Holds – Oliver x F!MC

A/N: Another Oliver and female mc imagine. I do have ones with other characters planned, I just am in love with this man right now and refuse to shut up about him. He is in someway my poorly treated Tyril. He has potential for major character development and a great redemption arc but is being paid D-U-S-T!!

Anyway, I’m tagging @jaxsmutsuo & @greedy-choices in this because this idea was encouraged in my brain by the two lovelies  😊

 I hope you enjoy this my loves, as I will be taking a break from writing as frequently whilst I work a couple of other projects I have going on 😊

tyrilsnightbloom xo

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

It was a little while after dinner and a few days since Charlie, Edward, Oliver, and you had witnessed Oliver’s Father murder Charlie’s father in cold blood and fled from the mansion where a ball was taking place. Thankfully this time round, Oliver was treating you all way nicer, and had given your crew their own cabins to sleep in, some of you had to bunk in with someone else, but you made do with what you had and thanked Oliver every chance you got. You were sitting with him in his cabin as he sat on the chair at his desk, face screwed up as his pen moved angrily across the paper in front of him. “Oliver. Could you at least try to relax your shoulders?” you asked him but like with your previous questions he ignored it and carried on writing furiously. “ARGH!” he shouted loudly as he screwed up what felt like the billionth piece of paper and threw it onto the floor with the others, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes and rubbing. You got up off his bed and walked over to him, massaging his shoulders, slowly feeling him relax into your touch as you worked out the knots in his neck and shoulders. “Damn. You’re really worked up huh?” you commented trying to start a conversation. “I witnessed my father murder a friend of my lover’s father. How could I not be worked up?” he snapped but immediately stood up turning to you and looking guilty. “Sorry.. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. It was unca-“ he was apologizing when you cut him off with a kiss. “It’s okay Oliver. I understand.” You smiled softly and pulled him to his bed, ordering he lay down and rest. He discards half his clothes and gets comfortable on his bed, you covering him over. “What? You’re not joining me?” he asked with a smirk. “We both know if I did, you wouldn’t rest.” You smirked back, walking out of the room back out onto the deck. “Where’s the Lieutenant?” Officer Doyle asked as you stopped halfway across the deck, “I recommended he rest then clean up the paper he’s been throwing on his floor. The man’s... broken” you frowned. Doyle sharing your emotion comes over and places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Are.. you okay?” he asked, and you shook your head. “Tis not me we need to be worried about. It’s Oliver and... and Charlie... she- she...” you stammered with a sniffle as a tear ran down your cheek. “We’ll make things right, Miss Bellamy. The admiral is a power-hungry fool and soon he will get his comeuppance.” He reassures with his face crumpled up in determination. You thank him for his kind words and reassurance then headed off to find Charlie. You were searching every room when you came across Edward, “Ah, Captain! Have you seen Charlie?” you called to him, but he shook his head sadly as he returned to rolling up ropes and storing them safely. You continued your search but returned to your own room to rest for a bit, but startled a little as you walked in. “Charlie.” You sighed thankfully and shut the door before taking a seat next to her on your bed. “I was looking everywhere for you. What brought you here?” you asked but she just shrugged. Her eyes bright red from tears and you could tell she was in an awfully fragile state. Without saying another word you scooped her into a warm hug, rubbing her back as she sobbed into your shoulder. She cried for hours, well into the night before finally hiccupping and coming to a stop as she fell asleep on your shoulder. Gently you removed her weapons, placing them on the side and tucked her into your bed before sneaking out to go up on the main deck and get some air.

You stood at the edge of the ship as you looked out over the waters, calming at the sound of the gentle waves mixed with the smell of salt on the air.  “Couldn’t sleep?” a voice sounded, scaring you a little. You turned your head to find Edward staring at the ocean, red rings circling his eyes. “No offence but you look scary in this light, from my angle.” You joked with a small chuckle. Edward chuckling too. “I keep having nightmares of my past, except... ‘tis not my past. Miss. Bellamy... I’m dreaming of what my life would be like had I stayed true to the admiral. I- I dream that I kill Charlie’s father..” He confesses as his voice breaks. Heart aching for his pain you walk over to him and give him a warm sibling like embrace, “But you aren’t that version of yourself Eddy. You’re not a monster. You’re a caring, kind and empathetic man who cares. You’re a beautiful person inside and out. Annoying at times but that’s why I call you brother. It’s how I think of you. I always will” you smile and kiss his cheek as a sister would to their brother. “You should go back to your bed and try to sleep though. Because seriously... red eyes are not a good look on you.” You chuckle and head towards Oliver’s chambers and knock politely. When there’s no answer you get worried given the state you left Oliver in earlier, so you try the door, finding it unlocked and quietly walk inside and close the door. When you turn around you gasp, covering your eyes and trying not to laugh. “UMMMM Oliver?” you ask, and he stands to attention by his bed looking equally as mortified with what you just walked in on, quickly pulling his clothes back on and clearing his throat to let you know he’s now decent. “I.... guess you like my music...” you grin as you swipe your phone up from his desk. “It’s um.... different.” He blushes. “You know from my time, what you were just doing is called twerking, though humans tend to do it ummm... clothed.” You commented causing him to blush even harder. “it did seem to hurt... a certain body part” Oliver humored. The two of you bursting out in laughter. “Well... I guess you’re feeling a little better?” you asked as you regained your composure. “Yeah.” Oliver smiled at you pulling you close by your belt loop. “Do you have any... slow songs?” he asked, voice low and raspy, eyes full of love as he stares deeply into your soul. “Um... let’s see...” you said as you scrolled through your brought music. “here. I like this one.” You smile as you put on a song called ‘Lights Down Low’ by an artist called MAX, Oliver taking your hands in his and slowly swaying in the middle of his room. Both of you smiling, feeling each other’s heartbeats, and feeling every tickling breath as you swayed in the dim light of his chambers, Oliver adding a few surprise spins in before pinning yo up against the wall and crashing his lips onto yours. The kiss filled with passion and love, the two of you kissing until you had no oxygen left in your lungs, pulling away from each other gasping for breath with matching small smiles as you look at each other. “I don’t know what the future holds for us Miss. Bellamy, but I sure hope you choose to stay here. I haven’t a clue what I’d do without you here now. I would be lying if I said it would be easy to find another love after you.” He rasps quietly. You looked into his eyes “I’d try to take you with me. If I absolutely had to go back to the future you know. I couldn’t leave you either. I’d rather die a cat lady.” You chuckled barely above a whisper. That night you blew out the last candle and got into bed with Oliver. It was a tight squeeze, but the closeness was welcomed mutually between the two of you, the moonlight falling over Oliver’s now sleepy resting form perfectly, as you closed your eyes and fell into a peaceful sleep, “Goodnight my travelling angel” Oliver whispered, kissing the crown of your head lightly before also falling asleep peacefully beside you.

[lia-jones]

Growing Stronger - Chapter Twenty-Five - Lost In Translation

It had been Victor’s idea to go olive picking. Not that he was necessarily outright about it, but since Andrea had told him about it, he started mentioning it here and there, showing his interest. Andrea soon started making arrangements for their week in Portugal, although he could tell she was apprehensive about it. That was exactly the problem Victor had to address. He wanted Andrea to feel comfortable in having him in her life.

Victor also knew how important family was to Andrea, so it was important that he get along with them. Being welcoming as they were, that wasn’t a hard task at all. In the days they were at her parents’ house, he kept being invited by each one of the family members to engage in some kind of activity, for the purpose of bonding.

Joshua was the first, inviting him to the rehearsal of the orchestra that he played for and, a few days later, a soccer match with some of his friends. It had been an incredibly long time since Victor played soccer, always busy with work and his other duties, but he had to acknowledge that he enjoyed his time with Andrea’s brother. Joshua was a free spirit, much like his father, but had a competitive spirit that came out in the game. It was their mutual determination that made them connect and work together, leading them to victory. By the time they got home, they were bantering like they had been lifelong friends. The shared camaraderie made Andrea smile, and Victor knew he was on the right path.

It wasn’t difficult to find common ground with Andrea’s father, since enology was a shared passion. Jeremy would come home with a new bottle of wine from work and share it with Victor, or they would step down to his remarkable private cellar to enjoy one of his bottles. Although Victor had regarded Andrea’s father as a bit of a goof before, so particularly keen on saying inappropriate things at the wrong time or being completely oblivious to social cues, he soon learned that that man was incredibly cultured and well-traveled, and was a truly amazing encyclopedia of knowledge about the world. Conversations with him were stimulating and riveting, and Victor was pleasantly surprised to find that he learned things he knew nothing about before their conversation.

Mariana was the heart of the house, the voice of reason, and, being a therapist, human relations and emotions were her forte. Victor knew how closed off he could be, but Andrea’s mother read him like a book, always knowing when he wasn’t feeling comfortable and taking action accordingly to put him at ease. It was very easy to trace some of Andrea’s traits back to her mother, especially her strength and determination, her keen intuition, and insightfulness. Mariana would often invite Victor to help cook a meal, knowing it was probably the one place in the entire house he felt most comfortable in. And to Victor’s great astonishment, he found himself completely relaxed, sharing his view of the world and many aspects of his personal life while he happily chopped ingredients or stirred pots. Of all the members of the family, Mariana was the one he felt the most comfortable with, because she reminded him so much of Andrea.

There was a family member that Victor hadn’t made any intentions to bond with, but such had proven to be inevitable: Andrea’s baby niece, Ana. Victor was never really good with kids, and never felt any kind of attraction towards them or the idea of having a few of his own, until he started to date Andrea. One day Cristina showed up with the little girl, asking Victor and Andrea to babysit while she dealt with some urgent professional affairs, and he couldn’t help but feel captivated by those big green eyes and easy yet innocent smile. Soon, it had captured his interest to understand how the little child perceived the world, and how could he affect it. He took pleasure in playing with her, watching her learn and enthusiastically respond to new stimuli: his tie, his car keys, his very large hands holding her tiny ones. Soon enough, Ana became one of Victor’s favorite people, and the baby girl seemed to return the affection. Much like her aunt, he couldn’t be around her without a smile on his face and a warm feeling in his heart.

Now that he was in an even more foreign territory--Andrea’s grandmother’s farm--Victor realized he was starting to see these people as his familiar world. And invariably, these people were consistently by his side, helping him navigate the novelty of a strange culture and language. Victor, always so guarded and self-dependent, could now fully understand the feeling of having a family he could rely on, even if it wasn’t his own. That made him appreciate Andrea’s family even more, and deepen the already profound love he felt for his girlfriend. She opened his world to new and amazing experiences, and he couldn’t feel more grateful for having her in his life.

“Are you comfortable in your bed?” He heard Joshua speak above him. “We can trade if you feel better on the top bunk.”

“I’m comfortable here, you don’t need to worry.” Victor closed his eyes, preparing himself to meet Morpheus. He was exhausted.

“I’m sorry for the sleeping arrangements.” Joshua apologized with a tinge of bitterness in his voice. “My grandma can be so uptight sometimes.”

“It’s alright, reminds me of my college days.” Victor could feel the tension leave each and single one of his sore muscles. If only Joshua would stop talking and let him sleep.

“I mean, I’m married, for crying out loud. Why do I have to sleep away from my wife? What does she think, that Ana was brought by the stork?”

It was evident that Victor wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon. The polite thing to do was to engage in conversation. Maybe Joshua would tire faster and finally shut up.

“No funny business.” Victor playfully warned. “Boys on one side, girls on the other.”

“No… She told you that? Way to welcome people.”

“She said something, but I couldn’t understand what. However, her impromptu sign language was quite explanatory.” Victor chuckled.

“Don’t tell me she made the gesture with her fingers making a circle, and her other finger…” Joshua laughed. “Priceless. I wish I was there to see it.”

“She did. And it wasn’t priceless, it was mortifying.” Victor complained in a flat tone.

“Yeah, she has this… aura around her. She can make an adult feel like a teenager again.” Joshua paused, and when he spoke again, his tone was much more serious. “I know she looks like a tough nut to crack, but she’s actually very sweet. Kind of like you.”

Victor wondered for a moment why people insisted on comparing him to a grumpy old lady. It wasn’t very flattering.

“I’m sure we’ll reach common ground soon. Good night, Joshua.” Victor put an end to the conversation, looking forward to a deep restorative sleep.

“Sleep well, Victor.”

It didn’t take five minutes for Victor to hear Joshua’s deep breaths, indicating he was asleep. However, Victor was not. The conversation has stirred old memories in his mind, making his brain particularly active. Should’ve just told Joshua to shut up and be done with it.

He tossed and turned in his bed, thinking about something he hadn’t considered in a very long time: his college days. Victor’s father was a devout follower and believer of discipline and rigor, so it wasn’t a surprise that when Victor revealed that he had been accepted in Harvard to take the Finance degree, he was told he wouldn’t be staying in the University’s dorm. “You are there so you can get an education, not experiment on illicit drugs and poor judgment”, his father said. Instead, Victor would sleep in the Military Academy dorm as a guest, where he would have the strictness and standards that make a boy a man.

At the tender age of eighteen, Victor found himself in quite the predicament. He was frowned upon at Harvard because he came from a wealthy family, and people assumed his father had bought his admission, which wasn’t the case. Victor had to work very hard to be where he was, since his father believed he shouldn’t rely on the family name, making a name for himself instead. He was also frowned upon at the Military Academy dorm by his roommates, who also had a prejudice against his family of origin. They believed that he was an entitled snotty kid, the kind he knew very well from boarding school, always relying on their parents to get them out of trouble, and slacking off on their commitments, because, truth be told, they didn’t need to honor them anyway.

However, Victor was determined and eager to prove all those fools wrong. At first, he kept to himself, suffering all the insults in silence, knowing that sooner or later, he would make them swallow their own words. He got up at 5 am every morning for the Academy’s mandatory hour of exercise, shower, and help his fellow dormmates prepare breakfast. After breakfast, he would make his own bed impeccably and tidy his room for the usual rounds. At 8 am, he was already in college, taking his courses and spending whatever time he had free at the library, studying, or working on assignments. Then he would return to the dorm, have dinner and help clean the kitchen and canteen, then have a quick shower and put on his pajamas and spend time alone in his room, reading a book or listening to some music as he worked on his laptop.

Victor didn’t have any friends, so he spent most of his time alone, focused on his real goal there: his education. He didn’t want to just graduate, he wanted to do it with high praise, his way to impress his father, in a secret hope of conquering his affection. Sometimes some girls would approach him, and while he let himself entertain with one of them for a while, the romance was short-lived, since Victor didn’t have any interest or time to invest much in it.

