#i could have fixed this DAYS ago??????????????

[emiqip]

Pt.3 Apocalyptic Ponyo AU ft. Shockwave and his... kids. @keferon

For all they've been through together, this had to be the dumbest thing they've ever done- which is saying something, considering not too many months ago they collectively decided to raid the city's garbage dump not taking into account that a) there would be some kind of security system (who defends trash anyway? weirdos) b) the smell and c) the local population of possums they inevitably bothered. 

All in all, that could have even been considered a good day in Skywarp's book- yeah, they didn't find anything, they all smelled pretty fucking terrible without any way of washing the stench away and they were covered in bite marks, hoping none of those things had rabies- but they laughed and joked about it for weeks after. 

This situation, however, was anything but funny. 

Following Blue's little stunt, the remaining children left at base were informed to meet at the nearest shore, where the youngest's new... friend? Still waited for them. A few minutes of shock and surprise from both parties after, they finally decided on how to fix whatever this was. The plan was simple too: separate Blue from the sea freak, gather all of their stuff and set off to the sparkly horizon, leaving all of this behind their backs- no strings attached. 

Obviously that would've been too good to be true, something had to go wrong: of course their youngest still refused to leave, even when Damus finally gained some courage and went over to pick Blue up by force- too bad the little menace immediately started ugly sobbing. Not only that, the twins got over their fear pretty quickly, replacing it with the raw force of curiosity little kids have for anything ugly, sticky and new. Cue Soundwave being assigned as their official babysitter lest the two would sprint and try to climb the fish like a pair of coked-up squirrels. And, yeah, not the smoothest outcome but hey! Now they could, you know, leave. 

He was so so wrong. As soon as the Thing noticed they were walking away it started  chirping at them over and over, like it was calling for them to get back. Kinda sad, but they could ignore it (unless you were Blue- still crying in TC's arms while making grabby hands at the mer), what alarmed them was the fact that it started to use all of its upper body strength and try to slowly beach itself in the goal of reaching their group. Needless to say the situation called for a new plan fast- even in ten, considering its size, they still weren't enough to push it back in to the water. 

The solution was just to camp out on the shore and find a way out of this in the morning. To the absolute delight of their youngest, who decided that for the night he would be sleeping with the freak, and unsurprisingly the twins only followed by starting to poke and prod at the being, who seemed to enjoy the attention as much as them. Windcharger joined their little huddle too for the evening, explaining himself with a little shrug of his shoulders and a quick, "He's warm and I'm cold- you can freeze for one more night for all I care," and left it at that. That traitor.

Oh well, this would soon be over anyway. 

\\\

Two. Weeks. 

Two whole weeks passed since this whole charade was supposed to be over, but instead he found himself being ferried away on the wettest, most fucked up recreation of the 'Magic School Bus' he's ever seen.  Worst of all Ms. Fizzle was replaced by an oversize pancake with gills. 

This was supposed to be the closest thing to a compromise: the kids got to keep their fish and the others got a free ride trough the apocalypse- pretty sweet if you asked him.

They were slowly making their way towards what was once the busiest side of the city: he remembers coming here with his brothers and getting overwhelmed every time by the sheer amount of people bustling around. Both locals and tourists blended perfectly in a vortex of voices, faces and mannerisms. For a boy who lived at the edge, this was exhilarating. 

But the best part of this chaos were the shops windows: there was one who was squeezed between a tiny flea shop and a bakery owned by a couple of kind old people- the window's space was taken by a plethora of several vintage televisions, each of them displaying something different- his favorite old show was filmed at their local aquarium and had as protagonist a young orca mer, chirping away happily at the camera, while the crowd gasped in awe at the adorable display. 

He saw his face stare right back at him from the surface of the water. Tired eyes, sunken cheeks and hair grown matted and way too long- what would he do to reverse it all and go back to their shitty daily life. 

From the front of their unusual mean of transportation, he could hear the youngest kids screaming and laughing, more likely pestering the mer like a swarm of particularly persistent flies. Being too focused on eavesdropping the racket, he didn't notice Damus approaching him on unsteady feet. 

"I saw a billboard a few minutes ago: big bright and with the directions to the biggest mall in the city- I'd say we are overdue for a scavenger hunt to restock our resources, what do you say?" The older asked, before staring off into the distance. 

"Sure, why the hell not? I'm pretty sick and tired of eating only fish anyway- cheers to the big guy for catching it for us though." He absentmindedly patted the mer, earning a pleased rumble up ahead.

With a brief nod of assent, he took off to most likely talk to Skids- the teen, after a very intense game of charades, managed to establish a method to communicate with their newest addition, he was even successful in teaching the fishman some very simple words, and in turn the mer taught him some of his language: it was mainly made up of sounds and gestures but Skids, being the fast learner that he was, took to them pretty quickly- a shame that he never had the chance to attend a public school, he would've at the top of his classes for sure. 

He felt the mass he was sitting on stir briefly, as the massive mer changed the course of their journey. The scenery around them slowly changed: hills of crumbled and deformed buildings gave way to a forest of skyscrapers looming over all of them like giant concrete pillars. Since the wave hit, putting a stop to all human activity, nature was steadily taking over- vines descended from a top of buildings, patches of seaweed and sea flora were dotting the submerged asphalted streets. 

They watched in awe as schools of brilliant colored tropical fish darted past them- he heard Blue squeal along the lines of, "Sir. Pancake! Look, it's you!" when a familiar looking shark swam past them.  He could vaguely recognize some of the roads and alleyways, now nearly completely covered by corals and anemones, housing a variety of oceanic wildlife.

Despite everything, there was still beauty left in this abandoned world. 

\\\ 

The dark gaping maw leading inside the mall stared right back at them. Having no way to access the lower levels, since they were long lost under the waves, they had to find another way in- one of the walls had luckily given away to the erosion of the water, leaving the perfect entry point for them and their fishy companion. They were all well aware the mer wasn't too keen on leaving them alone for too long without becoming restless, so this was a win-win situation.

As the shadows progressively engulfed them, the smell of dampness and mold welcomed them inside. He felt TC's hand grabbing his right sleeve to catch his attention, as he turned around he saw his brother pointing at the water with his mouth agape. 

What he saw made him inhale quickly in complete surprise- a pool of neon blue light surrounded them from all sides, swaying gently at the rhythm of the mer's movements. 

"...bioluminescent algae- read about them once, but I never thought I would ever see them for myself." He heard TC whisper softly at him. 

"Woah, this is so fucking cool..." Soft murmurs of assent from his siblings filled the silence he left behind, as they all watched the water entranced by the spectacle of lights. 

They were all suddenly woken up from their trance by a brisk movement from their means of transport that almost made all of them topple over into the water. Apparently 'Sides decided he wanted to touch the pretty blue lights, nearly taking a dip for himself if the mer didn't glance over and quickly caught the little kid with one of his huge webbed hands. At least the pest had the decency to look away sheepishly at the mer's silent but admonishing expression. 

Without any other close calls, they made it to what was once the food court- a huge circular dome where the pavement had partially collapsed, leaving behind a slope where dry land and water could meet, the perfect place to finally get down and stretch their legs after hours of swimming around. Trailbreaker reached into his ridiculously big backpack and started passing around a bunch of flashlights- the teen liked to be prepared for anything, even if that meant bringing around some additional weight. 

The moment his feet met the ground he let out a happy sigh- exploring the sunken city was great and all, but nothing could compare to the chance of finally burning all of his residual energy. Damus clapped his hands to get everyone's attention and started his usual spiel before any resource-gathering trip. 

"Alright everyone, you know the drill: six of us are going in pair to explore the building- pick up only things you think will come in hand, leave everything else. Do not take more then you need, we are not the only survivors around, so let's not doom other people only because we felt a little bit greedy today. See something? Scream. Lastly, the brats stay here with Sir. Pancake, while one of us will also remain to keep watch- can I have a drum roll for our lucky winner?" The question was met with an enthusiastic chorus of voices. 

"Aand- Trailbreaker you're up!"

"Awh man- what?" The teen sagged his shoulders as Windcharger smugly patted his arm. 

"Look at the bright side dude: you'll have fish-dad helping you this time." 

"Not helpin' Charger, kudos for trying though..." Trailbreaker's muffled response came from behind his hands, as the other kid only shrugged and joined Skids to prepare for departure. 

In the meantime, Skywarp gingerly hooked his right arm with TC's, leading him towards one of the halls connected to the dome.  From the ceiling stray cables and crumbled pieces of drywall dangled freely, occasionally disturbed by a gentle breeze coming from inside the hallway. He gave himself a few seconds to glance behind his back: the children, in the few minutes they arrived, had apparently started their very own game of tag, skidding away on the wet floor, completely unbothered by what was happening around them. Trailbreaker, accepting his fate, decided to use this time to clean the barrel of his shotgun, while sitting on the floor with his back leaning on the mer's arm.

The creature however was looking apprehensively at them: worry and fret swirled in his blue eyes- they all knew he didn't like to see them leave, but this was necessary. He absentmindedly threw him his best calming smile, hoping to reassure him enough. The mer was briefly taken by surprise before nodding and giving Skywarp a hasty nod. 

 'I trust you.'

"Good luck everyone! If you're not back in an hour we'll come find your sorry asses, so be on time- I'm talking to you Skids!" Damus voice bounced on the walls of the abandoned building. 

"...you get lost one time-" The cut-off whispered replay of his sibling was the last thing he heard before entering the hall with TC in tow. 

\\\

Their wet footfalls was the only noise filling in the utter silence around them.

The bright beams of their flashlights cutting through the thick wall of darkness. Now that he had the chance to look at it up close, he could pinpoint exactly when life had come to a stop between these molded walls: on tiny cafe tables sat long forgotten coffee stained cups, the occasional eerily empty stroller was abandoned haphazardly in the middle of the hallway, still pale mannequins were silent witnesses to the disaster, while purses and toys littered the floors. Moments frozen in time. 

He felt himself shudder, trying to shake off the feeling of wrongness from his shoulders. 

So far they found only a couple of useful things, mainly industrial tape, iron wire and other items from a hardware store they had just raided. All the possibly edible things they dug up have all been either completely or partially covered in mold- all of this moisture made it difficult for things to stay fresh, especially since electricity had been one of the first things they'd lost to the massive wave, completely cutting off all of power to fridges. 

Hopefully the others had been more lucky, he really wasn't looking forward to another overcooked sardine- none of them had always been the greatest cook after all and he doubted Sir. Pancake knew his way around a stove. Great now he was thinking about the mer holding a comically small pan, while wearing a pink frilly apron with the words 'Kiss The Fish' printed on the front- 

He was interrupted mid-giggle by TC's pointy elbow digging into his side- which he was about to comment on before his brother nudged him again, signaling with his light to something on the wall. 

"Storage Room." Read his sibling aloud, with a knowing smile.

"Fucking jackpot, baby!" Skywarp blurred out- ooh the joy he'll feel when they'll be able to shove in their losers sibling faces a box full of protein bars. 

A wide new hallway opened up for them, at the end of it he could discern the top of a pair of rusted shut down automatic stairs. They eagerly hurried down them, impatience and hunger for discovery was eating away at them- before diving waist deep into a pool of freezing water. 

They both startled for a few seconds, and then realization hit. They both forgot the lower levels were entirely flooded, but thankfully water didn't seem too high from what they could see through the darkness- hopefully the floor was built on the same level and didn't suddenly dip under them. The water was way too murky to see what was happening under the surface, and that did nothing to appease the apprehension this place was giving off in waves- he suddenly felt the shivers he shrugged off return in full force. 

"Thunders, not gonna lie, I have a bad feeling about this." His whisper echoed on the walls enclosing them. 

"Yeah... I feel like there's something we're missing." The other confessed, as they slowly trudged forward. "It's been scratching my brain since we passed that cafè...".

"Right?! I feel the same... all that chaos and we only find a bunch of litter on the floor-"

Thundercracker stopped abruptly in his path, making him stop too. 

"Uh- TC, you okay?" He lifted his torch to better look at his brother. 

"...the corpses."

"Oh! Yeah, this was a very busy place, how come we haven't found... any... corpses..."