By the time the school year was nearly finished, he had conquered the respect of his peers, by showing them he was more than a rich kid with a pretty face. He was finally able to make a few friends, one of them being Ted Kasey, the extrovert red-haired guy that everybody seemed to love. However, Victor still kept to himself, opting to continue spending most of his time on his own. The experience had taught him that relationships were fleeting and volatile, but results were concrete and everlasting. This would be the policy he would adopt for himself for the rest of his life, his determination focused more on results than feelings or relationships.

That is, until he met Andrea. It wasn’t exactly that he was less driven or less focused after meeting her, but that Victor found the value of meaningful relationships. And in retrospect, he reckoned the time he spent in college would be a lot less hard if he had had a true friend to confide with, a pillar he could lean on in time of need. Andrea was that and a lot more: she was his lover, his best friend, his confidant. He finally felt he had someone on his team, rooting for him, making him reach newer heights, and helping him in the case that he tumbled down. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

Which brought to his mind the matter of her grandmother. Like his mates back in college, he felt that she looked at him and saw nothing but a snob man in a suit. But like before, he would change her mind. He took every hard task she gave him that day and was respectful of her values to show her that he was worthy of Andrea’s love. He would show her he had a spine, honor and high values, and he was more than capable to nurture and provide for her granddaughter.

The feeling of confidence filled Victor’s heart with joy and pride, and he was finally able to find a comfortable position on that bed that barely gave him room to move. Victor imagined the warmth of his loved one in his arms, closed his eyes, and with a soft sigh, fell asleep.

A moment later, he heard Joshua’s voice again.

“Hey, Vic, wake up.” Joshua shook Victor’s shoulder.

Victor was not a violent man, but he could smack Joshua for having the audacity of waking him up by shaking him and calling him Vic. Opening one eye,  he noticed the sunlight coming through the bedroom window. It was already morning. Early morning, but still, time to be in bed. Victor groaned, turning away from Joshua and the light. He could use a few more hours of sleep.

“Andrea needs us to go pick up the bread from the bakery.” Joshua shook Victor again. “She needs it for breakfast.”

The mention of Andrea’s name made Victor forget about her brother’s lack of manners and turn again to face him, opening both eyes.

“Alright.” He sleepily tried to rub the exhaustion out of his eyes. “Give me fifteen minutes to shave and get dressed.”

“This is the country, man.” Joshua chuckled. “You don’t need to shave. Be ready in five, I’ll be waiting for you outside. We need to hurry.”

Maybe Joshua didn’t mind walking around looking like a bum, but it wasn’t Victor’s case. He rubbed his face, trying to assess how long his stubble was. It seemed manageable, so he decided to get dressed and ready and shave when he returned. He found Joshua waiting by the car.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get decent coffee when we get there.” Joshua rolled out his window, letting the cool breeze in. “We both look like we need it.”

While they waited for the baker and his employees to prepare the many bags of bread they would be taking, Victor and Joshua enjoyed their coffee at a table outside in silence, appreciating the cool Autumn breeze.

“So.” Joshua started, his voice solemn. “My mom told me about the chat you had with her and my dad this week.”

Victor froze.

“You disapprove?” He watched Joshua’s reaction carefully.

“No, man, I’m happy.” Joshua smiled. “She deserves it, you know, after all she’s been through. And it’s pretty clear you care for her. You’re putting up with my grandmother. That’s quite the feat.”

Victor suppressed a smile, taking a sip of his coffee.

“She calls you Stretchy, you know?” Joshua laughed.

“Your grandmother?” Victor chuckled. “I was wondering what Esticadinho meant. It’s not as bad as I thought I would be.”

“You know, I didn’t like you very much at first.” Joshua narrowed his eyes at him.

“People usually don’t.” Victor lowered his eyes, remembering how Andrea seemed to loathe him during her first months in LFG.

“But you’re a good guy.” Victor looked up, noticing Joshua extending his hand for him to shake. “I’m glad you’re in my sister’s life.”

“I’m glad she’s in my life too.” Victor shook the twin’s hand with a broad smile. “I intend on making her the happiest woman in this world, if she’ll have me.”

Victor barely had the time to talk to Andrea, who was busy cooking and serving breakfast to all the people working at the mill. After the meal, her grandmother took him by his arm, leading him to the mill. As always, Victor followed with a smile. He was curious to know what task she had for him now.

“Isto é uma peneira.” Victor looked at what Bia was pointing, it looked like some kind of sifter. Perhaps the one Andrea was talking about the previous day. “Tu mexes as azeitonas com a rama, e a rama cai.”

Victor only understood azeitonas , which meant olives. The old lady understood his confusion.

She took a bag half-filled with the olives they had harvested the day before, dumping it on the contraption. She turned to him, raising her voice. Maybe he thought that if she yelled at him, he would understand her better. Most days Victor would find that painfully annoying, but in this case it made him laugh.

“Azeitona.” She picked an olive. “Rama. Ou folhas.” She picked some leaves. “Mexes assim.” She rolled the olives in the sifter, and he watched the leaves fall to the ground.

“Com força, não.” Victor knew força meant strength, and não meant no. He had to be gentle. He nodded to show he understood, rolling up his sleeves to start working.

“Tu não vais ser como o outro cabrão, pois não?” The grandmother asked him with emotion in her eyes. “Trata bem da minha menina.”

Victor had no clue what the old lady was talking about, but he recognized the word menina , which meant girl, so she was most likely talking about Andrea. This was a serious conversation, and he didn’t want to miss one single word of it, or give way to misunderstandings.

He had refused to use the app on his phone, considering it would act as a crutch and stall his learning. But at that moment, it would be useful. He took the phone out of his pocket and opened the app.

“Falas aqui.” His Portuguese was intolerably basic, but he hoped she understood that he wanted her to talk to the phone, so the app would translate it. She took his phone out of his hand with a suspicious look.

“Trata bem a minha menina. Ela já passou por muito. Ela não merece sofrer.” She said as she pressed the button he indicated her. He read the translation: Treat my girl well. She's been through a lot. She doesn't deserve to suffer.

“Eu amo-a.” Victor tried to pronounce the words right, speaking slowly. “Muito. Mais do que vida minha.” He hoped that what he said was that he loved Andrea more than his own life. He seemed to have gotten it right, because the lady smiled at him, for the first time.

“És um bom menino, Esticadinho.” She stroke his cheek in a motherly way, and he understood she was praising him, although calling him a good boy wasn’t exactly the praise he was looking for.

“Obrigado.” He smiled.

“Agora vê se te portas bem com ela e se o manténs guardadinho nas calças, sim?” She smacked him in the gut, just above the belt, hard enough for him to slightly double over. Calças meant pants. She was telling him to keep it in his pants. Victor didn’t need to be proficient in English to know that. Without any other word, Andrea’s grandmother left him to work.

Victor was finishing sorting his second bag when Andrea’s father came to him.

“Go help Andrea in the kitchen. We got this.” Jeremy took the bag Victor was pouring in the sifter from his hands.

“Dona Bia asked, I don’t mind.” He explained, thinking they were trying to give him some relief from all the chores.

“Andrea needs you, actually. Ana is not feeling well, Cristina had to take her to the village doctor. She’s one person short and, according to her, she needs someone capable .” Victor wondered if Jeremy had been tossed out of the kitchen, judging by how he said it.

The kitchen counter was filled with vegetables, with barely any wiggle room. Mariana was cutting vegetables, while Andrea was at the stove, busy with pots and pans.

“Do you want me to do that?” Victor approached Mariana. “I can do it a lot faster.”

“By all means! Go ahead!” Mariana handed him the knife, sounding relieved. “I’m going to tell Josh to start the fire at the mill, so we can cook the food.”

“We are cooking this in the mill?” Victor raised an eyebrow, while he quickly chopped the cabbage as he saw Mariana do. “What are we cooking anyway?”

“ Cozido á Portuguesa. A kind of Portuguese stew with pork and vegetables. Josh has to start a fire to begin extracting the oil from the olives, and we are using that heat to cook the ingredients in clay pots. It gives them an extra flavor. Didn’t my grandmother give you a tour of the mill? I thought that’s why she was taking you with her.” Andrea asked while she removed cooked meat from steel pots to clay ones.

“No, she wanted me to sift the olives.” Victor was done with the cabbages and moved on to peeling carrots.

“I’m sorry if she’s being too hard on you.” Andrea gave him a worried look.

“You don’t need to worry about that. I’m enjoying myself.” Victor offered her a smile, and as he predicted, the sparkle in her eyes returned. “I think she likes me better now.”

“Well, she never hated you.” Andrea came closer to him, taking the knife out of his hands and placing it on the board. “It’s the whole Daniel experience, you know. It takes them longer to trust. It was only a matter of time until they saw the real wonderful you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

“I can’t even recall the last time I kissed you.” Victor held her in his arms, enjoying the warmth of her body close to his. “I have barely seen you these days.”

“No time like the present.” Andrea smiled, and Victor glanced at the door. “Nobody will come, trust me.”

Well, Victor wasn’t known for wasting time. His lips touched Andrea’s softly, and soon he realized how much he had really missed her. And she was just as hungry as he was, judging by the way she fiercely deepened the kiss, one hand grabbing the back of his neck, the other roaming his pectorals, one of the things she knew positively drove him insane.

Victor’s rational side knew that he should make it stop, they should keep cooking, time was of the essence, someone could come in at any moment. But Victor had a beast inside him that was begging to be fed, and was ignoring any plea his logic was making. Before he could be any wiser, he had already sat her on the counter, and was rubbing himself between her legs, lost in her scent, her breasts, her curls. He would have had her right there and then, surrounded by cabbages and carrots and potatoes, if not for the sound of a door opening and closing, making them jump out of each other’s arms.

“Look who’s feeling so much better!” They heard Cristina as she entered the kitchen, a smiling Ana in her arms. “Oh. Did I interrupt something?”

“My beautiful baby!” Andrea ran to Ana, taking her in her arms. “Are you feeling better, honey?”

Victor stayed behind the counter, busying himself with the vegetables, hoping his erection would go away fast.

Cristina took Ana inside for a nap, and in the meantime, Mariana returned to help. Soon all four were busy with their tasks, and Victor was assigned to dessert duty.

“Do you want me to make something in particular?” He asked, while in the pantry, figuring out what ingredients he would need. “Is fermento baking soda?”

“Do whatever you like. As long as we get to eat it, we don’t mind.” Andrea’s mother chimed in. “And yes, it’s baking soda.”

Soon enough, Mariana was ringing the bell, calling the rest of the people for the meal. Victor went to the wood oven in the mill to take out the dessert he had made.

Andrea was absolutely right. The wood oven gave the food a wonderful taste, and it made the whole difference. His dessert would be delectable too, if it absorbed some of the aroma.

After the cozido, Mariana went to get the plated puddings from the kitchen. Everybody started eating, Dona Bia making a pleased remark.

“É bom!” She hummed, and Victor understood she liked it. “Quem fez?”

“O Victor.” Andrea answered with a smug smile. Bia’s eyes opened wide.

“Muito bom!” She smiled, giving him a thumbs-up, seemingly impressed. “Tens jeito, rapaz!”

“She says you’re a good cook.” Joshua, who was sitting next to Victor, translated it.

“Quem quer bica?” Dona Bia asked, and everybody showed their hands.

“What did she ask?” Victor asked Joshua, not understanding her question.

“It’s slang for coffee.” Joshua explained. “But since you are a man, you don’t say bica , you say bico . Tell my grandmother Quero um bico, por favor.”

Victor turned to the old lady, happy for being able to say a whole sentence in Portuguese.

“Quero um bico, por favor.” He did his best to pronounce it correctly.

Suddenly, there was a deadly silence at the table, every single person staring at Victor with eyes wide. Victor felt his face burn with embarrassment. Did he say something wrong? What did he say? Andrea’s grandmother gave a hearty laugh.

“Ó filho, já estou muito velha para essas coisas.” Everybody started cackling, and Victor was more confused and embarrassed by the second. “Dou-te uma bica, pode ser? Um bico não.”

“What are you laughing about?” Victor snapped at Andrea, the heat spreading from his face to his blood, making it boil. “What did I say? What did she say to me?”

“You asked her for a blowjob.” Andrea doubled over laughing and could barely breathe, let alone talk. “She told you she was too old for that stuff, but she would get you a coffee instead.”

There was this expression that Andrea used to express her mortification, she would say she would like to dig a hole and stay there. Victor used to tease her about it, he found the expression very amusing, to dig a hole and hide. Until this precise moment. Victor was in dire need of a hole. Victor also wanted to burn a hole into Joshua’s head.

“Mark my words.” Victor warned, which made Joshua laugh even harder. “You will pay for this.”

“As long as it’s not in bicos!” Joshua stifled a laugh and slapped Victor in the back. “Come on, it’s just some brotherly hazing.”

“Right.” He looked from Andrea's brother to the coffee now in front of him, wondering if he even wanted to drink it in the first place. Now every time he had coffee he would remember this very embarrassing moment.

As Victor took a moment to breathe and calm himself down, he was struck by some amazing realizations. The first was, despite being incredibly embarrassing, Joshua’s hazing meant acceptance. It was the kind of thing Andrea and her brother would do, playing pranks at each other. That could only mean that he was truly being accepted into the family, like one of them, not the foreign CEO everyone should be careful with and tiptoe around.

Second, he had completely forgotten about LFG during those days. He used to define himself by his achievements, taking an immeasurable pride in his work, always putting it first. For the first time in a long time, Victor allowed himself to let go of the cover of financial mogul and relentless conqueror, and be just himself. He no longer felt the need to prove anything to anyone, he no longer felt the need to measure his success. He could be just Victor.

Third, he used to hate the unexpected. Victor enjoyed adventure from time to time, but always in a controlled manner, every step of the way completely transparent and expectable. He had been called a control freak innumerous times due to his need to plan and prepare for any setbacks. And yet he had come to a foreign country, knowing close to nothing about its language, sleeping in the house of a stranger, doing things he had never done in his life, and he couldn’t be happier about it. He felt comfortable, at home, relaxed. That’s when it dawned on him. He felt safe because home had been with him all along. Andrea was his home. His solace. As long as she was close to him, laughing and shining that bright light of hers, he was home.

Victor watched her as she bantered with her family, glowing as usual, the world around her always better than what it was before. He took out the spreadsheet he had done a few weeks ago from his mental drawer and inserted his new conclusions. And what was a certainty at first, now felt like a calling: they belonged together, and only a lifetime with her would be acceptable. She was the most precious thing in his life, and he would do whatever it would take to make her happy and safe.

[lovehugsandcandy]

Until Next Time (Colt x MC)

A/N: OMFG. I blame @choicesarehard who, when I complained about having 9 draft stories, answered “I mean, why not make it 10?” (I swear to GOD I am working on requests, I swear!). This is inspired by and dedicated to you and your AMAZING edit of Colt with tats (as seen here). I pray that this is what I see in my dreams tonight.