One of the worst mistakes humanity ever made, was to think that they had any chance at being on top of the food chain. Centuries of time spent spreading and conquering all known continents, had led them to believe that nothing could touch them if they hid behind their big wars and even bigger weapons. However, Hubris is the first deadly sin, condemned to be a human's last. 

From the void, a pair of bulging white eyes stared back at him. A gaping maw full of jagged yellowed teeth, was framed by two lines of receding gums barely attached to the skull. Ivory white plaques covered a shiny metal body underneath, decorating a lizard-like muscular frame, still as stone- like a spring ready to be released. 

They were moving even before his brain could catch up with him. Fight or flight on full force- his main goal was to get away and do it fast.  

Thundercracker quickly followed him, as he felt the large creature pounce towards them. 

Climbing the stairs and reaching the top almost slipping down and falling on his brother. 

They sprinted down the hall- heavy footsteps never too far behind as the beast snapped his monstrous jaws, trying to catch them. 

Blurs of the coffee shop and hardware store passed next to them, as realization hit him once more- they were bringing a human-eating mutant right to their little brothers. 

'See something? Scream.'

And screaming he did. 

His alarmed voice filled the dome as in a moment of distraction his foot slipped on a nearby puddle, leaving him to fall face first unto the hard ground- hopefully his little siblings where not stupid enough to try and come help him. 

He knew this was coming. 

A hot breeze hit the back of his head, as the stench of death reached his nostrils. The heavy weight of a massive clawed paw, pressed him flat on the floor, painfully crushing his chest. He wanted to say he had been brave enough to face his fate, but instead he hid his face inside the crook of his elbow, heaving a last breath verging on a whimper- he only wanted to help his family, and this is how he died, it felt a bit like deja-vu...

Too busy giving thought to his adrenaline infused rants, he didn't immediately feel the crushing weight being suddenly lifted off of him- a giant wall of muscle and pure unbridled fury, tackled the beast into the other side of the room. A low guttural threatening growl woke him up from his stupor and he was on his feet in seconds- the now enraged mer stood between Skywarp and the monster. 

The teen almost didn't recognize him, a completely mirrored image of the usually peaceful creature- what was once a beacon of gentleness, who always moved like he knew he could easily hurt any of them, oh so very careful of his size and strength- now gave away to a terrifying predator, claws and fangs fully on display and ready to use. 

The mutant pounced once again, now his attention taken solely by the mer, who in tow used his massive tail to spring forward and grab the monster by the tail- hastily pulling it towards the water where he could've a clear advantage. 

Too focused on the feral brawl, he didn't hear Damus' muffled voice calling him through the static ringing in his ears.  

"-warp, we need to move! Shit, Skywarp move your ass, goddamnit!" A hand forcefully grabbed his left arm, before he was pulled to his unsteady feet. The front of his shirt was snatched and he felt himself move and duck behind a nearby counter- his eyes never leaving the fight.

If this thing was anything else, now it would be long dead- but unfortunately genetics were on its side. The ivory armor covering its body made for an impenetrable defense- meaning, it was not only built to hunt things smaller than itself, but also to wear out bigger predators and use twist their tiredness on them to deal the final blow. 

"...he's not going to make it." 

"Uh? What are you talking ab-?" 

"He'll lose- WE HAVE TO HELP HIM!"

A still out-of-breath Thundercracker slowly approached him with his hands held up, like he was placating a wild animal and not his own brother. 

"Warp, please be reasonable- What chance do we have against that thing? Bullets will not work and we can't risk hitting our only ally against it, we shou-"

"What? Run? I'm not going to save my ass while someone else is going to die- you're not making me give him the Smokey treatment, no chance in hell." 

Only the sound of the background fight remained, as a mournful silence descended upon them. That name was bound to stir flashes of awful memories in all of them- the darkest times since the beginning of their broken little family. Their missing piece, forever lost. 

"...what's the plan?" The trembling voice of their youngest broke the silence. 

Skywarp drew in a ragged breath as he blurred out their only chance for all of them to get out of this alive. 

"Metal! The- that thing's body is made of metal underneath, if we can find a way to electrocute it, its own body is going to act as a super-conduct and fry it's organs from the inside out." 

"Me and 'Charger found a small generator not too far from here, I think we can use it," Skid's chimed in from the back of their little huddle, "we attach some cables on it and pinch that thing- than boom fried fish." 

With a plan in mind they all moved like a bunch of frenzied rats. Windcharger and Skids ran to fetch the generator, while Soundwave followed them in case they needed to jump-start it. The kids were ordered to stay put and not engage, as the others watched the fight, waiting for their time to strike. 

But as they took in every detail of what was happening, it was clear they had run out of time. The mer was clearly using the last of his energies to just keep the thing still- deep bleeding wounds littered his frame, one of his eyes was closed off by a cut that run at the center of his face, as he gasped for breath- eye dazed and a shaky pupil stared at his enemy. 

He registered his siblings returning with the small generator, but he was quick to snatch the cables attached to it from Soundwaves' hands. 

"We don't have time- I'm going to do something crazy, but it'll be fine!" He cried out, ignoring his siblings' shouted protests- metal was not the only super-conduct present in the dome. 

As he skidded to a stop and knelt near the water, he felt time slow down. He watched as the mutant freed itself and in a few seconds snapped its mouth on the mer's side, trying to rip off a large chunk of meat. The mer let out a haunting pain-filled cry, as he desperately used his last energies to claw at the mutants' skull, in hopes of getting it to let go. 

Skywarp had to act now.

Before he plucked the sparkling cables into the pool, he glanced once more not expecting to lock eye with the blue one of the mer- illuminated by the blue hue of the algae, covered in gaping wounds and suffering immense pain, was smiling at him- one of those familial calming smiles that he became used to on a daily basis, since their crazy companionship began. 

'I trust you.'

Those same eyes that were looking at him with only fondness, suddenly became bloodshot as an immense wave of energy traveled through his frame in a matter of seconds. Skywarp felt his, now free, hands tremble with adrenaline as they all watched their guardian being electrocuted- and with him the beast.

What had been merely moments, felt like hours. 

They won. 

The limp body of the beast slowly sunk into the depths dragged by it's own heavy body, as the victor stood tall in the middle of the dome. Water fell from his broad back in droplets, a deep purple hue cloaked him from underneath- the algae, who soon changed color after being hit by the wave of electricity. The mer red blood-shot eye never left his gaze as he held the other half of his face, covering his wounded eye with a clawed hand.

Skywarp and his brothers watched as their guardian's form eventually staggered and swayed, until his worn body hit the shore with a shuddering thud. A keening sound left the mer's mouth as his body convulsed a couple of times, before finally settling into a fetal position. 

A small blur rounded the counter he left behind his shoulders- Blue sprinted towards the now still body of the mer, halting himself near his head before hugging it as best as he could. 

"Get up... please, you have to get up- I don't want to leave you here," A sob escaped the little kid as he gently pushed at the mer's cheek, "please Sir.Panca- Dad, get up..."

Slowly they all began to huddle around the still-breathing, even if ragged, body of their guardian- the mer shuddered as he gently lifted his head to nudge soothingly at his youngest. He looked over all of them, as if to assure himself that nobody was injured, until he locked eyes with Skywarp once again. The mer cooed, lifting his hand to beckon him to come closer. 

The teen got up on unsteady legs and made his way toward his guardian, collapsing into the crook of his massive neck. As a clawed hand started caressing his back, he found it so difficult to hold in his tears. 

"I'm sorry- this is all my fault," he wailed, "and now you're hurt and- and I did this to you... when you've been nothing but gentle and patient with us from the beginning... some fucking friend I am." 

"...hurt?" He was taken by surprise as the mer spoke to him- a thick warped accented voice. 

"What? No, you big dummie- I'm not hurt..." 

His guardian had the gull to smile down at him- the huge fucking sap. He couldn't help but smile in tow as he felt Bluestreak join their little hug, and settle himself down to nap away the residual adrenaline. 

He watched as his siblings sat all around them- weapons in hand, standing on guard and silently daring anything or anyone to attack their guardian. 

Yeah, he was not ready for this to end just yet.

[merlinmylove]

I adore it when Merlin goes away for a few days in a fanfic and all hell breaks loose

Arthur is grumpy because he misses Merlin and he hates it when anyone other than Merlin dress him. His hair is a mess and his clothes are crumpled, he’s missing one shoe but no one wants to tell him

The knights are walking in eggshells around him. Leons hair is going grey, and Lancelot is seen drinking wine during the council meetings

Gwaine is missing presumed dead

The kitchen is in a disarray, the usual schedules and menus are not being updated now that Merlin is gone

Bills have not been paid and new orders are not coming in. The merchants and fishermen are pissed. No one realises how much Merlin is actually on top of and how many people he has in his network

The Head Steward is scrambling to keep up with all the work Merlin seemingly did in his spare time. Some servants are wandering aimlessly with no tasks provided, while others are busy trying to finish up all the chores Merlin does in his sleep

Somehow the Kingdom is still standing (but just barely)

George is crying into the laundry (they ran out of soap two days ago because no one was instructed to make more) Merlin was always on top of these small things that most people overlooked — but now that he was gone, everything crumbled

Gwen could probably fix most of these issues, but has instead decided to go on strike on principle

There have been seven failed assassination attempts on the King. The Royal Spymaster is fired once Leon realised that Merlin is the unofficial spymaster

When The Royal Library and Mapmakers Guild requested a substitute scribe for the few days Merlin was away, everyone looked confused. For how long has Merlin helped them out too? Elyan volunteered, if only to get out of training

Mordred considers moving back in with the Druids and leave Camelot (this is not what he signed up for)

The council is in hiding for fear of further angering the King — one Lord mentioned Merlin by name and Arthur threatened to banish him, and since then no one has dared to speak his name again

Gaius officially retires and moves into a cottage

Merlin returns three days later like “what happened?!”

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Something More

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> Since you met Bucky, he's always looked at you with...something more. And you never knew why. One day, you finally find out what he means by it.

Disclaimer: mentions of cheating and swearing, revenge on cheating ex. Bucky deals with said cheating ex. Descriptions of naked/slightly naked Bucky though nothing too explicit. Fluff, found family vibes, Sam and Bucky bickering. Use of nicknames (specifically 'doll'). Not Proof Read.

“What are you still doing here?”

Bucky had just passed your lab. As far as he was aware, you should have left work hours ago. You should have been getting ready, listening to whatever playlist you’d compiled with Wanda, picking your outfit with that perfect smile on your face as you looked in your mirror to fix your lipstick. 

So why were you still here?

You looked up, looking for him and where his voice had travelled from. Your gaze found him standing back in the doorway. The lights behind him were dimer than they usually would be. After the clocks turned six in the evening, they did that to save on energy – even then, they’d only come on if they sensed someone. Before he’d walked down the corridor, the only lights on had been inside your lab with you. 

“Oh, hey.” You turned back to your work. “Just wanted to get some things finished before tomorrow. Hoping Tony might give me half a day.”

Bucky felt himself chuckle as he walked inside. “You do the work of three people. If you asked him, he’d tell you to take a week off.”

You chuckled because you knew it to be true. But you also didn’t like taking too much time away from work. You actually liked your job and the people you worked with. Some more than most. 

“But that still doesn’t answer my question. Shouldn’t you be on your date right about now?”

Bucky looked at his watch. 9:20pm. 

“Oh, uh,” You tried your best to avoid his gaze as you looked away from him. “Yeah…yeah, probably.”

Bucky studied you. And you could feel him doing so. The way he stood there, clipboard loose in his hand and by his side, his eyes fixed on your body, noticing how your shoulders tensed, how you tried your best to hide away from him despite you both being the only two in the room. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

Bucky shook his head and pulled up one of your rolling stools until he was sitting down and facing you. “What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter-”

“Yes, it does.”

You forced a smile, still not looking at him but rather at whatever contraption you’d pulled apart only to rebuild again. 

“No, it-”

“It does because you never hide anything from me.”

“Mostly because I can’t,” you muttered to yourself but by the soft chuckle from Bucky, he’d heard you. 