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: 2566 words (this was not supposed to be this long but I am tired)

Rating: N*FW 

(worst) Summary (ever): Colt with tattoos is really freaking hot.

Tags:  @deimosensblog @alegria1580  @choicesarehard @thefarrari @client-327 @moonlit-girl-wonder @going-down-downtown@soniadotalves@jolietmaraud @hazah@flowerpowell@poeticscolt@brightpinkpeppercorn @zaira-oh-zaira@powdesiree0816 @umiumichan @akrenich

"And then Darius failed that big test before he came to visit so we decided to drive all the way down to Tijuana and try tequila for the first time. And then I failed my big test because I was so hungover." Riya groaned. "Never. Again."

Ellie laughed, taking a sip of her coffee. It was nice to be back in LA, not worrying about schoolwork and tests. Her freshman year had been great but she missed this, being with the people who knew her best and loved her most.

Ellie was just about to ask where Darius was, why he missed their first coffee date, when a flash of leather in her periphery stopped her in her tracks. She stood, chair scraping the floor, and watched the back of the jacket walk down the street. She couldn't be sure but, that figure...

"Ellie?"

"I'll be right back."

She dashed out of the coffee shop, trying to follow, but he was moving fast. It looked like him, from the back; if it wasn't, she would be mortified but she had to try, had to see. Over the year, she had called, a few times, but the phone was always off, maybe disconnected, a life laying low making it hard to keep in touch. She couldn't pass up this chance, if it was him.

She was quick but he was quicker; she watched him, trying to keep up, a block, then two, then a turn down an alley. She followed, almost running, and stopped in her tracks. It was a dead end, no one there. What the? Was she chasing a ghost?

"You following me?"

Ellie jumped and spun at the harsh voice. And stared. It wasn't a ghost after all. It was him, looking as surprised to see her standing in front of him as she was to be there.

"Ellie?"

He looked harder, tougher. He had always had an edge, an aura of danger seemingly designed to both scare and tempt her. It almost seemed like the he wanted the scare part to win out, muscles coiled and ready to strike, gaze hard, stance harder.

"Hi, Colt."

His eyes widened and he glanced around. "This isn't safe. You shouldn't be here."

"What?" She took a step closer. "What are you talking about?"

He looked at her and she could see his gaze wander, greedy, down her face, body, back up. He looked behind him again. "I'm meeting someone. I gotta go."

"Please." She was embarrassed at how her voice cracked. "Please, just...."

He took a deep breath, one more furtive look around, and stepped closer, hand out. "Gimme your phone."

She nodded, trembling fingers sliding it from her pocket and into his waiting palm. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of them, the black lines flowing into the sleeves of his jacket. He had them on both hands, dark designs trailing up his wrists, tattoos dipping out of sight under leather. Those were new.

"Meet me here. 9pm."

She could only nod, breathless, fingers brushing his as she took her phone back. He shifted slightly, moving closer, hand twitching as if to touch her. She ached, remembering the feel of his hands on her body. Instead of crossing the last few inches, he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned out of the alley without a backwards glance.

~~~~~

She didn't know what she expected when she got there but a cute townhouse three miles from Gramercy Park definitely wasn't it.

Well, the exterior was cute. The inside was almost empty.

Colt shrugged as she took in the surroundings. "I need to move tomorrow."

"Apparently." She looked around at the open suitcase, a few boxes stacked up, mattress on the floor of the living room. The rest of the place looked deserted, as if no one had ever lived here. She was suddenly struck by the lack of personal effects; other than the motorcycle helmet, the room was devoid of anything that would even suggest it was Colt that lived here. It could be anyone, no trinkets, no pictures, nothing. Her heart hurt, thinking about the contrast to her dorm room.

"I still need to lay low." He slid his shoes off, sitting at the head of the bed, watching her. "It's easier to do that if you don't stand still."

She nodded, turning to perch next to him. He still had the jacket on, the mystery lines teasing her, temptingly winding their way up his wrists. She couldn’t tell what they were.

“How is school? Are you tearing up Langston?”

“Top of my class.” She couldn’t keep the pride out of her voice. She studied hard, just like high school; she was proud of what she could do when she put her mind to it.

“Told you that you would be great.”

Ellie couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Did you get tattoos?”

“Uhhh.....” He ducked his head. “Yeah.”

“Can I see?” She leaned forward, eyes on him. He didn’t seem like a huge fan of tattoos based on his reaction to her own ink, but apparently she was wrong.

He shrugged off his jacket and Ellie gasped. Arms bare, she could see that he had sleeves now, both arms, sharp against his skin. Eyes wide, she stared, unable to figure out where to look first. She didn’t know what she expected but it wasn’t this. Finally, she moved closer, peering at the familiar lines closest to her.

"It's like your dad's." She traced the semicircles on his left arm with careful fingers, looking at the way the dark ink covered his skin, a contrast to the olive tone underneath. He was watching her, wary.

"Yeah, it's for him."

She traced a few more, trailing her fingers over the inside of his arm, watching the goosebumps left in her wake before moving to the other side. "So what is this for?" She gently touched the snake on his right arm, curving around his bicep, down his forearm. She peeked down the collar of his shirt, close enough to feel his exhale of breath; the snake’s teeth were bared, large and imposing on his chest. It looked like it was trying to devour his heart.

He smirked at her, heat in his eyes. "That's for me."

"A snake?"

"A serpent." He reached out to brush her hair out of her face and then trailed his thumb over her lower lip. "Maybe it's like in the Good Book and I'm the serpent that tempts virtuous girls to follow me to the dark side."

His eyes fluttered shut as her tongue darted out, tracing his thumb, pulling it into her mouth with a gentle purse of the lips, suction and teeth making him groan. "I would follow you anywhere."

His eyes were blown wide when she let go of his finger. She gripped the hem of his shirt. “I want to see the whole thing.”

“Wait-”

He reached for her but it was too late. Ellie froze. The room was silent except for an exhale from her lips. "Colt?"

He stared, eyes guarded, expression wiped clean, just watching her face, waiting. If she didn’t know him so well, if she hadn’t spent weeks learning him like the back of her own hand, she would think he were emotionless; but, looking closely, she could see the clench of his jaw, the tightening of his eyes. He was nervous, awaiting her reaction.

And fuck, she couldn’t react. She couldn't get the words to come, couldn't breathe. She looked down again at the tattoo on his hip and swallowed, hard. The feather was slightly bigger, curving around his hip, but, as far as she could tell, from what dipped above the waistband, it matched hers. Exactly.

Finally he spoke, a whisper. "And that's for you."

She could only stare at him, barely able to breathe, heart breaking piece-by-piece for him, thinking about him documenting the memories of those he had loved and lost all over his body.

Eyes still locked on him, she unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down slowly, carefully to reveal the entire tattoo, hidden away like a secret. He tugged his shirt off, over his head, thrown to the floor, as she pulled his pants clean off.

Before she could second guess it, she knelt to examine the lines of the feather, tracing the tufts with her finger as Colt’s stomach twitched. She spared a look away, into his eyes, and then bent her head, tongue following the path her fingers had taken.

"Fuck."

It sounded like the word was punched out of him as she carefully followed the ink, tasting his skin as his fingers writhed and scratched the sheets underneath them. She wanted to map out every single line, every single point of the matching tattoo, a tattoo for her, even though he couldn’t be certain that she would ever see it. She ended her exploration with a bite, teeth lightly clamping at the end of the quill, as Colt swore above her.

Then, her mouth continued down, light kisses and teasing licks, until she got to her destination. This was one thing they hadn’t done, amazingly, in a list of various legal and illegal things that had conquered together, but Ellie was desperate, desperate to take from him until he had no more to give.

“Ellie-”

She slowly slid her mouth down his length as far as she could go, hands covering what couldn’t fit in her mouth. He swore again, louder this time, and Ellie silently thanked Riya for the all of the conversations she had sworn she wanted to unhear.

It was awkward and new and she had to be careful not to take him too deep or she would choke, but it was all worth it, to hear her name spilling from his lips, feel his hips trembling underneath her. She finally got into a good rhythm that seemed to be working for them both, tight suction and a flick of her tongue that made his hands fist the sheets. But right when she her jaw got tired, right when his thighs started to shake, he stopped her, reaching down to grab at her shoulder, clumsy fingers grasping at her.

“Fuck, Ellie, get up here.”

She let him pull her, up his body, until she was looking into his eyes. A brief look, an even briefer kiss, and then he was ripping her clothes from her, shirt flying to the ground, hands sliding down her legs to yank her pants off of her and then those hands were on her hips, spinning her so she was looking up at him.

Their eyes met again, longer this time, and Ellie watched as Colt slid down her body, lips trailing over her skin, phantom touches that made her squirm and moan. When he finally reached her clit, she was shaking, head thrown back, gasping for air. She was already wet, fuck, she could feel how needy she was, and his lips and tongue massaging her were definitely fueling the fire. He slid two fingers inside her; she was so slick that they filled her easily but, damn, it had been a while. She could feel the stretch as he moved, clever fingers stretching her out. Fuck, He still remembered that spot, how to touch her, how to move to make her forget everything but his name.

Once she came, fingers laced with his and squeezing so hard her knuckles paled, she reached for him, desperate, hands covering the ink on his forearms and pulling until he rose and slid between her legs. It only took a breathless “Please?” and, suddenly, he was inside her, deeper and deeper until their hips met and she had to shut her eyes.

She could feel him move inside her, slow and steady, the grind making her nerves sing. It had been a year since she had last felt these shivers down her spine; she hadn’t realized how badly she missed it until all she could do was chant his name and watch the devotion in his eyes as he moved over her. His hands were clutching her hips; she hoped there would be bruises, ten lines of color that she could look at and press later to remind herself that this was real. 

He sped up, hips swiveling just so, and snaked a hand down to run circles around her clit. It was too much, too intense. All she could do was cling to him, nails scratching his back, digging in, hard; she realized, too late, that she was drawing blood. “Crap, sorry.”

“No.” He pushed inside her again, deeper, the angle pulling a moan from her. “I want your marks all over me, everywhere.”

She couldn’t help but look at his arms, the marks he already had inscribed on his body, eyes running down the tattoos and ending at the perfect replica on his hip. She touched him, there, stroking her thumb over the ink that tied them together. Watching her fingers run over it, it only took one more thrust and Ellie’s mouth widened in surprise as she was pulled over the edge, Colt following, blanketing her, a low moan in her ear.

She watched him as she caught her breath, hands tracing the ink on his arms, wondering idly what he thought when he looked in the mirror and was faced with the reminders of all that had been taken. If it were her, she didn’t know if she could bear it. But Colt? She bet it drove him, fueled the flames that moved him forward, made him stronger, more relentless. Her heart ached, again, for the boy who had lost so much that it was literally written on his body, visible to all, but understood by only those who knew where to look.

~~~~~

She would have thought the second time would be less intense but she wasn't prepared for the fire that had been lit. She knew she would leave covered in marks, all over, love bites and hickies where he had marked her as his. Every thrust, every move, had Colt burrowing deeper inside her, as if he was trying to reach places within her no one would ever touch, carve a space for him that no one would ever fill.

The third time, with the sun starting to peek over the horizon, signaling an end to this night, this reunion, the third time was desperate, sad. She thought it was sweat at first, the hot splashes on her back; when Colt turned her head to kiss her, she saw his eyes were as damp as hers and she finally let the tears she was holding back fall.

She didn't think her heart could break any more, not when calloused fingers wiped the wet tracks from her cheeks and helped her into her clothes, not when Colt shrugged on his shirt, covering the tattoo, the permanent mark of her on his skin. Not when he kissed her at the door, mapping her mouth, her face, every piece of her to remember for later.

"Colt-"

He shook his head, shushing her. "Don't. This isn’t goodbye. There'll be a next time. And next time, I'll find you."

She smiled though the tears on her cheeks, crying all the way home. He might have her tattoo on his body, but he left an eternal mark on her heart and she could only trust that these bonds would see them through, until next time.

[bae-leth]

hghbndfhgghghbhbbh hi it’s been a long time.,.,i saw you talking about dimiashe and i had been wanting to write dimiashe for a while so i wrote one for the both of us!! sorry if this is uncalled for…

purring

Dimitri shook his head vehemently, shrinking away where he knelt on the stone tile walkway of the courtyard outside the monastery. “No, no, no. Do not make me, please, Ashe, I’m begging you!”

Ashe gestured vaguely with the small calico cat in his hands. “Come on, Your Highness! It won’t bite!” Dimitri opened his eye to peek at his knight and the fluffy creature he was clutching to his chest, and he leaned very far backwards when Ashe held the cat out to him.

“No! I will not be touching it!” Dimitri announced with the dignified rigor of a king, though his voice was quivering with terror. “Put that thing down, Ashe, immediately!”

The little cat suddenly squeezed its blue eyes shut and yawned, hugely so, as the action seemed to make its whole body convulse. Ashe gasped and looked at Dimitri expectantly.

“Did you see that?”

“Yes, I don’t—”

“It yawned!”

“I—I know, I just—”

“Oh, please, Your Highness, you must get over your fear! It’s so adorable and small. There’s no way it could possibly hurt you,” Ashe insisted, reaching over the small distance between him and his liege and taking Dimitri’s wrist. Dimitri flinched, but let his arm be pulled over to the cat. “Here. Just touch it.”

“No, I’m—” Dimitri hissed, tugging his hand away before Ashe could place it on the cat. It was starting to clamber up Ashe’s arm. “Ashe, I am not afraid of I…I am—I am afraid of doing it any harm.”

Ashe frowned, letting go of Dimitri’s arm and plucking the small cat off of his shoulder and returning it to his lap. He, as well as anyone who had ever known the young king of Faerghus, was aware of Dimitri’s almost inhuman strength, as well as his struggles to control it. He’d been improving with the assistance of his friends—this had actually been a complex plan devised by Ashe, Sylvain, Ingrid, Annette, Mercedes, Dedue, and begrudgingly, Felix, in order to help Dimitri—but the thought of handling a small animal was simply too much for him.

“You won’t,” Ashe promised. “I’ll be here to make sure you won’t.” Dimitri grimaced, wringing his hands nervously. Ashe bade the king look into his eyes with a soft nod, and he smiled encouragingly. “Want to give it a try?”

Dimitri seemed to be searching the depths of Ashe’s olive gaze; in the end, he nodded back, returning the smile. “…All right.”

“Okay.” Ashe shifted a little closer so his knee brushed Dimitri’s—much to an unknightly rush of feverish warmth that coursed through his veins—and lifted the little cat up in his hands. The calico mewled, pawing at the air. “Here, hold out your hands.”