“What is it? What’s going on? Why are you still here?”

It took you a moment but eventually you put down the motherboard and finally looked at him. “If I tell you, it doesn’t leave this room. I don’t need the questions and I don’t need a plethora of super-humans marching or flying down to defend my honour.”

He didn’t like where the conversation was heading but Bucky reluctantly agreed. 

“I’m not on the date, but Matthew is.” 

Matthew was your boyfriend of three years. Bucky had met him a handful of times and he seemed nice enough, but there was always something Bucky didn’t like about him. How he talked, how he walked, how he seemingly didn’t realise how lucky he was to have you. 

“What are you-”

With your hands folded in your lap, you continued to explain. “The date that I told Wanda about, the one that was meant to be for tonight?” 

Bucky nodded. 

“Well, what I thought was meant to be a surprise for me was actually…a surprise for my best friend. Ex-best friend,” you corrected yourself. “Matthew didn’t think I would find out, but when I asked him if I should take any days off work soon, he said no. I thought it was just a fluke, but it wasn’t.”

“Y/n-”

“Matthew broke up with me a week later.”

“What?”

You saw the subtle changes in Bucky’s demeanour as you told him. How his gaze and eyes grew darker, how his shoulders became stiff and alert, how his fists clenched on the table. 

You took a breath. “Matthew broke up with me three weeks ago, but I’m okay.”

“Okay? Okay? I’ll kill him.”

You shot out of your seat and rushed ahead of him, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Bucky Bucky, Bucky, stop. Stop, okay. Look, I’m fine. And I promise, I am okay. Guess finding out that your boyfriend has been sleeping with your supposed best friend for six months kinda softens the aftermath of the break-up.”

“Six months?!”

“Just…sit down? Please?”

It took a little longer than a minute, but eventually he sat back down and you picked up the clipboard that had been dropped to the floor and handed it back to him. 

“How can you be okay?”

You smiled, even if it was still a little sad. “Because I’ve dealt with it.”

“How?”

“Poured glitter into their new washing machine, as well as onto all of their clothes,” you admitted. “Stole the plate out of the microwave, took the hand pumps out of the soap, threw out the car wax from his cleaning kit. You know, just small things that will cause them a nuisance for a lifetime.”

Bucky felt himself laugh. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

“Don’t have to,” you smiled. “You know better.”

“Yeah, I do. I’m sorry, Y/n.”

You just shrugged, trying to ignore the sting in your heart. “It’s okay.” 

Bucky’s eyes followed you around the table until you sat back down in your seat. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry he didn’t know how good he had it.”

You looked up at him. “Thanks, Buck.”

“I mean it, Y/n. I know you loved him. He didn’t deserve you.”

You felt his words wash over you and settle into your bones. You’d been dealing with the break up on your own. You knew you didn’t have to, but it was easier. Simpler. But hearing him tell you that…it was worth its weight in gold. 

You tried your best to place that familiar look in his eyes as he looked at you. It wasn’t pity, or sadness. Well, maybe a little. But there was something else there. Something…more. You’d noticed it before but even then you couldn’t have given it a name. It was just…

Something More. 

Like he knew something you didn’t. Like he was trying to tell you something he didn’t have the courage to say out loud. 

“Want me to take you home?”

You shook your head, “No, it’s okay. I can-”

But then he gave you that smile that always made your stomach do a little flip. The way his lips curved in the corner on his mouth, a slightly sassy but genuine look in his eyes. 

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

With a grateful smile, you smiled and stood up. On the way out, Bucky helped you remove your lab coat before helping put on your actual one. From there, he waited for you to lock up before you finally reached his car and hopped into the passenger seat. 

You’d placed your new address into the car’s GPS and explained to Bucky why you had a new one. 

“Even if she hadn’t moved in, I wouldn’t have wanted to stay there on my own. Knowing everything they’d done together?” You shook your head. “I would have moved, anyway.”

Bucky seemed to adjust himself in his seat, one hand on the wheel as the other rested in between himself and you. 

“Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t tell the rest of us.”

You chuckled, already knowing what he was thinking. You knew you’d have to tell them eventually. And you would. Preferably in a place where they couldn’t all suddenly disappear on you or wouldn’t see the masked pain behind your expression which would only lead to more questions. 

You’d become friends with the team not long after you’d joined Shield. Tony had studied your work, produced in Shield labs and instantly had given you an offer to work with him on a permanent basis. Before you could finish spending the day thinking about it, you had orders from Hill telling you, you were to become the new resident Lab Tech at the Compound. 

You’d worked along-side Tony and the rest of his science team, fixed equipment for the team and eventually found a friendship with them all individually. 

Wanda had been the first one; she’d been looking for someone to talk to since Clint was out for the day for Training new recruits. The next had been Tony and Natasha and very soon after had been Clint, Bruce and finally Steve.

Steve had been away on back-to-back missions which resulted in him being one of the last. Within a week of him returning, you’d met everyone else since Tony had decided to throw a party. 

You had asked why, but Pepper had just told you that to Tony it was “just because” but she’d worked on a mission plan. Charity Gala. She’s planned the whole thing with Peter’s Aunt. 

It was at that gala that Bucky had first met your boyfriend. At the time, you’d both only been dating eight months. 

“Did you buy a renovation?”

You dug into your bag for your keys but nodded. “Yeah. It’s kinda been a nice distraction.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

You looked at him, a little offended. “I’m an engineer.”

“I know.” Bucky was still taking in the property. “I’ve met you. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Bucky had seen you build some of the most complicated tech in the world. A handful of times, even Shuri had been shocked and impressed. But he’d also seen you try and build a bookshelf from Ikea on your own. 

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve got some weekends free.” Bucky told you. “I’ll help you.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” 

You were taken slightly aback as you saw the smile on his face. But you smiled back anyway. He’d always had that effect on you. 

“Okay.”

The following six weekends were filled with stripping old paint, pulling out and replacing rotten floors and beams, plastering walls and securing the foundations. The building had been with the bank for almost thirty years. Nobody had ever wanted to buy it. 

You’d guessed it had been built in the forties, or thereabouts. A covered porch had been added on to equal the starting point of the front steps, the shutters on the front windows had either been missing or hanging on by a rotten nail so they were soon replaced. There were three matching windows set at equal distance from each other upstairs. One in the middle and one on either side of it – all facing the front of the home. The garden was overgrown to the point where wildflowers had over run themselves and probably created a new breed. 

The back was much in the same way; a covered porch, windows, shutters, and a larger back garden perfect for an allotment and space for kids or dogs to run around. 

Eventually, those six weeks turned into six months. 

You did what you could within the week and Bucky helped with the rest at the weekends. When Sam found out Bucky was helping, he pitched in, too. Though, he was more helpful when placed away from Bucky and at the other side of the house. That had been something you’d learned quickly. They worked well together but the amount of hours they spent arguing about how to paint…

It was safe to say you’d taped out their own spaces in the house and they were not allowed to cross the tape unless they needed a bathroom break or a snack. 

Wanda had been more than helpful on the days where they’d both decided to sneak past the tape and judge each other's work. 

“Hey, hey, hey, would you- Wanda, put me down.”

“Stay in your tape.”

After the first three months, you were finally able to go out and buy new furniture and return the rented ones. 

“Left a bit, left a bit.”

“We need to go right.”

“No, we need to go left.”

Wanda leaned over to you. “How long have they been like this?”

“Two hours. I have tried.”

You sighed and crossed your arms, watching as Sam and Bucky tried to take your new sofa inside. 

“Right, right. Now go up.”

“Up?”

“Yes, up?”

“What are you gonna do? Make it fly?”

Sam just started at Bucky. 

“Oh, for the love of-”

As you threw your arms into the air, Wanda laughed and started walking towards them. Eventually they dropped the furniture and she moved it herself. It fit through your door simply – just as you had expected before the double comedy act decided to take charge. 

Finally, after six long months of stripping, plastering, painting, repainting, rearranging, building, and everything in between, you were finally done. 

You and Bucky lay on the floor together, staring at the ceiling, your beers sweating with condensation onto the placemats. 

“Thank you for helping me.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“As much as I love my new kitchen, I think I’m just gonna order in. What do you want?”

“Where are you getting it from?”

After twenty minutes, you and Bucky had decided on a place and ordered two pizzas with a side of fries. “Half an hour. Right.” You stood from the floor. “I’m going for a shower. You can hop in after me.”

Bucky was glad your back was turned from him since he could feel the heat spread across him. 

“Why?”

“Because you stink.”

You heard him laugh. Since day one, you’d never held back from telling him what you thought. It was one of the things he loved about you. 

Upstairs, you turned the shower and stepped inside only to watch the dust and paint flakes fall down with the water and into the drain. Twenty minutes later, your hair was washed for the third time that week – white paint from your skirting boards following the suds of the shampoo. 

And then Bucky walked up the stairs. 

As he reached the top of the staircase and turned his head down the hall, he called out your name. 

“Shower’s free! Just getting dressed!”

“Hey, uh, I-I left you something downstairs. Feel free to open it!”

“Really? Okay.”

Bucky smiled before walking into your bathroom and closing the door but leaving it cracked open slightly. The steam was still leaving the room and he couldn’t open the window just yet. 

However, what he didn’t notice as he carefully got undressed was you walking down the hall. Fresh in your pajamas which consisted of an old t-shirt and shorts, you towel dried your hair except in the defogging mirror in your bathroom, you caught a glimpse of Bucky. 

Naked Bucky. 

His back was turned to the mirror, his muscles lightly flexing as he moved to draw back the shower curtain and step into the shower. You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest or how your legs unconsciously clamped together as you looked at him. 

But as the curtain was drawn back, hiding him from sight, you took in a small breath before hurrying down the hallway, down the stairs and into the living room. 

You were thankful Bucky was in the shower at that moment in fear of him seeing and knowing what the embarrassed and heated look on your face meant. 

The image you’d just witnessed, it was safe to say, was burning into your mind. 

It was the knock on your front door which startled you out from your daydream about Bucky and the way he-

“Hey, two pep- Matthew.” 

What should have been the pizza guy with your pizzas was your ex. 

“What the fuck?”

“Please, please just hear me out,” he begged. “I am so sorry for what I did. I shouldn’t have slept with your best friend but I thought that was what I wanted. But-”

“Goodbye.”

“Wait! Please!”

His hand landed on the door. “Please. I-I thought that was what I wanted but these months apart have made me realise something.”

“Look, I don’t know how you found me but please leave.”

“I’m still in love with you, Y/n. I always was. And I’m ready for more, if that’s what you want.”

Down the hall, you heard your name being called. But Matthew didn’t. 

“I should never have cheated on you, but I promise I never will again. It was good, right? You loved me? I loved you.”

“Please leave.”

“I will spend everyday making it up to you because I realised, I am worthy of you. Please, just give us a chance. I promise-”

In the space of about three seconds, you saw Matthew’s face change from begging to terrified and shocked at the same time before the door you were holding onto tightly opened wider from behind you. 

Then you found yourself met with a freshly showered, completely naked save for the towel wrapped around his waist, Bucky. You felt the heat spread across your entire body as you tried your best to not make it obvious how you were trying to remember the moment for a lifetime. 

The definition of his muscles, the way his arm flexed as it remained on his hip, the metal arm behind you, holding the door securely. The way the beads of water dripped down his neck and tracked down his body and into the top of the towel. The way his eyes burned with a kind of darkness you’d only ever seen in him when he was ready to attack, but somehow still remained soft when they fell on you. 

“Holy-”

“What are you doing here?” 

“I-I-I came to get Y/n back.”

“Oh, really?”

You felt yourself smile up at Bucky, for more than just the reason he was making your ex crap his pants. 

“Y-Yes. I’m worthy of her.”

“You’re not worthy of shit.”

Matthew tried his best to ignore Bucky as he turned back to you. “Please. Y/n. I’m ready. Just come home with me.”

“I have a home. A new home. Very, very far away from you.”

“How did you even find this place?” Bucky asked. 

Matthew had to look at him and eventually spat out that your ex-best friend had seen your car turn down the avenue a few weeks back when she was heading to work. So, he looked out for it and hoped for the best. 

It was in a sudden motion Bucky’s right arm reached out and held Matthew up by the scruff of his collar. “You’re gonna forget you ever learned this address and leave Y/n alone. Do I have to repeat myself, or are we clear?”

A clearing cough came from somewhere behind Matthew. 

The pizza guy. 

“H-hi? S-Sorry about the wait. They’re working on the road at the top of the street so-so I-I had to double back.Two pepperoni?”

You nodded and the guy told you the price that had been exchanged over the phone. 

“Thanks.”

“I hope you resolve…whatever this is. Bye.”

Hopping back on his pizza scooter, he headed towards his next address. 

Matthew finally looked back at Bucky who’s stare hadn’t left him since he picked him up. 

“I don’t like repeating myself, Matthew.”

“But she still loves me.”

“No, she doesn’t.” 

That much had been made clear to Bucky over the last six months. He watched you put whatever anger and sadness you’d bottled up and put away into how you’d pulled out rotting beams and how you stabbed and yanked dead weeds from the ground with all your might. 

He also saw it in your quiet moments after that. How you built yourself a home without any reminiscence of Matthew or your ex-best friend, how you found freedom and love in what was around you and how you let yourself date again. The dates didn’t last too long but they always ended mutually – not one sided. 

“She does.”

You practically rolled your head with your eyes. “I really don’t.”

Bucky just smirked. 

“B-but what about our life together?”

“The one you torched when you fucked my friend? Yeah,” you heard yourself laugh. “That will never exist.”

As you went to walk away, leaving Bucky to deal with Matthew, he called out. 

“You can’t seriously be fucking him?”

Turning on your heel, you looked at both of them. Bucky seemingly didn’t react. Until a sliver of unrecognisable courage came pouring forward. 

“And what if I am?”

Bucky reacted to that. Not that Matthew noticed. 

“Not that it’s any business of yours,” you added. 

“But-”

“Goodbye, Matthew.”

As you walked into the kitchen and laid out the pizzas, it was a few minutes before you heard a cry from Matthew, followed by a crash of plywood from the skip that was ready to be collected the next day. 

Finally, the door closed and Bucky walked back into the kitchen, towel still around his waist. 

Walking out from your laundry room, you took the last mental image of a practically naked Bucky, standing in your home, looking sun-kissed and all kinds of handsome. 

“You left some clothes here the last time you stayed over.” Standing in front of him, you handed him his clothes. 

“Thanks.”

Taking them from you, Bucky smirked as he caught your gaze scanning his entire body. 

“How are you feeling?”

Your gaze flicked back to his, acting as if you hadn’t just been checking him out, but the heat on your face gave you away. 

“Good.” You smiled. “Actually, really good. Kinda shocked me when it was him and not the pizza guy- thank you, by the way. For dealing with him. I’m sure there’s some speech I should give you about threats of violence but it was nice to see him scared after everything he did.”

“Clearly he didn’t get a new washing machine.” Bucky held up his hand, small flecks of glitter on the palm. You laughed. 

“You can’t escape it.”

Bucky chuckled, too. “Guess you can’t.”

It was in the silence that followed, your hand holding onto his from when you moved it to see the glitter, that you saw that look in his eyes again. That something more look. He’d looked at you like that since the beginning. 

For a while you thought that was just how he looked at people. But you saw the way he looked at Steve and Sam and Natasha and Wanda. You saw the way he looked at strangers on the street as they walked past him, you saw the way he looked at kids when they walked up to him and asked for his autograph, you saw the way he looked at reporters when they asked about the 40s or asked a question he didn’t like. 

You saw the way he looked at everyone else. 

And then there was the way he looked at you. 

Something more.

You felt yourself step forward a little as he dropped his hand and held onto yours. It was a subtle difference. The way he looked at you, the way he held you, the way he spoke to you. 

It was his turn to step closer. 

Carefully placing his clothes down on the kitchen island beside you both, his other hand reached out for you, brushing the hair from your eyes. 

And for a rare moment, you shocked him. Usually, he knew everything with you. It was rare you had to actually tell him something. He spent that long looking at you, it was almost as if his gaze could stare directly into your soul and know what you needed. 

But this. 

This he didn’t see coming. 

No matter how long he’d hoped for it. 

You kissed him. 

And for a moment he was still, feeling your lips against his. Then it was like he was brought back to life. Feeling your hand in his, he squeezed your hand and you squeezed back. Finally, he kissed you back. His hands came to hold your face as he stepped into you, his kiss matching yours. 

In a few turns, your back was against the counter of your kitchen island, your hands sending goosebumps throughout him as they trailed down his chest, sides and held him closer by his neck and back. 

It wasn’t long before he lifted you onto the counter and your legs spread open for him to step closer. Slowly, the kisses peppered away until you were both left gasping for breath, feeling his forehead against yours. 

“Shit.” Bucky eventually breathed, a small laugh escaping him. And you giggled, holding him closer. 

“You better get dressed before you give my new neighbours an exclusive.”

Bucky looked behind him, realising you were both in a semi-clear view of the blind-less windows. They were getting delivered and installed on Monday. For now, you just had curtains and the panels on the windows. 

Then he looked down. The towel was slowly coming loose from his hips. Then he swore for a different reason. 

“You might have to give me a minute.”

It took you a second to realise what he was talking and blushing about. Then you tried to hide your laugh. “Either you put on some shorts or you give my neighbours an original welcome to the neighbourhood.”

Bucky gave you a look before looking around. Finally, grabbing his clothes, he surprised you with a quick kiss to your lips which made you smile and distracted you enough to let him go. Behind your kitchen island, he slipped on his shorts before removing the towel. 

“Thought I might get a show.”

Bucky gave you another look. “I’d rather save that for when it’s just you and me, doll.”

You hummed, your arms coming back to his shoulders. “Fair enough.”

A shorter silence came over you both as Bucky looked at you again. 

“What? What is it?”

You just kept looking. 

“You’re looking at me like I’ve got two heads.”

“You always look at me like that.”

“Like you’ve got two heads?”

You shook your head. “No. Like I’m…something more. I’ve noticed it for a while but I don’t know…why do you look at me like that?”

Bucky just smiled, already knowing what you were talking about. “Because you are something more, doll. You’re more than something more to me.”

You searched his face for what felt like hours, trying to decipher his cryptic message until it finally clicked with you. His message hadn’t been cryptic at all. It had been staring at you, quite literally, for years. 

Bucky watched as the expressions changed on your face; trying to find his meaning, wondering if you’d found the right one, convincing yourself it wasn’t possible, coming back to your original conclusion, accepting it though not fully, hoping it was true, not wanting to embarrass yourself if you were wrong, being certain you were right, and then not, until finally you’d found the courage to ask him if you were. 

And he just smiled. Freely, and without hesitation, he answered. 

“I’m in love with you, Y/n. That’s why you’re more than something more to me.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You already had someone.” Bucky said, a little defeat in his voice. 

“Had being the key word.” 

He smiled and looked back at you. “I didn’t want to rush things. We…we both needed time.”

Unconsciously, your body moved closer to his touch as his hand traced down your arm before he held onto your hand. Fingers danced around each other before he finally pulled your hand close to his lips and kissed your knuckles, then your palm, and finally your inner wrist. 

Finally, your head touched his. Eyes closed, breaths taking in and let out in sync. 

“I am in love with you, Y/n. I have been for a long time and I don’t wanna rush this.”

You leaned up and looked at him. “Then we won’t. Like you said, we both needed time. And, Bucky?”

He looked at you, again. 

“You’re more than something more to me, too.”

Then he smiled, that genuine if slightly sassy grin. “I know, doll.”

[kazumist]

SWEETLY BAKED WITH LOVE .ᐟ

✩ — in which zayne finds himself in a problem with his older patients relentlessly introducing and telling him about their daughters and granddaughters to him because he's single. what's a good way to shoo them off? perhaps wearing a keyring and fake dating your friend would do the trick!

✩ — includes: zayne x f!baker!reader. fluff. fake dating trope (not executed properly sorry i dont think i gave it justice), not much drama and confession scene is a bit boring imo :/, pace is a bit messy, based of that one part in the cdrama "the best thing", cw: food mentioned (baked sweets and wine), they're both idiots in love, wc: 7,166. i went insane Yes so what.

✩ — note: hi babes @koiukiy-o it's finally finished like can u believe it. i finished it in one fucking day initially but i woke up at 6am in the morning today (its around half past 7am by the time posting this) and added a bit more.

for zayne, being a young, famous, and favored doctor in akso hospital isn’t as pleasing as it sounds. only because the majority of his older patients try to match him up with their daughters with every given chance during their appointments scheduled with him. 

at first, it wasn’t all that serious. zayne even initially thought that maybe elderlies these days have started to grow accustomed to sharing stories of their children—of their daughters, specifically, who are coincidentally in the same age range as him. perhaps it was a new thing; yeah, that was probably it.

until the introductions became more frequent. 

ONE: AS SURPRISING AS A SUDDEN BLUEBERRY CHEESECAKE AT YOUR DOOR.

from a father whose daughter is a successful certified public accountant (CPA) to a mother whose daughter is currently a cardiology resident in a nearby hospital, the names and positions of these women have started to jumble in his head. all zayne could do is take a deep breath and smoothly deflect the questions of his patients regarding his current relationship status.

“dr. zayne, you know, i have this daughter..." here we go again. zayne tunes out whatever the old woman was saying, nodding every now and then to convince her that he was interested. the old woman’s daughter was something of a business owner, though it’s not like zayne is actually paying that much attention to the description his patient was giving him. his focus is solely on the results that are in his hands.

“do you have someone special in your life right now, dr. zayne?” zayne pauses; the shuffling of the lab reports in his hands stopped as he processed the question. 

does he?

zayne doesn’t think that he does.

he has a few people that he cherishes in his life, yes. but does he think of himself settling down with someone by his side? well… not really—not yet, at least. zayne hasn’t given it that much thought himself. “before i answer that question, let’s discuss what your results have given us…” this method of zayne changing the subject works like a charm every time he does it. and with a blink of an eye, the old woman forgot her question and left after getting her new prescriptions from him.

zayne leans back on his chair, taking off his specs and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. he takes a deep breath, until his peace is interrupted by a knock at his door. the old woman should’ve been the last one; yvonne just came in and told him so not so long ago. he sits up right, fixing his posture as his professionalism starts to take over.

yet when the door creaks open to reveal you, zayne’s shoulders relax as he sits back once again.

maybe his peace wasn’t interrupted after all.

“what brings you here?” he asks you, eyeing you suspiciously as you’re obviously hiding something from him behind your back. “i come bearing gifts—one sweet little blueberry cheesecake from your favorite bakery! tadaaaa!” you say, revealing the little box to zayne and settling it on his desk, hoping he’d also envision the imaginary jazz hands you were doing before putting a plastic fork on top of it for him to use.

zayne has a sweet tooth and that’s practically common knowledge to you. and with you owning a bakery... well, let’s just say that the youngest heart surgeon in linkon city plays his favorites when it comes to shops that sell sweet pastries. 

a smile cracks onto his face as he sees the box. gently removing the fork on top and opening the box, zayne inspects the blueberry cheesecake before him as if contemplating if he should eat it now or save it when he gets home. “you don’t have to eat it now, silly. i just wanted to drop it off before your work ends today,” you say.

“no, it’s alright. i’ll eat it now. the toppings could get ruined when i travel back home.”

as he starts taking a few bites, you propped your chin onto your palm and lean on it, staring at the sweet dessert that’s slowly being consumed right in front of you. “sooo, do you have someone in your life right now, dr. zayne?” you asked him, putting emphasis on the way you called him as a sign of mockery.

zayne deadpans at your question, suddenly stopping himself from getting another bite. his expression is clearly conveying a message to you wordlessly: are you being serious right now? but zayne just sighs and continues on getting another bite before replying. “how did you know about that?”