Dimitri’s fingers were trembling as he cupped his palms underneath the tiny animal, his blue eye wide with anticipation and anxiety. Ashe lowered the cat into Dimitri’s hands, then let his eyes flick to Dimitri’s expression. The king took in a shaky gasp as Ashe let go of the cat, then placed his hands up against Dimitri’s to support him.

“Ah! It’s—get it off!” Dimitri spluttered frantically as the cat got to its little paws, then started to climb impatiently onto Dimitri’s chest. Ashe laughed at the sight of Faerghus’ fearless king, horrified of the tiny kitten clinging to his cloak. The knight took Dimitri’s hands and placed them around the cat’s soft belly.

“Here, you pick it up. Just gently lift it…don’t apply pressure, or you’ll scare it,” Ashe instructed, and Dimitri leaned his head back, swallowing when the cat took an interest in the small scar on his neck and started to bat at it. The king squeezed his eye shut and gripped the cat with just enough force, peeling it off his clothing with some resistance like a burr.

“You did it!” Ashe clasped his hands together under his chin. “See? That wasn’t so bad, wasn’t it?” Dimitri looked absolutely mortified at the tiny thing hissing and wriggling in his hands. “Just place it in your lap, let it get used to you.”

Dimitri dropped it (to Ashe’s horror), and it landed with a soft plop on his leg and scrambled to its paws, bristling.

“Oh, goddess,” Dimitri breathed. “I’m so sorry. Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

Ashe couldn’t suppress the bloom of warmth in his chest; how concerned and caring his liege was! The small calico cat sniffed Dimitri’s hand, which the king lowered tentatively, then rubbed its cheek against it, closing its round eyes contentedly. 

“Ashe! What’s it doing?” Dimitri whisper-screamed, and Ashe—dare he?—sat a little closer to scratch the cat behind its ears.

“It likes you. Don’t you see? It’s so happy!” Dimitri looked as if he was having trouble processing this, but he nodded, letting his thumb gently rub the black spot between the cat’s ears. 

“I see,” he murmured thoughtfully.

Ashe stroked the cat’s back, letting its long tail flick up against his palm when he lifted it. Dimitri observed his knight’s gestures, then started to do the same. Before long, the cat was being pampered by the alternating hands of the king of Faerghus and his knight running down the silky fur on its back, and it started to purr.

“It’s vibrating! Is that bad?” Dimitri asked suddenly, and Ashe couldn’t help laughing a little more, letting his head rest against the hollow of his liege’s shoulder.

“It’s purring. That means its very happy.”

Ashe and Dimitri continued to pet the cat, and Ashe was content; then, when he realized the cat was sideways, as was the shaded pavilion he and Dimitri were sitting in, he froze. He was still leaning his head upon Dimitri’s shoulder!

If he pulled away now, then he would probably seem impolite. That would make things awkward. But if he stayed, he would be overstepping his boundaries. Ashe tensed up, his hand pausing on the cat’s back as Dimitri lifted his off the animal’s tail and rested it back upon its head, and the knight suppressed an “eep” when Dimitri’s hand slipped down and over Ashe’s, and—goddess have mercy—paused.

“What’s the matter, Ashe?” Dimitri asked softly. Ashe was panicking. The cat opened its eyes, looking around in confusion.

“Oh—uh—um—” Ashe chanced a look up at his king, and Dimitri was looking back down, a rare, fond smile gracing his lips. His handsome blue eye was void of apprehension, and filled with a pleasant contentedness. He didn’t seem bothered. “…Nothing.”

“Okay, then. Let us continue! Our little friend here is growing bored.” Ashe nodded shyly, and Dimitri let his fingertips brush across Ashe’s knuckles as he lifted his hand. Ashe bit his lip as he started to pet the small animal sitting on Dimitri’s lap once more, and Dimitri followed suit.

Soon, Dimitri started to hum, and Ashe could feel the faint vibrations in his chest, as well as his liege’s, as if they were purring.

[have…..good day]

-----------

notes from bae: OHHH THIS? THIS IS.... SO SWEET..... I’M GENUINELY GRINNING DOWN AT MY PHONE AND I LOOK LIKE A FOOL BECAUSE THIS LIL FIC IS SO SWEET!!!!

[jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets]

The Thing About Blind Dates - Ch 2

Title: The Thing About Blind Dates

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Destiel and Sabriel

Rating: Lemon

Tags: at the bottom if you feel you need them :)

Summary:

    Dean Winchester was perfectly happy with his life. He lived alone, though most days his house was filled with the accompaniment of his little brother and his brother’s new boyfriend, and that suited Dean just fine.

    But even now, as Dean sat back against the couch, watching the newest season of Animal Kingdom, cold beer in hand while Sam and Gabe cuddled next to him, he couldn’t really say he was anything but satisfied. That is�� until Sam and Gabe decided he wasn’t.

A/N: Two chapters in one day! can anyone say killing it???

AO3 Link

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Two: Blind Date

    The next night Dean found himself at home alone, standing before a pile of clothes on his bed, in nothing but a towel and a scowl on his face. He had been digging through his closet for nearly an hour now and could not, for the life of him, find anything to wear for his date tonight. Which as he looked at the clock, panic struck him at realizing the time, and his date was in less then an hour away.

    In a last ditch effort he grabbed his phone from his night stand and called Sam, putting it on speaker and throwing it on the bed.

    Sam answered after only two rings much to Dean's relief, “Hey, Dean, ready for your date?”

    “Actually that’s why I'm calling, Sammy,” Dean sighed as he tossed yet another shirt into the pile, “I'm uh… kind of stumped here, could use some help.”

    “Hang on,” Dean could hear rustling and then Sam was back, “okay, Gabe's here too.”

    “Hey, Gabey,” Dean smiled, “where you two love birds off to tonight?”

    “Dinner at East Side Mario’s, then a movie, then maybe a moonlit walk in the park,” Dean's eyes went wide at the familiar tease in Gabe's voice, he knew what was coming next and he didn’t want to hear it, “and after that I was thinking we could go back to my place and-”

    “O-kay!” Dean cut him off quickly, “That’s enough of that conversation, thanks.” They both chuckled and he shook his head and continued on with his current problem, “So, the reason I'm calling is clothes. I haven’t been on a date in god knows how long and I don’t have a clue what to wear. I have spent the last hour pulling out every piece of clothing I own, and apparently I hate it all.”

    “I already told you, Dean-o,” Gabe said, “it won’t matter what you wear.”

    Dean rolled his eyes and answered back with as much sarcasm as he could muster, “Fine then, how about I show up in my fuzzy unicorn pyjamas and matching rainbow slippers.”

    “That would honestly be fine.”

    Dean sighed, this was not what he called for. He needed genuine help!

    “Seriously, I need help guys!” He grabbed yet another piece of clothing, looking it over once, and throwing it with the others in the ‘I hate you and thou must burn’ pile on his bed, and ran his hands down his face in defeat.

    “Look,” Sam spoke this time, “this obviously means a lot to you, so we’ll help.” There was a moment of silence while the two of them thought and Sam came back on, “What about the green v-neck?”

    “A v-neck to a fancy dinner, Sammy?” Dean made a face at the phone even though Sam couldn’t see it.

    “I've got it!” Gabe shouted, “What about a simple black button down? Got one of those?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Put that on.” They waited as Dean dug through his pile of clothes and pulled out the shirt and put it on. “And I know you’ve got that nice pair of olive green skinny jeans, put those on too!”

    “Really?” He questioned, “I hate those pants. I don’t even know why I bought them.”

    “You only hate them because you don’t wear them properly. Now what have you got for belts?”

    Dean stepped into his closet and grabbed the hanger holding his belts and went through one at a time. “I've got black, green, pale blue-”

    “Stop! Pale blue.”

    At this point Dean was starting to doubt Gabe's fashion sense, but he was now down to thirty minutes and the panic was setting in strong with every second.

    “Now, shoes?” Gabe asked.

    “Well,” Dean said as he kneeled down in his closet, “aside from runners I've got… black, brown, white?”

    Gabe thought for a moment then said, “Stick with black.”

    Dean grabbed the shoes and put them on, standing in his room now fully dressed but still not feeling quite ready. “Okay, now what?”

    “Accessories!” The joy coming from the short man was insane, Dean thought. “Put on a watch, make sure you're wearing the gold chain you always have on, and do you have any rings?”

    Dean did a circle of his room then spied a small pile of old jewellery on his dresser. He walked over and dug through before answering, “I've got my Dad’s old silver band he used to wear, and I think I've got a class ring from high school in here somewhere.”

    “Those will do.” Dean grabbed them and put them on as instructed. “Now, to finish of the look, make sure you tuck in the shirt all the way, but leave the top two buttons undone. You need to show off a little bit of that sexy body you have there.”

    Dean smirked at the compliment and maybe even blushed a little as he did what Gabe said. “Why thanks, Gabe.”

    “Now roll the sleeves up to just below your elbows and don’t do anything with your hair,” he commanded, “it always looks best when you just run it back with your fingers, in that sort of ‘just fucked’ way.”

    Dean did so with a shrug of his lips, and after running his fingers through his hair a few times he asked, “Okay, am I finished?”

    “Take a look.”

    Dean walked over to his closet and shut the door to look in the full length mirror on the back, and he had to admit that despite his doubts about Gabriel, he looked fan-fucking-tastic! He used to absolutely hate these jeans but Gabe was right, he just wasn’t wearing them with the right combinations. And the firm fit of the tucked in shirt really brought out his toned chest, while the gold chain hanging down brought attention to the undone buttons and the little tease of exposed skin there.

    “Damn, Gabriel!” Dean whistled and turned once, “Why don’t you go into dressing people for a career! I look like a damn celebrity!”

    “What can I say, I'm a man of many talents, but I love my sweet shop too much to give it up.” Dean gave one last turn in the mirror, this time stopping to look behind him at how nice his ass looked in these jeans, then Gabe reminded him, “You’ve got fifteen minutes to get to your date. Have fun, don’t keep Cassie waiting, and you can thank me at the wedding!”

    Before Dean could respond, Gabe hung up. He took one last look in the mirror to make sure everything was perfect, then grabbed his keys and ran out the door finding himself kind of excited for his night.

~~~~~~~~~~~

    Gabe hung up the phone and handed it back to a snickering Sam as they stood in the middle of the sidewalk downtown.

    “Why did you get him all dressed up like that?” Sam asked as he turned and tucked Gabe back into his side, continuing their walk to the restaurant, “You and I both know that it really doesn’t matter. It literally won’t make a difference what he wears to the date.”

    Gabe chuckled and gave Sam's side a squeeze, “I know. I told him so myself, twice actually, but it’s more fun this way. And you heard Dean-o on the phone. Being all dressed up and looking hot made him more eager to go, and more confident in himself.”

    “Yeah, you’re right,” Sam sighed, “I just hope this works out.”

    “You heard me, I am never wrong Sammykins.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

    “Okay Samalamb, what do you wanna order?”

    Sam smiled at the affectionate nickname and picked up his menu, but before he could even look at the appetizers his phone was ringing in his pocket again.

    Sam gave Gabe a wide eyed look which he returned, then answered the phone as calmly as he could, “Hey, Dean, you there yet?”

    Sam cringed and pulled the phone away from his ear, “Take it easy for a second! Just give it a chance. Like we said, we think you two will really like each other. And what's the harm in trying? None of your past relationships have worked out right? Maybe there’s a reason for that-”

    There was more muffled shouting before Sam said, “Doesn’t mean you won’t like it,” then the phone went silent for a moment and Gabe thought maybe Dean had hung up, “give it a chance, Dean, I've got a good feeling about this.”

    It was Gabe's turn to cringe as he heard a string of profanities being shouted through the phone, then laughed when Sam began pulling the phone from his ear and said, “Sorry, Dean, what's that? I… no… can’t hear you… sorry. Don’t make Cassie wait to long and have fun on your date!” then very quickly hung up the phone.

    Sam looked to him with a shake of his head and Gabe asked with a smirk, “So I take it he met Cassie.”

    Sam just nodded.

    As Gabriel expected he was next on Dean's pone tag hit list when his phone began to ring in his pocket. He looked to Sam who was mortified after what had just happened to him, then answered the phone with a smirk.

~~~~~~~~~~~

    Dean pulled up to the restaurant and my god, it was fancier then he remembered it was the last time he drove by. And despite how good he felt when he left the house he was suddenly feeling a little under dressed and slightly self conscious again.

    After taking a deep breath and giving himself a quick ‘you can do this, it’s just a date’ pep talk, he climbed out of his car before he could talk himself out of it and walked inside.

    He stood in line for a few minutes and looked at his watch. He was a few minutes late due to his little clothing snafu, but hoped it would be worth it when Cassie saw his outfit. It wasn’t too long before the people in line ahead of him were taken to their seats and he had a clear view of the restaurant while the hostess was gone. He did a quick scan, looking for this girl he was supposed to meet but didn’t see anyone sitting alone. Maybe he wasn’t the only one that was late.

    The server returned then and called him forwards, and he stepped up with his charming Dean Winchester smile.

    “Hello, sir, and welcome to Amanda’s,” the hostess smiled back at him with just as much charm, “can I get your name?”

    “Hi, I have a reservation under Dean Winchester.”

    She took a second to flip through her book then looked back up at him and gestured behind her with her hand, “Right back there, the booth in the corner by the window, sir.”

    He smiled at her, then followed her arm to his seat and suddenly found himself confused. He turned back to her and tapped her shoulder, pulling her attention from the older couple she was now trying to serve. “Yes, sir?”

    “Uh, hi… again,” he made an apologetic gesture to the couple he had interrupted, and continued on awkwardly, “I think maybe you have the wrong table? I'm here for a blind date my brother and his boyfriend set me up on. I'm supposed to be meeting someone named Cassie.”

    She nodded at Dean with her thousand watt smile again and responded sweetly, “That’s the correct table, sir, your date got here not too long ago. That is the Cassie Novak you are looking for.”

    Dean look back to the table at the guy sitting in his booth, then looked back to her speechless. She merely held her smile and said, “He’s cute! Have fun on your date,” before taking the older couple past him and to their table.

    He took a few more minutes to stare at the man, at Cassie, and then decided to pull out his phone and call Sam.

    He waited a few rings and thought maybe the coward wasn’t going to answer, then he finally picked up, and had the audacity to act as though he had no idea. “Hey Dean, you there yet?”

    He shook his head at his brothers light tone on the phone before growling out as loud as he could in the restaurant, “God damn you both to hell and back, Sam! You sons of bitches! You set me up with a guy!? A guy!? ‘Cassie’, really! You tricked me, Sam, you both did! You know my track record, have you ever seen me with a guy!? What the hell!”

    “Take it easy for a second! Just give it a chance. Like we said, we think you two will really like each other. And what's the harm in trying? None of your past relationships have worked out right? Maybe there’s a reason for that-”

    Dean gaped, “You son of a bitch! I don’t date guys, I never have!”