“i heard you two through the door. and when your last patient came out—she was a delight, by the way, greeting me so kindly—she suddenly asked me if i was your girlfriend! i obviously didn’t answer her properly and good thing yvonne came in to save the day and escort her out of the cardiology department.” you told him.

the sweetness of the small piece of blueberry glides across his senses as he listens to you. zayne finds himself sighing deeply for what seems like the nth today, twirling the fork in his hand as he thinks. he doesn’t like burdening this problem of his with you, especially when you have nothing to do with it. “seems like you’re thinking about a lot there. are your thoughts being consumed by the numerous names that got mentioned to you?” you teased.

“i beg your pardon?”

“i was only kidding! you looked so deep in thought there. is everything alright?”

zayne doesn’t know either. he doesn’t know how long he could keep deflecting and changing the topics when his patients try to pry into this part of his life. he has a soft spot for his patients, sure, and he’s satisfied with his job. though zayne didn’t know that he would be signing up for this when he became a cardiac surgeon.

“yes, my apologies. i seemed to have spaced out for a moment there.”

you glance over him, observing his mannerisms and his habits. whenever zayne twirls or plays with the item in his hand, it means he’s thinking. whenever he sits back on his chair, that means he’s relaxed. yet you never seen him space out—not until now, at least—and that’s what’s different.

odd.

but you didn’t push the topic further, as you’re well aware that zayne isn’t the type to express himself so freely. and as if a light bulb literally just gained it’s light inside your brain, the gears inside your head started turning as you suddenly got an idea. “i think i just got the greatest idea of my life.” you asked him.

“and what would that be?” he asks back. should i be scared? he thinks.

“you’ll see! just you wait and look forward to the next time i’ll drop by and visit.” you flash him a grin as zayne finishes the last bit of the blueberry cheesecake.

TWO: AS ENTICING AS SIX MACARONS SERVED RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.

the next time you saw each other, you didn’t visit zayne. zayne visited you, striding towards you sitting behind the counter. today was a saturday. and during saturdays, you open your shop a bit later than your usual opening time during weekdays. 

seeing the doctor visit your shop sometimes gives you a pinch of nostalgia coursing through you. you never would’ve expected to form a connection with a praised doctor in linkon in your life. but you don’t really have any regrets about it. you enjoy the surgeon’s company and he seems to enjoy yours.

“and what brings you here today, dr. zayne?” you say, greeting him as his eyes scan the pastries displayed before him. “please, refrain from the formalities. do you have anything new to recommend?” he replies.

your gaze follows his as you join him in looking for a pastry to offer. “hmm… oh! i know! you could taste test a new macaron flavor i’ve been trying. would you mind taking a seat while i got get them for you?” zayne nods before finding himself a seat and you take that as your cue to start running towards the kitchen located at the inner part of your establishment. 

when you got out, you joined him at the two-seater table he decided on, sitting across from him. “lately, i’ve been indulging myself in making macarons, right? and i wanted a different flavor for a change so i paired two ingredients together! take a bite and guess what it is.” you said, pushing the box of macarons towards him.

zayne inspects the macarons in front of him, attempting to deduce the flavor. it has a light brown color, with the filling having a deeper shade of brown. could it be two types of chocolate? he thinks. 

“staring at it will get you nowhere if you don’t actually taste it, you know.”

he snaps out of his thoughts at your words. he awkwardly coughs into his fist, avoiding your gaze. you stifled a laugh at him but zayne noticed it, feeling his ears grow hot. “ahem. pardon me for that. i’ll taste them now.” he says, grabbing a piece of the pastry. as soon as he takes a bite, the familiar taste of coffee beans (perhaps roasted?) and nutella washes over his tongue.

you were right; this was a different flavor that you don’t see often. “it’s delicious. were the coffee beans roasted? or were they grounded?” a small gasp escapes your lips at his question. “it was roasted, yeah! i’m surprised you noticed that; i didn’t think anyone would.”

“i felt the small chunks of the coffee beans as i chewed. and nutella as a filling balances the taste of the beans. i’d say it’s a good product to endorse.”

“really?”

zayne hums in agreement, finishing the macaron in his hand before grabbing another one from the box. “i recall that you haven’t told me your “idea” yet since the last time we saw each other.” he says, before taking another bite.

“oh! sorry about that; i keep forgetting to stop by akso hospital lately. but worry not—i didn’t forget about my idea!” you replied, fishing something out of your pocket. it was a keyring, though it wasn’t that obvious at first glance. “your idea is... a keyring?” he asks.

“wrong, the keyword is ring!” you say, grabbing his hand to check if it fits on his ring finger.

you seemed unaware of the effect of your actions, suddenly taking zayne by surprise by your sudden touch. he feels the cold metal wrap around the ring finger of his dominant hand. “look, it’s a perfect fit! just remember to always have it on, especially when you have appointments and surely those introductions would be gone, right?”

zayne inspects the keyring around his finger, flipping his hand as he takes it in. “i never would’ve expected that a keyring could act as a marriage ring.” he states. “m-marriage ring?!” you exclaimed. i never really thought of it as that. you thought, mentally sweatdropping. “is it not supposed to be?” zayne’s gaze at you shows obvious confusion. “well… i guess it could serve as that. i just thought of it as some fake promise ring that you could use at most.”

“the purpose is the same. i don’t think it matters what it stands for—the main purpose of this is to show my older patients that i’m taken, right?”

“yup! it’s nothing much, really, but i feel bad for what you have to endure when you have your appointments. do you think it would work?” you reply.

“we just have to play our cards right and then we’ll see.”

“mhm! wait—we?”

“yes, we. did i say something wrong?” there he goes again with the confused look.

“what do you mean… we?” this better not be what i’m thinking. you hoped, bracing yourself for whatever bomb he was about to drop.

but just as your luck to that runs out, zayne replies. “i thought we were both going to be wearing keyrings?” fuck, i knew it. you thought. inside your head, you can envision yourself on all fours, punching the ground as you also try to think of something—anything to reply with. 

“but you’re the only one who has this... conflict. what use would it be if i also wore one?”

before zayne could even realize it, he already took a step and started sailing in dangerous, uncharted waters. “you told me a few times, including the time that you last visited, that my patients have wondered and asked if you were my significant other. wouldn’t it be more convincing if we were to uphold that sentiment?”

you swore you could feel your soul drain itself out of your body.

“so you want us to... fake date, basically? so we could stop your older patients from introducing their endless amount of daughters and granddaughters? did i get that right?” you ask again, just to be sure if what you’re hearing is actually right and real.

“yes, you’re quite spot-on.” 

“you’re lucky that i have two keyrings by coincidence.”

well, it’s not like it’s going to be anything serious. and it’s also beneficial for me because they also pester me with their questions every time i visit. the offer is way a bit enticing for it’s own good—but everything should be fine.

with a soft sigh and one macaron left on the box (you and zayne were snacking on them as you had your discussion), you spoke again. “you’ve got yourself a deal. you better start wearing that keyring, dr. zayne.”

“i don’t think you should be calling me that when we’re supposed to portray ourselves like a couple.” he remarked.

you choke on your own saliva at his statement. “w-we’ll talk about the other details another day! how does the next time i visit—which i actually promise to do now—sound?” cursing yourself for stammering (but how could you not when he caught you so off guard?), you try your best not to embarrass yourself any further. “that sounds good.”

as the last macaron on the box you served gets consumed, you find yourself securing a peculiar deal with a certain heart surgeon.

THREE: AS SOUR AS A BITE OF STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE MELTING ON YOUR TONGUE.

staying true to your promise, you visited zayne a few days after his visit to your bakery. you had the same keyring wrapped around your ring finger, hoping to find zayne the same. “are you busy?”

he glances at you from his monitor and you notice that his shoulders relax again when he realizes it was you in the doorway. “what pastry do you have in store for me this time?” he asks you as you approach to have yourself a seat on the small couch.

“sadly there’s no pastry today; i accidentally forgot to grab one from the bakery’s fridge before i left but next time i’ll bring you some strawberry shortcake!”

“i’ll take note of that.”

zayne then continues to speak. “about where we stopped our discussion last time... would it be okay with you to completely drop with the formalities in general? you don’t have to call me dr. zayne, especially when we’re in the hospital.”

“what do i call you then?”

“zayne would be just fine. almost no one calls me that here.”

“zayne, huh… zayne, zayne… zayne.” you repeat his name to get yourself used to it. “alright then, doct—i mean, zayne.”

he nods at you in acknowledgement as you shift your gaze at his dominant hand. surely enough, you saw that keyring on his finger. “i see you’re wearing the keyring. did it work so far?” you ask him. “actually, yes, it did. the introductions lessened and i found myself at peace with most of my appointments today.”

“so my plan does work. huh, i never would’ve thought.” zayne takes this as an opportunity to reply. “how about you? did your keyring work?” 

“not yet, i guess? when i arrived, yvonne told me that your appointments and checkups were done for the day. so i didn’t really encounter any of your patients today. maybe next time.”

-

zayne visited your bakery during the weekend again. although unfortunately, you weren’t there. one of your employees said that you were busy with an errand today so zayne just got a slice of yet another blueberry cheesecake on the go and quickly made his leave.

(he doesn’t see why he would stay when he isn’t sure of what time you’d return.)

-

the next time you and zayne saw each other, you had forgotten to bring the strawberry shortcake you told him back then. but what did happen is that you encountered a few familiar patients of zayne’s. they were all women who looked like they’re in their mid-sixties in a group of three. they were chatting nearby the entrance to zayne’s office when they spotted you.

and apparently, one of them recognized you.

“hello, dear. you’re the one who brings dr. zayne snacks, right? i remember seeing you here before.” she says, approaching you. “ah, yes! that would be me.” you let out a soft chuckle at her. “how kind of you to do so! are you perhaps his girlfriend?” another woman asks. the woman who approached you (who introduced herself as violet), shushes her friend. “don’t throw sudden questions at the lady! sorry about her, dear.”

the third woman in their group suddenly perks up and points at your hand. “look violet, her ring looks familiar... where have i seen it before, i wonder?” as soon as she said that, all three of the women’s attention was now all on your hand with the keyring on it. 

“isn’t that like the ring on dr. zayne’s hand?”

there was then a moment of silence before they all realized what that question meant. 

after escaping the clutches of their neverending queries (that you tried to answer as much as you could, and you never could’ve escaped without yvonne’s help of escorting them out), you finally got to knock on zayne’s office.

“come in.” his voice sounds muffled through the door.

once you settle down yourself inside, you let out a huge and relieved sigh. “was there a commotion outside? i heard multiple voices through the door, one of them being yours.” zayne asks.

“ah, well it turns out that your patients are really observant. did you know i had to make up some fake story on the spot of how we met?”

“is that so? do you mind telling me what this story is? they might ask about it the next time they come for a checkup.” he replies. 

the actual story of how you and zayne met wasn’t really that far off from the one you told the small group of old ladies. 

(it was dusk when you encountered zayne on the sidewalk; you accidentally bumped into him and he noticed you were seemingly in a rush. “oh my god, i’m so sorry! i wasn’t looking where i was running.” zayne waves his hand dismissively. “it’s alright, are you hurt?” 

“not at all—” you checked the time with your wrist watch. “crap! uhm, excuse me, sir. do you know if there’s a flower shop nearby here? i’m in a terrible need of dried flowers at the moment.” you ask him.

zayne thought about it for a moment, trying to recall if there is one. he then tells you the directions to the flower shop he has seen in the area and you immediately thanked him. “thank you, thank you so much! feel free to drop by the cozy oven. my treat for helping me! thank you again, kind sir!” you say before running off in the direction he told you.

that was first time you met him and you were sure that was also the first time he met you.

but what if it isn’t?)

“oh, you know, i just told them some silly old cliche where i bumped into you while holding two bouquets of flowers and decided to treat you to some coffee as an apology. nothing that out of the ordinary, really.”

“noted. they’ll probably ask me about which bouquet it was next time.” this time it was his turn to let out a sigh.

“oh yeah! one of my staff members said you visited the bakery last weekend. sorry, i was busy that time. my friend ordered a cake for this event and i was also invited to it so i had to leave the job of handling the bakery to my employees.” you told him. “it’s alright, don’t fret.”

that day ended with zayne offering you a ride home.