    “Doesn’t mean you won’t like it,” he couldn’t believe his brother, why wouldn’t he tell him this vital piece of information before convincing him to go on this date, “give it a chance, Dean, I've got a good feeling about this.”

    Dean was flabbergasted, completely and utterly flabbergasted. And it was the least he could do when he started throwing a slew of profanities at his brother in the loudest tone he could in the restaurant. But before he could lash out all of his anger, his brother did the worst thing he could do. “Sorry, Dean, what's that? I… no… can’t hear you… sorry. Don’t make Cassie wait to long and have fun on your date!” He pretended to loose reception then very quickly hung up the phone, leaving Dean wide eyed and shocked to hell where he stood.

    “Sam!? Sammy?!” Dean removed the phone from his ear, “damn it!” then dialled the next trickster on his list.

    He waited a few beats, knowing full well that Gabriel was making him wait on purpose, and then was greeted by Gabriel's overly sweet voice, “Hola, mon ami! You're on with Gabriel, match maker extraordinaire! If you're calling to praise my skills, which I know there would be no other reason for your call, I await your glorious words of praise.”

    Gabe's cheerful tone and playful attitude did nothing to lighten Dean's current mood, so all Gabriel got was a grunted, “Fuck you, Gabriel!” before Dean hung up and shoved the phone violently back in his pocket.

    He huffed a breath and tried to calm down, then turned back to the guy who was still sitting in the booth, and looked down at himself. He was here, in the restaurant, he was dressed up and hungry, and this guy was sitting there waiting for him to show up.

    He had never spoken a word of this to Sam before, but he had considered this in the past. He wouldn’t lie and say he hadn’t checked out a few hot guys before and thought about asking them out, especially when Sam came out to him and introduced him to Gabriel, but he never did. He had never told any one about secretly being attracted to some guys, especially not Sam, and he had never acted on any of those desires before. He was Dean Winchester, a ladies man and always had been. But apparently his brother and his meddling boyfriend had decided otherwise for him.

    But maybe Sam was right. None of his past relationships with girls had worked out, and at this point what did he have to lose? Maybe it was time to act on those desires and see where this lead him. Maybe he would really enjoy himself, and maybe if this didn’t work out he would finally have the courage to actually ask out a guy the next time he was interested. But for now, this Cassie was waiting, and Dean knew how pissed he would be if someone stood him up, especially after only a glimpse from far away instead of taking the time to get to know him. So he figured, what the hell, what did he have to lose?

    He gave himself a nod, straightened his shirt and suddenly found himself even more nervous then he was before, and walked over to the table to officially meet Cassie.

    He stood beside the table and stared down at the side of the guy’s face and he just… continued to stare forwards? Dean shifted uncomfortably from side to side, waiting a beat longer before clearing his throat. The guy jumped, actually jumped in his seat then said, “Yes?” but still continued to look ahead.

    Dean didn’t really know what to do. What kind of weirdo had Sam and Gabe set him up with? So he did all he could do really. “Hi, I'm Dean, Dean Winchester.”

    The guy finally turned to look at him, well, at Dean's stomach. Dean pursed his lips and waited. At this point he really was at a loss for what to do next. Honestly, he kind of wanted to turn around and run right back out of the restaurant.

    “I am sorry,” the guy replied, “I did not know you had arrived. Hello Dean.”

    “You didn’t know I…” Dean almost laughed, “But I'm standing right here-”

    Dean stopped dead as his eyes caught something in the booth beside Cassie, and he instantly felt like the biggest dick in the whole world.

    “Oh! I… uh…” he stammered, trying to find the right words to say and clearly failing at every turn.

    The guy sighed and nodded, “Gabriel didn’t tell you, I assume.”

    “I… no, he didn’t.”

    He nodded again and said, “If this is a problem for you, then I understand. We can both end this right now and there will be no hard feelings.”

    Dean was shocked, stunned and stammering as Cassie reached behind him to grab the item on the seat before turning back to Dean and standing.

    They were now face to face when they guy hit Dean with a smile and said, “It is alright, Dean,” and now that Dean was finally able to see his face all he could think was, wow! The man was gorgeous. Like he said, Dean had been interested in guys before, but honestly none of them held a candle to this guy, not even close.

    The man took a step forward and slightly around Dean, and he was finally pulled out of his trance when the man said, “Thank-you for coming, Dean, and have a good night,” then continued to try and walk past him.

    Dean shook his head, trying to think of a way to keep this gorgeous man here with him, and all he could come up with was to place his hands on the guy’s shoulders and stop him from passing him.

    “No, wait!” Dean said in a panicked tone, surprising even himself, “Why… why would you want to end the date? Why would you think I want to end the date? We haven’t even had a chance to talk yet, get to know each other.”

    The man scrunched his brows and tilted his head slightly, and Dean couldn’t help but think it was damn cute.

    “I just assumed that when you realized…” he trailed off as he put his head down and took a breath, then looked back up, “I have been on dates before that Gabriel has tried to set up, but once people realize that I am how I am they want to end the date, or they just never call back afterwards. I merely took your stammering as an indication of the same, and if I am correct in thinking so, then it still stands that there will be no hard feelings.”

    “Wait a second,” Dean gaped, “people don’t want to date you just because you're blind?!” Dean asked like it was blasphemy, and honestly it was. He couldn’t believe that the world was full of so many assholes not even willing to give this guy a chance. This man was gorgeous, beautiful, and definitely did not deserve that kind of… discrimination! He deserved a chance just like everyone else and it fuelled Dean's anger to know that he had been denied that.

    At the man’s down turned expression Dean shook his head. He had been wary about this date right from the get go, he had been unsure of how this would go or even if a date with a guy would be the change that Sam said he needed, but know he knew he had his answer. “Look, I'm not like those other assholes, alright?” The guy looked back up and tilted his head again, “If you still want to, then I am more then willing to sit down and give this date an actual try. I’ll admit that I was a bit… hesitant about a blind date set up by Gabriel, but that’s honestly just because I suck at dates and relationships in general. But damn if you're not cute as hell!”

    They guy blushed with a shy smile and Dean bit his lip at how cute it was. “So, what’d ya say? Shall we have dinner together?”

    The guy smiled a smile so bright Dean was thrilled he was the one who had put it there and replied, “I would very much like that, Dean.”

    So they sat in the booth, Dean staring at the guy for a few more moments, admiring him before he spoke first.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags/warnings: Blind!Cas, Handicap, some minor discrimination but not bad, and I’ll add more as I need them.

A/N: and there you have chapter two! Comments are the love i need friends <3

Tags: @kitsunecastiel

[adampage]

The Game, Part 3

Characters: Triple H, Reader, Sami Zayn

Word Count: 2,990

Warnings: swearing of course. mild mention of nudity, mature content. alcohol mention.

Before You Read: Part 1 and Part 2 requested by @deanammbrose

Author’s Note: Wow, part 3! I can’t even believe it tbh. Tag list at the bottom.

Every time I stare into the sun

Tryin’ to find a reason to go on

All I ever get is burned and blind

Until the sky bleeds the pouring rain... (x)

You woke up in a place that wasn’t yours and the unrelenting pain of a throbbing headache.

Where am I? You thought. Emma’s apartment? Sasha’s condo? It was hard to tell.

The curtains were closed across the wide balcony doors, and you were thankful for whomever had thought to close them. The Florida sun was unforgiving, but it couldn't do much in the way of drapes or blankets of clouds.

There was a digital alarm clock on the wooden nightstand. It was eleven o'clock in the morning. 11:13, to be exact.

A beeping sound. The sizzling of meat. What meat, you didn't know. But damn if it didn't smell amazing. The sound of clattering pots and pans as someone fished for a specific size. The beeping came to a stop, the sound of a microwave opening and closing.

You peered through the open doorway, holding your head in agony. You couldn't see anyone from there; the kitchen seemed to be behind the nearest wall.

“Bex?” You called hesitantly, still unsure whose apartment you were in. No answer.

“Alexa?” You tried, to the sound of silence.

You thought about it for a minute. It wasn't any of the others, that was for certain. You’d been to Bayley’s loft before, and Charlotte lived in a small but luxurious house gifted to her by her father, and Emma’s apartment was smaller than this one.

Surely, you thought, as the gears clicked in your mind. Surely not…?

“Good morning, [Y/N]. How’d you sleep?”

The wide frame of Hunter Hearst Helmsley appeared from the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand. He was dressed in a casual way you’d never seen him in before, a black tee that hugged his frame and loose fitting, plaid pajama pants. Waiting for an answer, he held out the coffee mug, eyes telling you to take it.

“...Awful, thanks for asking.” You took a sip of the dark substance, pursing your lips at the bitter taste. It was black. No sugar.

“Oh, I apologize, I didn't put anything in it. Wasn’t sure how much sugar you took in your coffee.” He passed you the ceramic jar of sugar and handed you a teaspoon, then turned back to what looked like strips of bacon sizzling on the stove behind him, as well as scrambled eggs on the neighboring stove top.

“Thank you. You didn’t even have to make me coffee.” You hastily dropped six spoonfuls of sugar into the steaming cup while he wasn't looking, stirring anxiously.

This was insane. You were in Hunter’s apartment. Hunter. Your boss. What the fuck were you doing here?

You thought back, trying to shuffle through the memories of last night: Hunter had asked the women of NXT out for drinks to celebrate how well all of you were doing. You recalled Becky flirting with Ed, Sasha playing with Charlotte, Bayley’s wide eyes and embarrassed smile at being called upon to be Becky’s wing woman. Emma, chatting along with Alexa.

And Hunter…you remembered talking to him alone.

Shit...you didn’t? No...no fucking way.

You bit your lip, contemplating it all. After extensive thinking, you figured the best thing to do was to burn your esophagus with coffee and be done with it, so you took another huge sip of coffee.

“Fuck.”

“[Y/N]?” Hunter was facing you now, concerned. “You all right?”

You struggled to speak as you fanned your seared tongue, panting violently. Of course this would happen to you.

But then of course, you were asking for it.

“Uhhh…” you started, a lisp faintly recognizable as your tongue began to swell, and you squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment. Why were you like this?

His lips curled up suddenly, for a brief moment, before his expression became serious again. He found your current condition amusing, you realized.

“Whath tho gothdamn funny?” You blurted out angrily. You gave yourself a mental kick in the ass for sounding so fucking stupid. The lisp was doing nothing to help your humorless inquiry.

“Nothing.” He responded quickly, turning away from you so that you wouldn’t see the smirk had reappeared on his face.

“Oh, you fuckin’ athhole,” your eyes narrowed at him. But just as you were about to unleash the floodgates of your fury, you felt a sharp pang on the side of your head, stopping you.

“Jeethuth fuck,” you sighed breathlessly, fingers probing at your forehead gingerly as you winced, “my brain.”

Hunter turned off the stove, grabbing the spatula and setting the bacon on a plate with a paper towel on top to soak up the excess grease. Guess that explained that, then. He looked good because he still took care of himself.

When he finished up with that, he grabbed two more plates, serving the both of you ample amounts of scrambled eggs. He poured you a glass of orange juice for good measure, and set a bottle of ibuprofen down next to your plate.

“For the headache,” he explained. “Take one or two once you’ve eaten your fill.”

The next few minutes were spent in silence as you picked at your food like a small six year old child, while he scarfed his eggs and bacon down like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. You stared at him, mortified, but dropped your gaze back down at your plate when he caught you.

And then...you frowned as you pinched the clothing covering your chest. An extra large black DX T-shirt that hardly covered your ass as you sat on the freezing cold stool. Just black panties underneath. Which means someone took off your dress...and your bra, last night.

You froze, feeling the intensity of his gaze on you, though you couldn't see it. You swallowed nervously, picking up your fork and beginning to dig in with more enthusiasm as a million thoughts ran through your mind about the man in front of you.

You tried to remember it...how you got there. You took a sip of the orange juice, shunning the coffee to the edge of the island counter as far away from you as possible. With a bit of difficulty, you managed to pop open the bottle of pills and pour out two of them, tactfully keeping your eyes from his own. You placed the two pills on your tongue, and drank them with the orange juice.

Your stifled, hiccoughing laughter echoed across the stairs. Your jacket was slung over his shoulder, and you were in Hunter’s arms, your arms dangling, hooked loosely around his thick neck. One of his hands wrapped around your back, fingers lightly pressing against your right breast, while the other hand held your legs close. They burned your bare skin, but your drunkenness didn’t seem to mind it at all.

“You carried me up here?”

He cleared his throat, nodding. “You were wasted, and no one knew where you lived.”

You cocked your head. “I could've gone to Sasha’s or Bayley’s.”

“You could’ve. But I didn't want them to have to take care of you, not when they had training to do in the early morning.”

Your mouth gaped open in understanding. “Oh, right. Completely forgot about that.” You glanced over at the clock on the microwave door behind him. It was 11:55.

“Shit,” you stood up quickly, the stool scratching on the floor with a squeal. “My training class is at one. I gotta get home.” Flustered, you headed back into his bedroom, stopping at the doorframe when you realized this was his room and you had no right to barge into it. You looked back at him, silently asking for permission.

His arms were draped across the kitchen island looking as relaxed as any man could be, and he nodded in response.

You hopped into his room, tip-toeing around softly. Though you’d already been given approval, it still made you feel awkward. You observed there were no clothes on the floor, what he’d worn last night was thrown in a hamper in a corner of the room. Scanning further, you noticed an olive green chair beside the window, your dress and your bra draped over it delicately. You pulled the DX shirt up and over your head and picked up the bra to put it on.

In the other room, Hunter shifted on his feet, wondering to himself. Chances are, she’s going to think I helped her with her clothing. He tilted his head all the way back, eyes squinting at the ceiling, hoping to come up with some sort of story, in case you asked. I did, but she doesn’t need to know that. You didn’t know that when you came across the threshold of his Florida home and he set you down on his silk sheets that you called back out to him, begging him to help you pull down the zipper of your sequined dress. You didn’t know that he walked back, sighing exasperatedly and sat next to you on the bed and did as you pleaded. You didn’t know that you fumbled at the clips of your bra and proceeded to whine until he unclipped it for you. You didn’t know that he swallowed nervously, shying away from gazing at your beautiful body as his broad hands touched your soft, bare back fleetingly. That he went into his dresser drawer and grabbed the first shirt he found to cover your breasts from his view. That you giggled as he handed it to you, when you dropped it, “oops, butterfingers!” That he draped the shirt over your shoulders blindly, walking quickly out of his own bedroom to catch his fucking breath.

That he had to beat one out in the shower as you slept deeply not one room away.

He was at the door to his bedroom knocking before you even realized it, causing you to jump in fright, whipping around to see if he had caught a view of your ass before you’d put his shirt back on.