-

the next few times you and zayne were together after that, you swear something was changing.

you never thought zayne could be the touchy type; he grabs ahold of your hand, going as far as interlocking your fingers together. hell, he even puts his hand on your waist when you’re walking in public.

you knew what you were getting into when you both agreed on that deal. but it’s just so... strange. scary, if you think about it.

how is he so good at this? no, more like—

why does it feel so real?

zayne is an attractive man, and that was certainly a fact. smart, rich, handsome, and well-mannered—he’s even soft spoken for goodness sake! that man has got it all, which is no wonder why some of his patients would want to set up their daughter with him. any woman would be lucky to experience what it’s like to be loved by him.

but is this what it feels like?

perhaps.

that was all you could say—after all, this is all just a fake setup so you both could shoo away his patients.

yet if it was all fake, why were your faces suddenly so close to one another right now? your lips were close to brushing against each other; one small nudge and you’d find out what it was like to kiss zayne.

the sudden phone ring echoing somewhere in the room snaps the both of you out of it.

as you both pull away out of surprise, zayne picks up the phone. “this is zayne speaking.” he says.

you just sat there on his couch, wondering many things.

it’s just a fake stunt. don’t get sidetracked, (y/n).

but why is it that whenever you remind yourself that it is fake, an uncertain pang hits your chest? you never could tell zayne this; he might think you suddenly have a heart condition and be concerned (and you wouldn’t be surprised because he is someone who is under cardiology).

this could be nothing. no, scratch that; it is nothing. zayne is an impossible man to reach, and he is only a friend to you.

nothing more, nothing less.

-

the next time you visited zayne at akso hospital, you finally had a slice of strawberry shortcake stored safely in a box for him.

you were still distracted by the time you two almost kissed, but you couldn’t let zayne know that for obvious reasons.

at this point in your fake dating plan, his patients are all convinced that you both are together, finding it cute and squealing in awe when you see each other in the hallway where his office is located. you were surprised at how well you and zayne were pulling this off. 

“special delivery for dr. zayne?” you say, peeking through the door to check if he’s busy. “and what did i order this time?” he asks back. you take that as your cue to step inside. “one slice of a promised and long overdue strawberry shortcake!” you told him, setting down the small box and another plastic fork on top of the box.

“about time you remembered.” he says, taking the fork and opening the box. the familiar scent of strawberry shortcake then circulates around the two of you, which made zayne take a bite almost immediately. “are you planning on visiting the bakery this weekend?” you then ask him.

zayne swallows before he speaks. “i have thought about it, yes. and i was actually planning to ask you about your weekend plans today actually.”

“oh? why?”

“i was just wondering if you’d like to make plans with me since i’m usually off-duty during weekends.”

you become a bit awkward as soon as zayne says that. and zayne, being as observant as ever, obviously noticed it. “is there something wrong? it’s okay if you’re busy.” you waved your hands at him, “no, no! it’s not like that. well, kinda i guess? ugh, it’s just that…”

“i may or may not have agreed to go on a blind date this weekend.”

if zayne hadn’t listened that carefully, he would’ve missed it. but no, he caught every single word that slipped out of you. the sour taste of the sliced strawberry, along with the spongy texture of the cake, suddenly felt like sand in zayne’s mouth. and as ironic as that, he suddenly feels iffy as soon as you say that—like he was also sour. “is that so… that’s alright. you should enjoy your plans instead.”

“wait. you’re not mad?”

am i mad? zayne mentally asked himself. he doesn’t think he is, but he does somewhat feel disturbed by the idea of you going on a date with another man, and that doesn’t feel right to him either. “i’m not. why would i be mad?” a lie.

you stiffen at your seat, trying to come up with an explanation. that question just slipped off of your tongue; you didn’t mean to ask that. “well, uhm.. you know, because we’re in this fake dating thingy, i just thought it would be weird to you if i were to go see someone else and all that, yeah.”

“you said it yourself; this is all fake. so i’m not stopping you if you want to do that.”

ouch? why does his confirmation that it’s nothing serious get a kick to it? you thought. “really? okay then, thanks for letting me know.” 

zayne couldn’t shake off the sourness of the strawberry from his tongue. and the thing is—the strawberries that you use for your products aren’t even that sour. it was more sweet than sour in the first place. so why? why can’t he get the sourness off?

why does he suddenly feel so bitter at the thought of you seeing someone else?

the rest of the hour felt a bit suffocating after that.

FOUR: AS BLAND AS MISSING THE DELECTABLE TASTE OF YOUR COMPANY.

when the weekend rolled around, zayne didn’t visit your bakery. he didn’t find a need to because you weren’t there. he wasn’t close to your staff and he doesn’t really want to get close to them. and zayne isn’t that close with a lot of people in general, so he decided to spend his weekend at home.

he thinks about the conversation he had with you when you brought up the topic of having a blind date scheduled today.

and he still feels sour about that. he doesn’t know why. 

then he suddenly remembers the one time when he was so close to feeling your lips on his. zayne hoped that he wasn’t obvious but this moment had perhaps made him short circuit. your face was so close—he could take every little detail of your features with the distance.

but you just had to have this blind date today.

zayne feels even more sour after that.

he was a doctor, yes, but he obviously isn’t an expert in psychology or emotions. so as he unlocks his phone, he opens the web browser installed and types in the search bar.

now, jealousy was a foreign concept for zayne. 

he stares blankly at the results his search shows him, a part of him refusing to believe that what he was feeling was jealousy and the rational part of him telling himself that if this isn’t it, what else could it be?

but another question puts him in a dilemma. why is he even jealous in the first place? 

of course you can go see other people. he doesn’t have the right to be mad about that. zayne didn’t own you, and you didn’t own zayne. if he were in your position, you’d just let him go on that blind date.

yet the idea of you falling in love with another makes him uneasy.

oh.

oh.

zayne wasn’t stupid. he didn’t need to drown himself in any more thoughts on this matter to realize what was happening to him.

he was falling.

falling for you, to be specific.

and there’s nothing that could help him.

-

being forced into a blind date never goes well. and you swore that you'd strangle your friend who forced you into this in the first place.

“so, what do you do for a living?” your date asks before sipping from his glass of red wine. “oh, i’m a baker. i run a bakery, actually. it’s located nearby akso hospital.” 

“is that so? what do you usually bake?”

“i bake all sorts of things! from cakes to macarons—“ you pause when you say macarons. you suddenly recall the day when you asked zayne to taste test your new macaron flavor. you cleared your throat to regain composure.

“sorry about that; something just came to mind. but like i said, i bake a whole lot of cakes and pastries. i like to experiment with new flavors, you see. what about you?”

“oh, i’m currently a resident at akso hospital actually!” the man before you says. “really? under which department?” you ask him. “cardiology. i always found the heart a fascinating thing to study.”

you tried to hold yourself back from choking on your wine. “c-cardiology, you say…?” hearing the term come out of your date’s mouth has something uncomfortable bubbling up inside of you. your mind finds itself drifting back to zayne—

what am i even thinking? get a grip (y/n)! you’re on a date for fuck’s sake!

“mhm. one of my mentors is really nice, a bit cold but i know he’s just really like that. his name is dr. zayne, by the way.” and as if the universe is mocking you right now, your date just had to say that his mentor was zayne of all people.

“i think i’ve heard of him once or twice, yeah. he’s a good heart surgeon, right?”

as time seemed to pass by, you could feel yourself feeling more distracted. when the waiter came to ask if you’d like any dessert, your mind immediately thought of zayne.

while looking through the dessert menu, you wondered if zayne would like what this restaurant is offering. what would zayne’s opinion be on this? 

and your date continues to speak, the sole fact that he’s a resident under zayne, was enough to sidetrack your mind towards him. 

zayne, zayne, zayne. this whole date has done nothing but remind you of the doctor.

by the time the date was over, you entered the door to your apartment complex (which is located above your bakery) and slid against the door as soon as you closed it.

removing your heels as you were on the floor, you let out a sigh. “what the fuck is going on with me tonight?” you asked no one in particular.

the date wasn’t even bad but nothing about it felt right for you. like there was something clearly wrong with the whole principle of you going on a blind date in the first place but you didn’t know what it was.

you try to recall what happened before the blind date happened, trying to see if something would have triggered your current state.

your recollection brings you to the time you told zayne about the blind date a few days ago. 

something felt off about him when you dropped the bomb on him that time. it’s as if something shifted in the air when you revealed your plans for the weekend to him.

“oh, god. you have got to be kidding me.” you facepalmed when the realization dawned upon you.

your thoughts were running. how could’ve i been so stupid? it was written all over my face in the first place! i like zayne. holy shit i actually—

but it all stops there when you then realize what you just said. 

-

you didn’t visit zayne after your blind date. and when he visits your bakery, you hide yourself from him in the kitchen (and you also told your employees to not spill a word about your actual whereabouts, making them form excuses on what you’re up to). 

simply to say, you were avoiding zayne.

it scared you. you didn’t know what to do with your new feelings, especially when the whole fake dating thing was still ongoing for the both of you. 

how can you keep faking it all up when everything just feels so real? when you couldn’t help but wonder if you’re still friends after everything you’ve done?

zayne: Are you going to visit today?

zayne: I miss getting my special delivery.

you stared at his message, trying to process it. why did he have to say it like that? what does he mean by that? you thought.

(y/n): sorry, i can’t. 

(y/n): i need to prioritize some cake orders for now. maybe next time.

zayne: Oh, alright then.

you know full well that there most probably won’t be a next time. you’ll just keep denying and deflecting as much as you can—and as long as you can.

however, zayne knew you were avoiding him and he most definitely didn’t need to be a genius to notice that. 

but he doesn’t know why. was it something that he did? were you alright? perhaps you haven’t been feeling well as of late. were you overworking yourself lately?

zayne thinks about the time you two almost kissed again. maybe he should’ve gone for it. maybe he shouldn’t have answered that goddamn phone call. maybe—

maybe he shouldn’t have let you go on that blind date.

your phone vibrates against the pocket of your apron. you pull it out to check the notification and go blank at the sender.

zayne: Have you been well?

zayne: We haven’t seen each other lately.

his clinic hours are not the same as of late. zayne got so used to you visiting him at akso—to seeing you in general—that it just feels... bland now that you’re not present.

zayne misses you. and he wonders if you miss him too.

FIVE: AS SWEET AS KNOWING THAT I WASN’T TOO LATE.

(before you bumped into zayne on the sidewalk, you two had actually met.

once in a cafe, and once in the grocery store... zayne had noticed that since you two lived in the same community, it was bound that you’d encounter each other a lot—although you don’t really seem to notice him.

when zayne met you in the grocery store, the first thing that he noticed about you was that your shopping cart was halfway filled with baking ingredients. there were at least three (or was it four?) dozen of eggs stacked, two packs of all-purpose flour, a small bottle of sprinkles (both the colorful and chocolate ones), and a whole lot more.

at first glance, any other person would ignore you. zayne would be one of them—he had no clue why he noticed you and your shopping cart. he was only in the aisle because it’s the way to where the bread was located.

that was the first time zayne sees you.

the second time he saw you, zayne encountered you in a cafe this time. weeks passed since he saw you while he was out for groceries and you had papers sprawled all over the small table in front of you. zayne didn’t really get a good look at them but he assumed that it was all sorts of cake design from the single glance he got to have.

wedding cakes, birthday cakes, anniversary cakes. there were a whole bunch of designs. perhaps you baked for a living.

again, at first glance, any other person would ignore you. and zayne would still be one of them—though would this become a lie because isn’t it strange that it has happened twice? not like there’s anything bad with noticing you. it’s just... out of his character, per se.

the third time zayne meets you, it was the time you also recall—the encounter on the sidewalk. now, what were the chances that zayne would meet you there that late afternoon? he didn’t know. 

and with that small conversation between the two of you happening, zayne’s assumption was correct. the baking ingredients, the cake designs, and now you telling him to visit your bakery—

maybe he should visit the cozy oven during the weekend.)

around three weeks have passed since you started ignoring him. you were surprised at how well you were doing so far. not like it was hard doing so. the real challenge was to ignore his texts and make yourself reply late. 

and when he visits the bakery, which is what’s going on right now.

it was almost nine in the evening when you finished closing up your bakery. you heard footsteps getting louder, signaling that someone is walking towards you. 

“there you are.” you knew that voice anywhere.

“zayne? what are you doing here at this hour?” you ask him out of surprise. “well, a certain someone seems to be hiding from me, so i thought it was time to change my strategy and do a surprise attack. it looks like it worked.”

“ah. sorry about that... work has been a bit busy. you know?” you take in zayne’s appearance before you, eyes slightly widening at the keyring that is still on his finger.

(how ironic because you were also wearing yours at the moment. your excuse would be “it was out of pure habit.”)

“so busy that even when i visit you hide yourself from me?”

he got you there. “i—no, no! it’s just that—“ zayne cuts you off with another question. “did i do something wrong?”

“what?”

“you heard me. (y/n), did i do something wrong? i understand that you’ve been busy but something feels different. like there’s something more to it than just you being busy.” he then says. why does he have to be always so observant?

the guilt of your decisions as of late started to eat you up inside. “i… i don’t know.”

“you don’t know?” zayne asks again.

“i mean, it’s not like i literally don’t know but it’s just... did we even do the right thing? you know, fake date and all of that.”

zayne could feel the unease creeping up on him with your question. “the plan worked, did it not?”

“no, zayne. what i mean is that did we do the right thing with fake dating in the first place? because for the love of god, we almost kissed! and—and we’re both old enough to realize that friends don’t just... kiss.”

“is this about your blind date a few weeks ago?” you don’t know what he means by that. because you never met up again with that blind date, telling him that as much as it was nice to know him, you’re not really interested in giving romance a whirl for now. 

you didn’t know what to answer to that. “so it is.” he then says. you wanted to say no, but no words came out of you. it was as if your lips felt like they were sewn closed. “i guess i was too late then.”

too late?

“wait—what do you mean too late?”

zayne’s look in his eyes confused you. you couldn’t decipher the emotions that were present in his gaze. “aren’t you still seeing your blind date nowadays?”

then it all made sense to you.

zayne thinks the reason you started avoiding him was probably because he thought you hit it off with your blind date. before you could answer his question, he speaks again. “to be honest with you, recently, especially during your absence, i have come to the realization that i like you, (y/n).”

wait. what?

too speechless to cut in, he continues. “i felt off when you first said that you agreed to that blind date of yours. i just brushed it off back then but later i realized that it was because i was jealous. i soon regretted not doing anything about it—and when you started ignoring me, i couldn’t help but think that maybe you didn’t want to visit me anymore in my office as a sign of respect to your new lover.” in other words, i missed you.

you try to process everything that he just came clean about. but there is only one highlight in everything he said—he likes you. zayne likes you.

and you like him too.

“first of all, i’m really sorry for ignoring you, zayne. i honestly only did it out of fear because i recently realized that i like you too.” zayne was about to speak up when you raised a hand to shush him. “let me finish first. i never met with my blind date again after our first meeting. i told him that i kindly told him that i didn’t want to try romance for now—though that was partially a lie because i only find myself wanting to try romance out with you.”

zayne also only got one highlight out of that—you like him too. that’s all that matters to him.

“so i wasn’t too late?” he then asks.

you take a few steps closer to him. “no, zayne. you’re just in time.”  zayne’s hands find themselves on your waist. “then can i kiss you?” you shoot him a playful glare. “are you sure a phone call isn’t going to interrupt us this time?” you then say, arms wrapping themselves around his neck.

“i’m sure.”

“then you can.”

and without hesitation, zayne leans in to capture your lips with his. he could feel you smiling in the kiss, and zayne savors the faint taste of your lippie—not minding that it might have smudged on his lips now.

when you both pulled away, you couldn’t help but giggle. zayne’s lips were covered in some of your tinted lip gloss. you reach out a hand to smudge it away before pecking him a quick kiss to his nose and asking him, “do you want to come inside? i have a new macaron flavor for you to taste test.”

“is that so? what is it this time?” he replies, hands not leaving your waist.

“salted caramel! but not the ones that are sweet; i made sure that this one actually has a salty kick to it!”

zayne definitely has a sweet tooth.

yet there’s nothing more sweet than knowing that you like him too.

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐚𝐢𝐧'𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 | 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

summary joel comes to pick you up from work, and after soaking up the night's energy for a short while, you finally let him take you home [fluff, kissing, 1.1k]

.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．

There’s something different about the way he walks into a room these days. A gentleness as his eyes comb through the space to familiarize himself, not size up those in it. Tonight, Maverick’s buzzes with people desperate to forget the work week that now lies behind them. They laugh and drink and embrace the live music as it flows from the stage to wash their worries away. 

Joel expertly navigates through the crowd with a gruff string of excuse me’s and thank you’s. He'll never know whether they make way because of his manners or the broadness of his frame. From behind the bar, you watch him cross through a frenetic sea of patrons that part with every few steps he takes. The surrendered look on his face suggests that if he were twenty years younger, he’d allot time to work the room instead of having a one-track mind with a pin set on you.  

It’s not lost on him that your smile grows wider as he sits on the barstool before you. The chair creaks under his weight, but it’s a slight sound you have to strain to hear. He’s more interested in how the overhead lights bathe your skin in their warm glow.

There’s a quiet knowing between you, a familiarity that doesn’t need words to prove itself true. The moment he places his interlocked hands on the counter in front of himself, you brush your fingers over his knuckles before turning away. Upon your return, you place a bottle of Lone Star in front of him, condensation rolling down the sides. You twist the cap off for him.  

Joel nods curtly. “Thank you.” 

“No, thank you.” There’s a sparkle in your eyes. 

Joel raises the beer to his lips to quell his smile. You admire how his large hand nearly consumes the bottle. How Adam’s apple bobs with each steady sip. When he sets it back down, you tilt your head in a way that makes his smile bloom anyway. He gives up on trying to hide it, and you’re glad it’s a short-lived fight. The lines on his face become more pronounced, but he looks years younger. 

You cross your arms over your chest. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Joel commits the lilt of your voice to memory like he has countless times since meeting you a couple months ago. Each time, the note is different. A little kinder, a little fonder.

“Should be criminal hiding a smile like that.” 

“Thought you said you got off at six,” he changes the subject. “That was ten minutes ago.”

“I did,” you say.

Joel tracks you as you saunter from behind the bar to join him on the opposite side. 

“Figured if I lingered, it’d coax you out the parking lot.” You fix a rouge strand of his silver-streaked hair as an excuse to trace the shell of his ear and make him shiver.

“This seat taken?” You climb onto the stool beside him before he can answer. 

“Was sitting out there wasting my gas ‘cause of you.” He’s willing to waste way more than that.

“My sincerest apologies.” You give his thigh an affectionate squeeze. 

A month ago, Joel would’ve graciously pushed your hand away because of the thought of too many eyes. Too many trains of thought that could derail full steam ahead in the wrong direction. He learned from his father to keep his cards close to his chest—good hand or bad. In the end, all that mattered was how he deciphered their potential and chose to play them. But letting the world in was inevitable, and inevitability wasn’t always so bad.  

Joel takes another sip of his beer, this time to distract from the absentminded way you run your hand along his thigh, back and forth over his denim jeans. He wishes your touch was against his skin. You’ve always been so gentle that he’s begun to consider the possibility he could break after all. 

You briefly perk up in interest when the band starts playing a new song.

“We gonna sit here all night, or can I go ahead and take you home?” 

“What’s the rush?” 

“There ain’t one.” Life and patience are one and the same. “It’s just loud. A lot going on.” The type of scene that fueled him once upon a time.  

“We seem to be hearing each other just fine,” you say lightly. “One more song, okay?” 

Joel hums low in agreement. 

Thankfully, you hold fast to your promise. As the closing chord hums throughout the room, you stand and lead Joel out of the bar with one of his large hands at the small of your back. A few other patrons file out alongside you while others file in. 

Outside, as the Maverick’s sign glows bright, fluorescent red, the warm air is a welcome surprise. It’d been cooler the last few nights, and now there’s no need to hug your arms and walk swifter. Even though there are plenty of open spaces, you spot his charcoal f-150 parked further away than most cars. 

“How’d you know I needed to get more steps in?” You playfully peek back at him as he walks a few paces behind. 

When you’re seconds away from opening the passenger door, Joel rests a steady hand on your hip and uses it as leverage to turn you around. No sooner does his large frame crowd into your space until your back meets the metal of his truck. Every move is careful and intentional. Not a single second passes where he isn’t gauging your reaction. Ready to course correct on a dime. 

When a surprised smile curls at your lips, he dips his head down to kiss it away with a tenderness that aches. Joel’s beard is a welcomed brush against your skin. A pleasant weight settles low in your gut like a small stone finding its home at the bottom of a riverbed. 

He cups your cheek with a calloused palm as his lips move against yours. He takes his time. Let’s himself enjoy the softness of your lips, the privilege of your proximity. It’s the most spontaneous he’s been in a while, but the moment washes over him so seamlessly he can pretend he’s this brave every night. Pretend that his inhibitions don’t take the reigns more often than not. 

When he pulls away, his breaths fan over your lips as he looks down at you. There’s a palpable fondness in his gaze that makes you wish you could get lost in his dark eyes forever. He’s the constant you’ve been needing as life attempts to pull you every which way. Wise, strong, dependable.  

“Let’s get you home,” he murmurs gruffly, thumbing gently along your lower lip. 

The distant sound of rowdy laughter tethers you back to earth.

- 

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. I promise I see them all! 

JOEL MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[sematarygirls]

       ꪆ୧     ׅ    ⬫  A͟L͟L͟ AMERICAN ! READER ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ᰍ 

‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ✶ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ FIX HER UP‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ :  Looks like you’ve gotten yourself ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎   into a bit of trouble, sweetheart.

‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ♯┆WARNINGS.ㅤ─── suggestive

‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ “i dug my key into the si—” Chug-chug-chug—CLUNK. The sound of your cheerful singing died out as your red pickup truck, Dolly, came to a halt. “Oh, no, no, girl, not today,” you pleaded, turning the key in the ignition over and over to no avail. Poor Dolly had been on her last legs for awhile now, but you didn't have the money to get her all fixed up, and you'd rather die than even think of cheating on her with some other rust bucket.

You let out a frustrated huff, hitting the steering wheel. You looked up at your cracked rear view mirror, finding the road around you completely deserted—just your luck.

Reaching over into the passenger's seat, you grabbed your cellphone from your purse and begrudgingly dialed the number for Big Al's Autobody Shop, knowing full well that Al would try to hit on you and then overcharge you for the tow when you turned him down, which you can do when the Sheriff is your brother-in-law.

“Big Al's Autobody, how can I help you today?” Al's nasally voice came through the speaker. He was a bigger man with a beer belly and a big, ungroomed beard that took up half his face.

“Hiya, Al,” you said, your sweet-as-honey voice falling from your lips. “It's Y/N, I seem to have broken down out on Hickory Creek on my way home from Magnolia's,” you informed him, biting your lip nervously. “I desperately need a tow or somethin'.”

“Well, well, if it ain’t my favorite customer,” Al replied, his voice containing an element of flirtation, bordering on creepiness, that sent a chill down your spine. You could practically hear him grinning on the other end of the line, imagining his yellowing teeth and leering stare. “Hickory Creek, huh? That’s a mighty fine stretch of road for a truck to give out on. Don’t worry, sugar, we’ll get you fixed up. I’ll send someone right out.”

“Thanks, Al,” you replied politely, thankful that he wasn't coming himself but still on edge about the kind of men he probably employs.

“No problem, doll,” you cringed at the nickname, quickly hanging up the phone and stepping out of the car, your worn cowboy boots thudding against the pavement. The A.C. had crapped out on you months ago, and without the luxury of the wind whipping into your windows as you went 60, the hunk of metal was sweltering in the summer heat, even as the sun began to set.

You adjusted your bra uncomfortably as you leaned against the side of your truck, sweat gathering in the swells of your breasts as well as about every crevice you had. You shifted your legs, feeling the sticky sweat between them as you groaned. You just wanted to be back home in the cool air of your bedroom, but alas, here you were, waiting for some hillbilly to come get your car.