“Hey, didn’t mean to scare you.” You couldn’t see him. He was politely waiting at the edge of the doorframe, his back against the outer wall. “I was just going to ask you if you wanted me to call you a cab.” His head turned towards you just a bit, in order to hear your reply.

“Um, yes please. That’d be great.” You picked up your jacket, fishing through the pockets for your phone. When you pulled it out, you were only mildly surprised to find it out of battery. “Typical,” you muttered.

With your jacket tied around your waist to hide the fact that you weren’t exactly wearing pants, you stepped out of the towne car, shielding your eyes from the blaring light of the sun. The sunshine state had most definitely earned its sobriquet, and you’d only been here a couple weeks. You opened the gate to the apartments, enjoying the cooling shade of the wide trees in the courtyard. Some other day, you would have stopped there, sat on the bench below the shade and read a book you’d been meaning to catch up on. But today was a different matter. You needed to get to the performance center in twenty goddamn minutes.

You practically glided up the stairs, taking them two by two as you ascended to the second floor. Panting, you bent down, resting your hands on your knees as you took a deep breath. Maybe you shouldn’t have done that so quickly after eating, especially without warming up. Fuck, maybe your hangover wasn't entirely gone, after all.

“Hey, [Y/N].” The soft, unassuming voice called out to you. Oh, no. Normally such a welcome would have made you smile. But all it did was make your stomach churn even more miserably. You looked up.

The most adorable ginger puppy to ever exist was sitting on your doorstep, his eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“Sami?” your heart leapt into your throat. “W-what are you doing here?”

“I - uh, I just got back. From Canada.” He pulled you into a hug, holding it for a moment despite your obvious tension. Pulling away, his eyes roamed down to your legs, where he noticed them bare as day beneath the DX shirt you were wearing, and he rubbed at the back of his neck, a sign that he was uncomfortable. “Why are you half naked? Why is your dress in your hand?”

You scrounged for your keys, hoping to not have to deal with this conversation any longer. You didn't like the idea of him finding out you’d been at Hunter’s. He’d end up putting two and two together and come to the wrong conclusion, because as far as you knew, you and Hunter hadn't actually done a thing. So you changed the subject as you unlocked the door.

“I thought you weren't going to be back for another week.” You said it like a question, hoping he’d take the bait and forget about why you were taking a walk of shame back to your apartment at almost one in the afternoon. Shuffling through your apartment, you dropped your keys off on the kitchen counter, passing through it to the living and then down the small hallway to your bedroom. You sensed Sami stop at the hallway as you burst through your room in a flurry, looking for your training bag and a set of gym clothes.

“Figured I’d been gone long enough. I visited my family, Kevin’s. Saw your mom. Everyone’s good.” He seemed to be edging closer, now leaning on the door frame to your room.

“You saw my mom?” You asked astonishedly, banging every dresser drawer in sight looking for the clothes you needed.

“Yeah, I did. Looked pretty happy to see me, actually. I don't think I’ve seen her for, what, two years? Since I got signed to NXT.”

“She always did love you best. More than Kevin.” Finding the shirt and pants you were looking for, you pulled off the DX shirt and threw it onto the bed. God, why was this so stressful?

Sami blushed, but you couldn’t tell if it was because of your body or because of the compliment. He shook his head, turning away as he sat down at the foot of your bed. “What? No. No way.” Suddenly, his face brightened immensely, and he walked out of your bedroom for a few moments, before he came back in with a wrapped package. “I almost forgot. Your mom asked me to bring this back for you, to save on postage. It’s beavertails.”

“God, I’ve been craving those for weeks! Merci, Sami.”

“Bienvenue, sweetheart.” Your heart skipped at his tender reply.

You caught his hand slowly gripping into a fist as he grasped the fabric of the DX shirt in his palm. Fuck, you thought. He sure had you on your toes, with all the feelings you’d felt from the moment you found him on your doorstep. He’s going to ask again.

“I’ve never seen you wear this shirt before.”

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat so irritatingly slowly. “Uh, yeah, it’s - it’s new.” You slipped on your pants, grabbing your training bag and slipping past Sami back into the living room, but of course he followed.

“Seems kinda big for you.” A pause. “You went out last night, dancing.”

A statement. An inquiry? Hard to tell. But you were so keen on making sure that he didn’t find out who you went with, that you didn’t stop to think exactly how the hell he knew about that.

“It’s for sleeping in; I like them big. And yeah, I did. With the girls. That’s why the dress.” It wasn’t a lie. You opened the door to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water and place it in your bag. “What’s it matter?”

A look of hurt flashed on Sami’s face briefly, though you weren't sure why. You were on your way out the door when you realized he was still inside. You turned back, waiting on him to come out as well. His eyebrows were still riddled with concern, as if there was something there that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Something you were hiding. Something he knew you were hiding.

“Nothing. By any chance, did you check your phone this morning?”

“Oh, shit.” You ran back into your apartment, looking for the charger. Thank God he reminded you about your phone, or else it would have stayed dead till you got home at the end of the day. When you came back with it, Sami was standing there - eyes on the ground, a pensive, somber look on his face. “I’ll charge it when I get there. You coming with me to the PC?” you asked politely, still extremely unsure where the both of you stood.

You wanted it to go back to the way it was, but you’d have to find the right time to speak with him, when you weren’t running late for training. Not to mention the fact that he had caught you off guard and you hadn't really rehearsed what you had planned to say to him yet. You needed to talk to Kevin again, for sure.

“Yeah, I’ll go with you. Want me to drive? That way I can drop you off so you can head to training and I’ll deal with parking.”

You flashed him a faint smile, throwing him the keys. “Sounds good, ginger. Now let’s go, before the sunshine blinds me to death.”

For what you’d expected when you found him, your first conversation with the man wasn’t that bad. In all sincerity, you’d expected a whole. Lot. Worse. It seemed to the both of you, that your friendship counted for something. Maybe...it wasn’t totally destroyed. You only hoped that you weren't pushing him away too much. This wasn’t going to be an easy fix. You were toeing a fine line, and it killed you to do it.

Last Note: oh god wha t the actual fuck am i doing

Part 4

Tag List: @mewsburger / @llowkeys / @unabashedwwesmut / @briankendrick / @lip-sync / @heelturn-timesten / @theprestigious0ne / @chasingeverybreakingwave / @baronesscorbin / @athoughtfulmindwrites / @kingslayers-angel / @wrestlewriting / @wrasslin-x / @we-work-hard / @alexahood21 / @squirrel666 / @meghanannexx / @wwetrashqueen / @reigns420 / @the-geekgoddes / @leteverythingexist / @thephenomenonalkingofthebrogues / @toosweetme / @wrestlingbabe / @birthday-prinxess / @welshwitch5 / @mylittlepartofthegalaxy / @therealfivefeetoffuckingfury / @kaitlynwwefan / @monsteramongmen-tamer / @crowleysqueenofhell / @lunaticfringe216 / @sjwrites22 / @straight-outta-the-asylum / @idekwhatthisis / @bbmbabe / @thehardyboyz / @moneypowergloryfameliquorlove / @omegaliciousss / @omegaweaponx / @heelsamizayn / @selinamasri / @abschaffer2 / @anglophilestymie / @dorkyvillain / @p0tat0catofwesteros

[multifandomhaven]

The Warden’s Duty

I can't write smut you guys! I tried and it's just sad, lol. So here is the aftermath of their wedding night and a few days that follow.

I'm not sure how many more chapters are going to be in this story. It's really just a look into their lives after their marriage. It's kinda gonna be a series of one-shots from here on out maybe - I don't know! We'll see what happens, I guess. I have a few ideas on where this will go, so be sure to keep a look out!

Anyway, let me know what you think, guys!

Chapter Four

Their wedding night had been handled delicately.

Jon stuttered apologies so often they'd began to feel like a prayer. When he finally pierced her Jon used the pads of his thumbs to wipe the tears from Laien's cheeks, only moving when Laien whispered her consent. He kept his pace slow and his eyes on hers, urging her to let him know if she was alright.

He was a true gentleman, just as Sansa promised.

It didn't take as long as Laien thought it would for Jon to finish, and no words were spoken as he pulled himself from her. Laien shivered and quickly pulled the furs around her to shield her naked form from the cold. Jon done the same after his breathing had leveled, and then there was silence.

Laien had closed her eyes to block out some of the shame she felt - she wondered how long it would take for her to become comfortable being nude around Jon. She also couldn't help but wonder if she'd pleased him.

When Laien opened her again she was met with Jon's sleeping form.

He was truly a very handsome man, Laien surmised as she looked him over. She had no qualms about the look of her new husband, he was smaller than some, but stout. She knew that when he held her to him in his blind pleasure earlier that night. She remembered the look in his eyes before the screwed shut - although brown eyes were prominent in Dorne she didn't think she'd ever seen a pair as dark as Jon's.

And his hair - Laien didn't think she'd ever seen hair so beautiful before! Laien silently wondered that when were to finally produce an heir whether it'd blessed with his dark curls or her thick, straight mane.

Jon turned toward her in his sleep, and for a moment she was mortified that she'd been caught leering at him. Laien snapped her eyes closed, hoping to feign sleep if he questioned her. She lay quietly for a time, carefully breathing through the lump in her throat. She listened to his breathing - it was peaceful and even. He was still asleep. Laien peeked through the eye closest to him and nearly cried when she saw she hadn't been caught.

The fur he was wrapped in fell down his chest a bit when he moved, just enough so that she could see a thick, angry scar that lay just over his heart.

"Gods," Laien whispered. Her hand eased toward him on it's own accord and before she knew it her fingers were hovering over his chest, itching to reach out to touch the deep gash, just to see the deep gash was real.

Jon let out a snore louder than the rest, and Laien took it as a sign - she was pushing her limits - so she tucked her hand beneath the coverlet with a sigh.

Laien had noticed, during the consummation, the scars that littered his face and wondered how he'd gotten each of them. Was there a noble story behind each cut or were they simply childhood injuries?

With the scars on his face coupled with the ones that littered his torso, Laien now knew that the man beside her had seen hard battles. She was curious to how many he'd seen.

What had almost killed Jon Targaryen?

Jon suddenly grunted and swung his arm heavily onto her stomach. Laien let out a puff of air, and tried to lay as still as she could so she wouldn't wake him - she didn't think she could let him take his pleasure again that night.

Once soft snores began to pass his parted lips again, Laien wondered how long she'd been watching him sleep in the light of the moon.

With time her eyes began to sag shut and she found herself relaxing beneath the warmth of his arm. Then, without another thought of her handsome, scarred husband, she let sleep claim her.

Three sharp, sudden knocks on the door caused Laien to startle. She gasped and her eyes popped open. Jon's arm was still around her, but now she lay face to face with them man. She was surprised to see that he was looking at her as she woke.

Jon growled in response to the noise at the door and wrapped a robe around him quickly, uttering an apology to his new wife.

Laien watched as he strolled to the door, the muscles in his back tensing a bit before he swung it open. She clutched the fur tighter against her chest and tried to peek around Jon to see who'd knocked.

"Can I help you?" Jon asked, his voice tight.

A maid bowed at the waist outside the door. "My apologizes, my lord. Lady Sansa asked that I bring you a change of linen and water for my lady's bath."

Jon turned his head toward Laien, his eyes lingering for a moment. "Of course. Give us a moment to ready ourselves."

"My lord," the maid bowed deeply.

Laien eased off the bed, the coverlet still pulled tight against her, and groaned at the pulsing throb between her legs. An involuntary hiss left her lips as she moved again, and she didn't dare look up.

"Are you alright?" Jon asked quietly.

Laien nodded and stared at the bed. The only remnant of her childhood stained their linen red. She knew the maid required the sheets to confirm she was no longer a maiden - it was ritual. "Yes, I'm fine. J-Just a bit sore."

"My lady, please," Jon urged with a cautious step forward, "if there is anything I can do for you do not hesitate to ask. I am your husband now. I will do right by you."

Laien gave him a tight lipped smile. "I know you will."

"I have a few things I have to attend to. When I am finished I will bring you breakfast." Jon offered. "The maid will be here shortly with your water."

Laien gave a short nod. "Thank you, my lord."

In the few days since their arrival Lhars hadn't gotten to know anyone in the castle save Jon's younger sister Arya. He'd connected with the girl instantly, it seemed, pleasantly surprised by her fighting skills.

Laien had watched the spar through the window of her room, and bit back a chuckle when Arya's thin, pointed blade found the side of her brother's neck.

"You brother is a formidable fighter," Jon's voice came from beside her.

Laien pressed her hand against her chest, startled by his sudden presence, but she nodded all the same. "Yes, but Arya is more so. Lhars is a very prideful man. He won't take a loss from a young girl easily."

Jon snorted. "None do."

Laien turned toward Jon, a small smile on her lips at the tray he held in his hands. "You really didn't have to, my lord."

The tray was covered in Dornish exports - blood oranges, pomegranates, olives and even a small piece of chicken. A goblet of Dornish Red sat on the side, begging her to take a sip.

"You would let me have you starve?" Jon jested lightly, with a nod toward their bed. "Your brother told me blood oranges were your favorite. We'll send for more once the shipments start coming regularly if you wish?"

Laien took the wine and sipped at it for a moment before offering it to Jon. "That would please me, my lord."

"Please, Jon is fine." He took a sip of the wine and winced. "This is more sour than I thought."

Laien chuckled. "It's the finest wine in the Seven Kingdoms."

"I'd rather have ale," Jon admitted.

It was Laien's turn to snort at him. "You Northerners."

"You are a Northerner now," Jon replied softly. "Our children will be Northerners."

Laien reach for the goblet again. "When is my brother to make his leave?"

"Tomorrow morning," Jon said quietly. "You can go to him if you wish, spend your final day together before he leaves."

Laien blinked slowly and took a deep, shaky breath. "I think I will. Thank you Jon."

Jon gave a small nod and watched as she left the room.

Laien and Lhars' day went quickly, and it seemed like only hours before they were standing at the gates of Winterfell locked in a tight embrace.

"Come now, dear sister," Lhars chided with a bitter smile. "We will see each other again, do not worry."

Laien sobbed. "I will miss you, Lhars."

"And I you, Laien, but you are a wife now. You will become a mother before you know it and you'll have little wolves to chase around. They will fill my place in your heart, I am sure." Lhars said gently, his hand rubbing down her back.

Laien shook her head sadly. "No one will take your place, brother."

"I will write you as much as I can," Lhars promised with a kiss on her forehead. "Keep your Warden in line, Sister."

Laien nodded and stepped back into line with Jon and Sansa. She felt an arm on her shoulders and before she knew it she was being pulled into a tight hug. Through her tears she could tell it was Sansa by her hair of fire, so Laien wrapped her arms around the girl's waist and buried her head in Sana's shoulder - she didn't think she could watch her brother ride away from her.

The sound of hooves hitting the ice filled her ears and when she next looked up the only thing left were hoof prints in the snow. Tears leaked from Laien's eyes and threatened to freeze to her face.

"Come, Laien," Jon whispered as Sansa handed her off to him. He rubbed her back gently. "Let's go home."

[kinkstuffig]

Ana Boys

*OC first person narrative. *

I sat in the dorm, waiting for everything to calm down. The world kept spinning. Maybe I was drunk but I can’t remember the last time I had a drink of alcohol. I didn’t feel well at all and that was before the voices started talking to me. I was used to them now but they still scared me. Not the fact that they were there but that the things they said were true. I always believed them even if everyone else told me that they (or I) was wrong. 

Parker came in then, a tall blond boy with green eyes and a terrible temper. We had become friends since I started going to the academy but I was still skittish around him. 

“Hi” I said, and waved tentatively. Parker came over to the bed I was sitting on and looked down at me. He was much taller than I was. 

“Why haven’t you come down to lunch yet?” he asked, a bit angrily. 

The voices told me why I shouldn’t but I came up with a better excuse. “I just don’t feel well,” I replied, wrapping my arms around my middle. Actually, I did feel kind of sick. Parker narrowed his eyes. 

“Are you avoiding us?” he nearly yelled. 

“W-What?” i stuttered. “W-why would you think that?” Tears were pricking the back of my eyes but only from nervousness. 

“You never come out with us anymore, you won’t eat anything with us, whenever we do go out, you hide behind someone or spend all your time in some store or bathroom. If that doesn’t sound like you avoiding us, then i don’t know what  does.You’re a terrible friend.” 

I felt the tears fall down my cheeks before I even registered that I was crying. Parker had already stormed off but I still whispered, “You’re right.”

After about thirty minutes, during which i nearly cried myself to sleep, i heard another of my friends come up the stairs. Quickly, i tried to sit up and wipe the tears off my face, but suddenly a spike of nausea ran up my throat. I covered my mouth and swallowed hard, trying not to be sick. 

At this point, Karina was standing outside the door, knocking, because she actually understood privacy. I stood up and walked toward the door, then stopped and doubled over, holding a hand to my mouth. Garbling something like “Come in,” i ran for the bathroom.

Karina entered and looked around her, surprised to find the room empty. Then she heard my retching from the bathroom and came running.

“Hon, are you ok?” she asked worriedly. 

I groaned, and vomited again, although not much was coming up. 

“Poor thing,” she murmured, and rubbed my back until i was done being sick. Looking into the toilet, she said, “I know this is awkward, but, babe, puke isn’t supposed to such a disturbing shade of red.”

I took a quick glance at the toilet’s contents before flushing them away. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry. I had some…” i searched for a red food. “Um.. tomatoes for lunch. I guess they were a little overripe.”

“Ok,” she sighed. “You really don’t eat enough. I can’t remember the last time i saw you with a slice of pizza.”

Although my mouth watered at the tempting image, the voices started yelling again. My stomach began to churn and i heard a loud gurgle emanating from my middle. “Let’s not talk about food,” i groaned quietly. 

She laughed a little and nodded, then started rubbing my belly.

“Hey, what are you doing?” i protested. She stopped and looked at me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.” i looked down and blushed. “I’m just not really comfortable with… touching, y’know?”

“It’s fine,” she replied, though sounding a little disappointed. “Anyway, i nearly forgot the original reason i came up here.” I looked at her questioningly and she continued. “We sent Parker up to see if you wanted to come eat lunch with us. When he came back, he seemed really angry as he told us you weren’t coming. We asked why and he said, i quote, “He f***ing doesn’t feel good. The little b****.” Then he stormed off.”

Tears came into my eyes again as i remembered his previous words and paired them with these new ones. So it was official. He hated me. And Karina would probably hate me for puking in front of her. And now crying, as i had begun to sob quietly into my hands. 

“I’m sorry,” i whispered. 

“Don’t be sorry, hon. He’s just a jerk who needs to cool down a lot. He wasn’t really mad. He just misses spending time with you.”

That just made me cry harder. Which gave me the hiccups. Which made me start to puke again. Karina looked slightly grossed out by the scene in front of her. Apparently she was because she said, “If you need anything, call me. I’m going to go tell the gang where you are. I’ll come back in a bit. Feel better.”

I sobbed over the mess, noticing that there definitely was a large amount of blood in it. I wondered where it had come from, then remembered my sore middle. Sighing, i lay down with my cheek against the cold tile floor. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to be alive. It hurt to be me. I cried myself to sleep. 

I woke up in an unfamiliar bed, dressed in someone else’s pajamas, and strangely comfortable in my odd surroundings. Snuggling under the plaid comforter, I rolled over. And found myself face to neck with someone I would know anywhere. Jack, with his longish, shaggy hair, big brown eyes, and olive complexion. Immediately, I checked that I had pants on, which of course I did, but still. My sudden movement must have woken him up, because he rolled over and opened sleepy eyes. 

“Hey sunshine. It’s about time you got up.”

I felt my stomach constricting, just from his gaze. Me being in the same room with my senpai, for even two minutes, would give me butterflies. Now I was in his bed, wearing (presumably) his clothes, and he was talking to me. I was going to be sick and this was going to be mortifying. 

“Actually, I think i will get up,” I said quietly, and tried to. Unfortunately for me, the mere motion of sitting up made me so dizzy I fell back on the bed again. 

“Take it easy, Luc.” I nodded and tried to sit up again but he pushed me back down firmly. “The doctor said for you to stay in bed. Well, not the doctor, but Lizzy counts.”

“I have to pee,” I whined, blushing. 

“Oh,” he looked down. “Let me help you then.”

“Help me pee?” I nearly shrieked.

He was very red by now and so was I. “No, I mean, yes, I mean. You can barely stand up, much less walk to the bathroom across the hall on your own. Let me help.” He looked down at me and smiled crookedly. 

“Fine,” I grumbled, although I relished the idea of him carrying me. 

He pushed off the blankets and stood up, revealing a fine pair of batman boxers. “You like batman?” i asked.

“Everyone knows he’s the best,” the brunette said as he pulled the sheets back into place. 

“What about superman?” I challenged.

“Hah. That loser. Haven’t you seen the movie yet?” He gently piled pillows up until I was in a sitting position and then helped me maneuver my legs off the bed. 

“Nope. And don’t spoil it for me. I want it to be a surprise.” I stood up and nearly collapsed onto him. 

“I know who wins, and it starts with a B,” he teased as he supported nearly my full weight, which wasn’t that much. 

“Meanie,” I said, and punched him in the arm.

“You hit like a girl.”

“Maybe I am a girl.”

“Nope. Lizzy checked you out and said you’re male through and through.”

“Is that how I got into these pj’s, and by the way they are really nice.”

“Thank you, and yes. You didn’t think I’d change you myself, did you.”

I shivered, glad he hadn’t seen me. I’m hideous. We had reached the bathroom by now, and he stopped to open the door. “I can go by myself,” I protested as he came in with me. “Really, I’m a big boy now. Wait outside. I’ll call you if I need anything.”

“Ok. If you’re sure.” He looked down at me like i was his little brother, even pushing the hair out of my eyes. He walked out and shut the door behind him. I turned the lock and he said, “I heard that. Don’t you trust me?”

I don’t trust anyone, but I unlocked it anyway, just to make him happy. I did my business and as I was washing my hands, he called through the door, “What do you want for breakfast?”

Breakfast? He was probably expecting me to eat. Lizzy would have told him that I needed to if I was supposed to get better. All the nausea from the day before flooded back, setting my stomach to churning. 

When Jack didn’t hear a response he started listing things we could eat. “I have toaster waffles and bread for plain toast and bagels and cereal and I can make pancakes if you want and…”

I started heaving into the sink. I couldn’t help it. My stomach rebelled at even the thought of food. This was going to be a long day, I thought. 

The door opened and Jack rushed in. “Lucas.” That was all he said. Just my name. Because after he said my name, he saw what was in the sink. I didn’t need to look down. The expression on his face told me everything. 

“Lucas, you are going to a hospital and  you are going now,” he said and grabbed my arm. 

I couldn’t throw up again, I didn’t have anything left, but I still felt awful. And a hospital would only make it worse. “No.” I said, and tried to pull away. 

He didn’t let go. “Don’t fight me. Please.”

“I’m not going to a hospital.” I sat down on the floor, dragging him with me. I’d rather eat than go to a hospital. Too many people die there and I don’t want to be one of them. 

Just thinking about hospitals made me start to cry a little. “Come with me. Please,” Jack begged, giving me the puppy dog eyes that worked every time. 

“No,” I said again, and pulled away, curling up in a ball in the corner of the room. I must have been crying enough for him to notice, because he came over and wrapped his arms around me, rocking me back and forth. “Shhh,” he whispered into my hair. “What’s so bad about a doctor? They can make you better if you let them. You let Lizzy help you. What’s the difference between Lizzy and a real nurse.”

I sniffed. “Lizzy’s hands are warm and she doesn’t try to put n-n-needles in me.”

“Mmmhmm,” he murmured. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

He picked me up, then put me down again and looked at me, surprised. “You are really light, Lucas.”

I looked at him curiously. He must be joking. I weighed nearly a hundred pounds. I was way too fat for someone to be saying I was light. Especially with that worried look he was giving me. 

“Take your shirt off,” he said finally. 

“What?” I asked, apprehensively, covering myself with my arms. 

“I said take your shirt off, dammit. I’m not going to rape you or anything.” He was yelling at me. Why was he angry? Did I do something wrong again?

I pulled the top over my head but stayed curled up in a ball. 

“Now stand up.” He sounded annoyed. I definitely did something wrong. But what? Well, I puked in his sink, probably stained it red, also slept in his bed which contaminated it with whatever disease I had, he might have payed Lizzy to look at me. She usually didn’t work for free. Oh, and don’t forget, I got tears all over his pajama top. Yeah, that was probably it.

I hadn’t moved, so he reached down and pulled me to my feet, dragging me to a full length mirror along the wall. “Take a good look at yourself, Luc,” he said as he ran his hands over my abdomen. 

“Stop that,” I said while pushing his hands away. “I don’t like it. And i don’t want to.”

“Look.” He turned my head toward the mirror and wouldn’t let me look away. 

I saw a tall, thin boy looking back at me. He had bright red hair hanging over one side of his face with a white streak in it. His blue eyes were slightly sunken and red from crying. Dark circles sat under them and his skin was extremely pale. But as I looked lower down I saw hideousness, too horrible to describe. I was awful. I am awful. 

I started to cry again. “I hate it. I hate it,” I screamed to no one in particular. 

“What do you hate?” he asked, still not letting me turn my head. 

“I hate me. I’m terrible.”

“Why are you terrible?”

“I’m fat and ugly and everyone hates me and I want to die,” I sobbed. 

Jack sighed and let go. I collapsed backwards into his arms and just lay there, limply. “Lucas. I can see your bones. I can count all of your ribs. That isn’t healthy.”

“Did we not already establish that I’m sick?” i asked.

“Lizzy just thought you had a severe flu bug and that you hadn’t told anyone about it because you didn’t want someone to have to take care of you.”

If I actually had a flu bug, that’s probably what I would have done, but apparently I didn’t.

“So, what do I have if it’s not the flu?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I want a real doctor to look at you. Maybe he can make you feel better.”

I knew I could no longer pull the I feel fine card. Those days had long passed. I groaned into his shirt. “Fine. I”ll go to the Hospital but you have to come with me and hold my hand.”

He smiled down at me. “I couldn’t imagine leaving you there by yourself.”

Jack helped me put the top back on and then carried me into the car. The short drive to St. Mary’s Hospital was filled with the sound of Disney channel. I laughed as cartoon characters danced across the screen, making Jack’s serious face break into a grin. 

The lady at the desk told us to wait for a little bit, so we sat down in the waiting area. I curled up on Jack’s lap and he didn’t protest. “You know, you made Parker cry.”

“I did?” I asked, leaning into his shoulder. He was so soft and smooth, all over it seemed. “But Parker never cries.”

“He cried for you. When he realised that you were actually sick, he felt really bad for yelling at you. He thought that you just didn’t like being with us anymore and kind of felt left out. He really broke down, though, when Karina told him that you started throwing up again because you were crying about what he said. He hates to see you hurting.”

“I was sick because I’m sick, not because of him.”

“He knows. He just feels really bad. Be prepared for the best servant you will ever have to come visit you when you are better.”

“Servant?”

“If he feels like he’s wronged anyone, he’ll wait on them hand and foot until he feels like he has filled his debt.”

“Lucas?” A curly haired nurse beckoned to us. 

Jack picked me up and carried me as he followed the nurse. People started looking at us and I blushed. “Jack, they’re staring.”

“So? Let them stare. There’s no law about where your eyes can go in public. Besides, why do you care?”

I blushed harder and pressed my head into his shirt. “That’s what I thought,” he laughed. 

We entered a white room, super big and yet it made me claustrophobic at the same time. I didn’t realized I’d clenched his shirt in my fingers until he put me down on the bench and I had to let go. As soon as the physical contact left, I could feel my heartbeat speeding up, my lungs constricting, I couldn’t breathe. 

Jack noticed my odd behavior and quickly recognised them as signs of a panic attack. He got up on the bench with me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “Hey, Luc, it’s ok. I’m right here. If it makes you feel better, I won’t let go.”

I shook my head and leaned back into his warm chest, breathing his scent in deeply. “Promise that you’ll never let me go.” I closed my eyes, not expecting him to respond, but then I felt him kiss the back of my neck. I could feel myself turning red all over. 

“I promise,” he whispered into my ear. 

Just then, the doctor entered. His old face crinkled into a smile as he saw us sitting on the bench together. “It just warms my heart to see young couples like you come here together. It’s nice to know that you have someone to depend on.”

We looked at each other and then back at him. “We’re not a couple,” we said in unison, then looked at each other again, confused.

The doctor laughed and winked. “Of course not. Now, which one of you is Lucas Ray.” I raised my hand and he said, “I understand you haven’t been feeling well lately.”

“No, sir.” I knew he was only trying to help me but still doctors made me nervous, even with Jack holding me. “I’ve been dizzy and being s-s-sick, and my stomach hurts.” I blushed and looked down, not wanting to continue. The doctor seemed to know there was something more, though, and he turned to Jack.

“Does your partner have any other symptoms?” He asked, kindly.

I could tell Jack himself was uncomfortable discussing me, but he was brave enough to do what he had to. “He has been complaining of stomach pain for several weeks, although I doubt it was real until two weeks ago. He is vomiting mainly blood and he has lost a lot of weight.”

The doctor nodded. “Lucas, do you think you could step on a scale for me?” I nodded and hopped down from the bench, getting goosebumps where Jack’s arms had been. The doctor indicated where I should stand and i stepped up, turning my head away so I wouldn’t have to see the awful number. 

“110 lbs.” The doctor said as he wrote it down in a notebook. (160 = healthy for 6 foot male) “May I check your temperature as well?” I nodded and he stuck the thermometer in my ear, then wrote down another number. He also checked my blood pressure and listened to my breathing. I saw him frown as he ran his hands over my back, but he didn’t say anything to me.  

Instead, he turned to Jack. “You say he’s been puking up blood? For how long?” 

“Well, he was sick in the sink this morning when I mentioned food and yesterday when a friend of ours made him upset. Those were the only two times I was present but their could have been more.”

I spoke up, slightly timidly. “Um, excuse me, but this is my doctor’s appointment and I can speak for myself here.”

The doctor turned to me. “How long has there been blood in your vomit?”

I blushed and looked down, shaking my head.

“That’s why,” said the doctor. “Unfortunately, in your suspected condition, you are not expected to be able to tell the truth. Not because you want to lie, but because you simply believe something that isn’t true.” He turned to Jack again. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to you outside for a minute.”

Jack turned to me. “Will you be alright alone in here? Five minutes, tops. I promise.”

I nodded and turned away but my heart was already starting race as they closed the door. What if I had something serious, like cancer? What if I was going to die? What if I never saw Jack again? What if I hyperventilated so much that I passed out on the bench, which is exactly what happened. 

I woke up to Jack standing over me whispering, “Lucas, I’m here. I’m here.” He was rubbing his face with his hands. They were really soft, his hands. Then I saw the doctor on the other side with a worried look on his face. 

“Excuse me son, but do you happen to suffer from anxiety?”

I just clutched at Jack’s hand, so he nodded for me. “Yes, sir. He nearly had a panic attack before you came in to check on him. It was because I put him down. I think he gets nervous when I leave.” i blushed but i didn’t let go. 

“Well, I’ll leave and see if it makes him more comfortable. Make sure you give him some water. There’s a sink in the corner. Call me when you think you’re ready for the prescription.” The doctor walked out.

Jack sat down on the bench and picked me up, setting me on his lap again and wrapping me up in a gentle bear hug. I had started shaking when the doctor said prescription. “Shh. Luc. It’s ok now. I’m here. I’ve got you,” he whispered into my hair.

“A-am I going to die?” I whimpered. 

“No. I won’t let that happen. Ever.” His arms tightened ever so slightly, reassuring me of his realness. 

“Then why does the doctor seem so angry with me? What’s my suspected condition?”

Jack sighed. “He’s not angry with you, just concerned. Drink some water and I’ll tell you what he thinks you have.”

“You’re a meanie,” I said, but I got a Dixie cup and filled it with water, then drank. The liquid felt odd going down my throat and it made my chest freeze but it was just water. I didn’t think water had any calories or at least not many. Then I climbed back into Jack’s lap, preparing myself for his news. 

Jack began. “The doctor says that you’re terribly underweight.” I cringed, thinking how that was just the opposite, but he continued. “Your temperature and blood pressure are both lower than is healthy and your breathing is shallow. You barely have any muscle. He thinks you’ve been vomiting much more than you’ve told anyone and it’s irritating the linings of your stomach and esophagus, which explains the blood.” He sighed and hugged me tight. It hurt a little but I didn’t mind. “Lucas, he thinks you have anorexia, along with a little overdose of anxiety and depression.”

Oh no. People with anorexia. I had heard about those people. They got put into a hospital and couldn’t see anyone until they were better. And being in the hospital this long was already making me feel worse. Or maybe it was just the talking about medical stuff. Either way, my head began to hurt and i started retching. Jack dragged me to nearby garbage bin but i had already made a watery pink mess on the floor. 

I started to cry for what seemed like the millionth time today. “I’m sorry,” i said as he wiped my mouth off with a paper towel. “I didn’t mean to be sick again. I just.. I just..” i was crying too hard to talk. 

Jack picked me up and started rocking me a little. “It’s ok, baby. I know it hurts.”

The doctor came back in and looked at the odd scene, putting the pieces together in his head. “I take it he didn’t take the news very well.”

“I don’t want to leave,” i wailed. “I want to stay with Jack. Or Jack to stay with me. Don’t make me go to a scary hospital forever. This was bad enough.”

Jack rubbed my back, trying to calm me down. It was soothing but i was still panicky, afraid he would let go and someone would try to drag me away.

The doctor said gently, “There is a way that we could treat you from home.” 

I looked up, my tearstained face full of hope.

“You need to start eating again. We have a special diet for patients like you. Start out slow with just a little to get your stomach used to food again. We’ll also give you some medicine for the pain and to try to heal the irritation but this process will take a while and you’ll need to live with someone who can make sure you are eating and force you too if necessary. If you still aren’t eating, then you will have to come to a hospital.”

Jack raised his hand. “I volunteer.”

I nearly grinned.

“Lucas can stay at your house then. I’ll have the pharmacy send you the first of those prescriptions. The instructions are on the package. I’ll have a sample of the vomit tested, just to make sure there isn’t something we’re missing. I’m confident the problem will be sorted out soon, though.”

“Thank you,” Jack said, shaking the doctor’s hand. He stood up to take me out but the doctor grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around.

“There’s just one more thing, i’m afraid. Lucas is dehydrated and if he can barely hold down water, we’ll need to put some food and vitamins into him before he starts his diet, in case he has some unexpected side effects.”

My eyes grew wide in fear. I knew what was coming but i asked anyway. “What do you mean, put into me?”

“We’ll need to insert them through an IV drip. It should only take an hour or two but it will mean you’ll have to stay here until around noon. Will that be inconvenient?” 

Jack shook his head and tightened his grip on me. He could feel me tensing up and he wasn’t sure if it was because i was going to run or scream. “No, that will be just fine. There’s only one problem. Luc here has a slightly extreme fear of N-E-E-D-L-E-S.” he spelled it to make me feel better but i wasn’t any less scared.

“I’m sorry, but there’s not much we can do about that. Do you think he will be alright if you sit with him the whole time?”

“Well?” Jack looked down at me. 

I gave my head a sharp nod and then buried it in his shirt. I didn’t want the doctor to see me cry about something as stupid as needles and i wasn’t going to be able to help it. 

“Good. Nurse Ellen will prep him in the room down the hall.” the doctor opened the door and pointed, then walked the opposite direction.

Jack lifted up my head. “Really, i need to know if you can do this. You can be hurt very badly if you try to rip the IV out of your arm before it’s time.”

“You promise to stay with me the whole time?”

“Promise.”

“You won’t even leave to use the bathroom?”

“I’ll pee in a garbage can if i have to. Just look away.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” i asked as he carried me down the hall. “I mean i know we’re friends and everything, but the others seemed like they got really annoyed by me alot.”

“I am very tolerant and i.. I like you. I don’t want to see you hurting yourself and i suspected something like this for a while. I didn’t say anything because i thought you’d be offended.” he said this all in a rush but i managed to make most of it out. 

“Wait, what was that part at the beginning? You.. like me?”

He looked down and blushed.

“What is there to like about this? You’re carrying me through a hospital hallway to a room where i’m about to scream for two hours while you watch and you just saw me throw up twice, one of which probably stained your sink.” 

“I think i’ve always liked you,” he said, turning redder. “I just never really admitted it to myself until now. I like taking care of people. What better way to get to know you than by taking care of you?”

“You don’t want to know me,” i said, miserably. “I don’t even want to know myself.”

“Don’t say that. You’re a wonderful person. Everybody has a few flaws. We wouldn’t be human without them.”

We reached the room and he set me down in a chair as we waited for the nurse. 

In my head i was thinking, i’m not human. But i didn’t say it to him. I didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

The nurse entered the room, carrying a tray. I tried not to look at the shiny, sharp things on the tray, but i couldn’t help myself. She smiled and i noticed her teeth were very white. And pointed. 

“Sugar, can you get up on this bed for me?” she purred. It sounded so ominous when she said it. 

I climbed up onto the bed, trying to get comfortable. Unfortunately, hospital beds are not the easiest things to get comfortable in and i was soon tangled in the sheet. 

“Here, honey. Let me help you.” She pulled the cloth from around my legs and her nails dug into my skin. They were very long. 

Jack sat down next to me, ready to help, but the nurse pushed him away. “Hon, this is my job and it’s harder when you’re in the way.” Jack started to protest but she continued. “Don’t worry about your boyfriend (she said this in a sarcastic way.) He’s a big boy and he can take care of himself, can’t you?” She turned her glaring face toward me. I didn’t answer but i scooted as far away from her as i could. Which wasn’t very far, as i was already backed up against the wall. 

Jack mouthed, “I’m sorry” as the nurse shoved him into a chair. I gave a weak smile but i barely convinced myself. 

The nurse turned back to me. “Are you ready hon?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but went directly to the procedure. She swabbed my arm with the alcohol. It stung. Her hair was in my face, long and blond, hanging around me. It was suffocating. I could feel it strangling me. It was….

She backed away and i was able to breathe again. Jack looked at me reassuringly. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I was too busy staring at the needle. Long and sharp, glinting in the light from the slightly flickering bulb on the ceiling. She held it up, like an assasin preparing to strike. I’m gonna die i’m gonna die i’m gonna die was the song on repeat in my head. 

Pain shot up my arm as she slid the needle smoothly into my flesh. I saw blood slide up into the tube at the end. I opened my mouth to scream but nothing came out. As she put the tape on, the edges of my vision began to blur. I couldn’t feel anything. 

I saw Jack out of the corner of my eye, but then the nurse’s face filled up the space. She pushed him out of the way again and got very close to me. Her suffocating hair, sharp teeth, evil glint in her eyes. She was a vampire! She was trying to murder me! I’m dying… was the last thought i had before completely blacking out. 

Jack’s POV

The weird nurse wouldn’t let me get close to Lucas. She kept pushing me away and looking at him hungrily. He looked so afraid, i just wanted to hold him, tell him i was there, let him know he was safe. Although, i wasn’t even sure i was safe with that creepy nurse. 

And then when she stuck that needle into him… He started screaming, like i’ve never heard anyone. I tried to go to him again, but she wouldn’t let me. She bent over him and i didn’t know what else to do. I pulled her off, but she fought back, slashing at me with surprisingly sharp nails, and she even bit me. I had to take her scarf and tie her to a chair with it before she stopped trying to claw my eyes out. 

A doctor came in, probably from all the noise we were making. When he saw the nurse on the floor, he came over and untied her. I was standing innocently in the corner, and with all of her swearing, the doctor barely noticed me. He seemed to think the nurse was injured and ended up half dragging her out of the room. I was left alone in the room with Lucas. Who was still screaming. 

The door didn’t have a lock on it so i shoved one of the chairs under the handle. It’s not that i didn’t trust anyone, i was just sort of paranoid that the scary nurse would come back. I couldn’t bear to see her hurting Lucas again. 

I turned back toward the bed where he was lying. His small pink mouth was open in eternal screaming. I saw his chest rise every time he took a breath but they were so short that i didn’t know how he hadn’t suffocated yet. 

I clambered onto the bed and looked at his arm. It didn’t seem as though anything was out of order but i didn’t want to hurt him more by taking it out. I looked at the bag that fluid was flowing out of into him. It was still three-fourths full. We would be here for a while. 

I lay down on the bed next to him, wrapping my arms around him like i did during his panic attack. I thought it might help him to calm down, to get out of his permanent state of shock. At first, i thought it was working. His breathing slowed down enough that he could take a few deep breaths. But after a few minutes, he began to scream again. 

I was really scared. What if something really was wrong? Although no one had come to see what was going on. Maybe screaming was a normal occurrence inside a hospital. Don’t think about that. That’s not a safe place to go. 

I smoothed Lucas’ hair back from his face. He wasn’t sweating, he was just laying there. Screaming. I wished i could talk to him, tell him he was ok, i’m here, nothing is going to happen to you. You’re safe. 

I tried rubbing his back, rubbing his hands (they were little icicles), rubbing his neck, nothing worked. He wouldn’t wake up. He just lay there, unmoving, except for the slight rise in his chest when he took another breath and his small lips opening and shutting. His eyes remained closed, long, dark lashes brushing his pale cheek. 

I couldn’t help it. I started to cry. Oddly enough, i was being quiet, trying not to wake him up, even though that was all i wanted. I buried my face in the side of his neck and whimpered, re soaking my shirt that he wore. I let my lips brush against his skin. It was still cold, like death. But i could feel his heart beating. 

“Please don’t leave me,” I whispered. “We just started getting to know each other. If you go i’ll be all alone again.”

I fell asleep next to him, still holding on, slightly crying. I dreamed, but it wasn’t pretty. And when Lucas eventually woke up, i was the one screaming. 

Lucas’ POV

My eyes hurt. My head hurts. I reach one hand up to rub my eyes. My arm hurts. The light in this room is flickering. It’s disorienting me. Where’s Jack? I want Jack.

Lazily i turn my head to the side. It hurts to move. I see his beautiful face laying next to mine on the pillow. Where are we? Why is he in bed with me… again? Not that i’m complaining or anything but… 

His face suddenly twists up and i hear him moan again. That’s what had woken me up. “Jack,” i call, but quietly. I touch his shoulder but he doesn’t react. His face is turning red. I think something is wrong. 

“Jack.” i shake him. “Jack, wake up.” 

He opens his eyes slowly, groggily. “Stop, don’t hurt me. Don’t let them hurt me!” He still mumbling about something from his dreamland, eyes searching the room wildly for some invisible foe. 

“Jack, it’s Lucas. You’re not with them anymore. You’re with me.” I didn’t know who he was talking about but it worried me to see that panicked look on his face. I’m not used to being the comforter. Only comforted, and that not very much. 

Jack, still half asleep, stands up and darts around the room, batting at shadows. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Jack, i’m not hurt,” i called from the bed. “I’m fine. No one is trying to get me and no one is trying to get you either.”

He turned to me, looking at me with a sort of scared, innocent expression. “Prove it. Come over here.” Though he sounded like a petulant five year old, it was still endearing to hear him say that he wanted me, even if he wasn’t aware that that was what he was saying. 

I pushed myself up into a sitting position, then swung my feet on the floor. Ok so far. Then i stood up. Bad idea. I swayed, feeling extremely dizzy. But i took one step and then another. He needed me and i would be there for him no matter what. Even if it killed me. I didn’t care. I guess that’s what it’s like when you’re in love. 

I think i’m finally admitting it now. Even as i collapse into his arms and he holds me upright, laughing into my hair but crying too. I know i love him. I know it now. Sigh. if only love didn’t make everything ten times harder.