Your hair stuck to your forehead, dampened from the heat and the rushing around at the diner that you'd done all day, waiting on tables. You brushed the sweat from your brow, watching the sky and waiting around for awhile before the sound of a car engine coming up drew your attention.

You turned, leaning your shoulder against Dolly and crossing your arms as you watched the tow truck approach, getting ready to deal with whatever overweight, sleazy guy Al had sent your way, but you were surprised when a tall, muscular figure stepped out in a white wife-beater with grease stains, a pair of old blue jeans, and boots.

“Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble, sweetheart,” he drawled, flashing you that all-too-familiar smirk as he adjusted his backward hat on his head, giving you a view of his tousled, sweaty hair for a moment before he put the hat back on.

“Poor girl just gave out on me,” you sighed, watching him intently as he grabbed some tools from the passenger's side of his truck. His arms, coated in a thin sheen of sweat and smudges of grease, flexed as he moved, giving you ample view of his built form.

Rafe Cameron had a habit of coming into Magnolia's Diner every morning to order a black coffee and flirt with you everytime you stopped by his table, flashing that arrogant smirk that had your knees weak, but you knew your daddy wouldn't approve of him, so you tried not to daydream about him too much, but my was he just the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on.

“Please tell me you can fix her,” you spoke up again, knowing it was quite the ask, especially since the sun was quickly setting. You were hoping maybe she just needed a jump or something quick to get you back on the road.

“Don't you worry your pretty little head, darlin',” he winked, walking toward you with his toolbox in hand. "I'll have her purring like a kitten in no time." He said it with such confidence, without even knowing what was wrong, that it calmed your worries about Dolly but made your heart beat a little faster in your chest.

You knew this wasn't standard practice. Most mechanics would've taken the car and left you stranded, but Rafe was determined to fix her up right on the side of the road, like it was the most natural thing in the world. It had between your thighs getting sticky for an entirely different reason.

He set down his toolbox with a thud, opening up Dolly's rusty hood and peering inside with pure confidence in his movements and actions. “Shit, darlin', this piece of junk needs a hell of a lot more than a quick fix.”

“Don't call Dolly a piece of junk,” you defended, your cheeks immediately heating up as you realized how silly you sounded defending the feelings of an inanimate object, but she was more than that to you. She was your mama's prized possession before she passed, leaving it to you. She was family.

Rafe chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet evening air. “I ain't mean to offend,” he said, glancing over at you with a mischievous grin. “But she’s seen better days, hasn’t she?” He reached down, tugging at a rusted piece under the hood, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles shifted beneath the tight fabric of his shirt.

“So, you can't fix her tonight, but... you can fix her, right?" you asked, taking a few steps toward him, your brows furrowed and your bottom lip worried between your teeth.

He looked up at you, noticing the look of concern on your face that you couldn't have hid even if you wanted to. He had a soft spot for you—the sweetest girl he'd ever met. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice smooth and teasing. “I can fix her. Might take a couple of days—maybe even longer if we’re talking parts—but I’ve got no problem putting in the time.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Rafe,” you said softly, looking up at him, now that you two were considerably closer—and he wasn't sitting down in a diner booth—you noticed how tall he was.

His pants tightened at the way you said his name in that soft, breathy tone of yours. He could have busted in his pants at that alone, but that mixed with the way you were looking at him had him damn near dizzy. “Ain't no problem at all.”

“Next time you come into the diner, it's coffee and a slice of pie on me,” you insisted, flashing him one of those sweeter-than-sugar smiles that had him resisting the urge to grab you by the waist and kiss you senseless. He could imagine all the things he wanted those pretty little lips to do—but he was supposed to be a gentleman.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of your phone going off rang out, a startling contrast to the peaceful sound of crickets chirping.

“That's probably my daddy wonderin' where I am,” you laughed nervously, pulling the driver's door open and retrieving your ringing phone. “Hi, daddy,” you answered, pressing it to your ear and turning your back to Rafe, like that granted some semblance of privacy. “No, I'm fine. Dolly broke down, but I'm getting 'er towed to Big Al's,” you explained. “Uh huh, okay, yeah, thank you, daddy. I'll see you soon.”

You hung up, blushing as you turned back around and saw Rafe staring at you intently. “He's—uh—He's coming to pick me up," you told him.

He nodded but looked disappointed. He had wanted to offer you a ride home, get some more time alone with you. “I'll take her back to the shop and get a better look at 'er,” he told you, closing the hood and wiping his hands on his jeans. “I'll update you on her condition and recovery time tomorrow mornin',” he winked, making you smile shyly.

“Thanks again,” you said sincerely. It made your heart skip a beat that he cared so much. “It means a lot to me.”

“Don't mention it," he waved you off, picking up his tools and getting ready to hook your car up to the tow truck. As you watched him, you had the feeling that maybe Dolly breaking down wasn't the worst thing to happen.

tags .ᐟ   @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @lovemesailor / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @bradshawed / @rafeslittleangel / @bakugouswaif / @fakedhearts / @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 /

 

[hivemuthur]

Hii! Thank you for replying. I've read five things and loved it so much I wanted to send another ask, and somehow managed to forget to send it, but never mind here it is now.

I was thinking a viktor×reader who were eachother's first everything (early academy days?) but than the reader had to move away for schooling/work, whatever, but now they're back (sometime after the beginning of hextech) and have to work with jayce and viktor. How would that dynamic look like? They didn't breakup over an argument or because they fell out of love but because that's the way life took them. I'm imagining them knowing eachother so well inside and out to the point people just assume they're dating. (Reader making viktors coffee even better than he can himself, viktor making something to fix a problem reader has but never had a solution for, anything really). And I don't know, maybe, possibly, somehow the tension gets to be too much for both of them and they're both more skilled now and whatnot... (I could live without that part tho, is you feel like it doesn't fit)

Sorry if the ask is too complicated, I've just been thinking about it for so long.

I know it's gonna be a while before you can write it but I can't wait to read all of the other requests in the meantime.❤️

~🍒

Dear sweet 🍒 Janna, hello again! Here's your fic!

Same As It Ever Was

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! a bit of everything - fluff, angst (light), smut

word count: 5,6K

author’s note: this is very freeform, an experiment, kinda? A story told in vignettes, little scenes between Viktor and Reader since the moment she came back to the Academy interwoven with their past, sex included. For this to work, I've written current events in Present Tense and the flashbacks in Past Tense.

artist on X (obsessed at this point)

—

You brace yourself with a deep breath—just as you did all those years ago. With lungs full of air, you cross the threshold, and memories come crashing back. Heimerdinger’s lectures, suspicious cafeteria food, noise complaints from your neighbours when Jayce laughed too loud in your dorm. Your dorm itself—its lumpy bed, not enough cabinet space for your books, scattered notes, and long night study sessions with Viktor.

As promised, he and Jayce are there, waiting to pick you up in the entrance hall. Jayce is as giddy as ever—stretching, chattering, busying himself with the announcement board, occasionally pointing at something to get Viktor’s attention. He looks almost the same.

Viktor, on the other hand—nearly still. He leans on a… crutch? It’s a crutch now, huh. You wince at not knowing sooner. An extra brace on his leg as well. His form is more hunched than you remember. He nods at Jayce’s remarks absently, craning his head toward the door, and his face—oh. It lights up when he sees you, just as it used to. Your heart travels all the way up to your throat.

You have to force yourself not to skip. Jayce reaches you first, nearly crashing into you with his embrace. He’s stronger than before, his shoulders broader. Either he’s gotten taller, or Viktor looks shorter. He pats your back and chuckles a mumbled hi—but your eyes are already on Viktor.

He opens his arms in an inviting gesture, and you slide right in. He still fits. He still smells the same, though there’s a lingering trace of oil on his collar. His hair is longer, and his clothes hang looser on his frame, but he feels the same. His neck is just as pretty, his hands just as strong. They go where they used to—one to your back, the other cradling the nape of your neck. You take one last inhale before he pulls back, a familiar spark playing in his eyes as he says, "Welcome back."

***

You stared at the schedule board, squinting as you tried to make sense of the messy list. You muttered under your breath, crossing out dates in frustration when the door behind you creaked open.

A voice spoke from behind, calm and precise. “Do you need assistance?”

You turned to see him—tall, neat, with a cane at his side. Pretty hair falling boyishly over his forehead, eyes the colour of liquid gold, two freckles decorating his upper lip and a spot under his eye. His voice was thickly accented, and you suddenly felt dumber than ever.

“What gave me away?” you huffed, managing a smile. “Groaning or furious scribbling?”

“Eh, a little bit of both,” he said, leaning in slightly to point at a part of the board. “Let me help?”

You handed him your notebook, and he made quick work of explaining the confusing schedule. “Looks like we’ll be seeing each other,” he hummed, studying your timetable.

Thank the gods, you thought. Feigning surprise instead of relief, you raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He nodded, the faintest smile pulling at his lips. “I’m looking forward to having class with you. I’m Viktor.”

In response, you muttered your name in one breath.

Without another word, he pressed the notebook into your hand, making sure your hands brushed, then turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, momentarily dumbfounded.

***

You follow Jayce and Viktor through the lab, eyes wide as they show you around. The space is far more impressive than you remember—equipment gleams, wires stretch across the ceiling like intricate veins, and the hum of machinery fills the air. Jayce is practically bouncing with excitement, narrating every little detail with an energy that nearly has you dizzy, while Viktor stays quieter, his gaze focused, occasionally glancing at you as though checking for your reactions.

You’re still trying to wrap your mind around everything when the tour finally ends, and Viktor turns to you with a small smile. “Is there anything you need?” he asks, his voice as smooth and calm as ever.

You consider it for a moment, then sigh dramatically. “I would kill for a coffee.”

Jayce snorts a laugh, “Things don’t really change, do they? Do you want to make it yourself as usual?”

“Of course, as you mentioned—things don’t change, which means I still don’t trust any of you with your coffee-making skills, Jayce,” you reply with a smirk, stepping past him toward the kitchenette area. Viktor watches you closely, but you don’t pay him any mind as you start pulling out the necessary ingredients. “Do you want one?” you throw over your shoulder. And Viktor nods with a smile.

You fall into an easy rhythm, just like old times. Your hands work quickly, grinding the beans, adjusting the water temperature, adding the perfect amount of milk—exactly how you know he likes it. It’s almost like your body remembers, and you can’t help but feel a strange sort of nostalgia as the familiar process comes naturally.

The sound of Viktor clearing his throat breaks your focus, and when you turn, he’s standing a little closer than you expected. His eyes are fixed on the coffee mug in your hands, and the way he’s staring at it almost makes you laugh.

You hand him the cup with a raised brow. “Did I get it right?”

He takes a slow sip, his expression unreadable at first. Then, after a long pause, he sets the cup down carefully on the counter, still looking at you, and says quietly, “Perfect.”

The fact that you remember how to make it, that you remember him—how he likes it, what he’s used to—has him speechless. You watch him for a moment, unsure of what he’s thinking, and the quiet fills the space between you both.

“Just like before,” he says, as though to himself, and you can't help but smile.

***

“Okay, coffee or death,” you whined, pressing your forehead to the desk with exaggerated dramatics. It had been your fourth hour of studying, and the letters on the page began to blur.

“I guess it’s coffee then,” Viktor stretched his legs in the chair before scrambling up to the kettle. “I have no idea how I would explain a corpse in my room.”

“I do not care what motivates your actions, I’m just in dire need of something keeping me alive, or I will fail this class,” you mumbled, still buried in the notes resting under your face. A cup set firmly by your left cheek made your eyebrow quirk, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ah, sweet salvation,” you hummed, grabbing it and taking a sip. And then—

“Viktor. What is this?”

Viktor’s voice was light as he shrugged. “It’s a coffee strong enough to keep you awake until morning.”

You winced, shaking your head slightly. “It’s so strong, it could actually solve the dead body problem you’ve mentioned before.”

He chuckled at that, his gaze still on you. “I suppose that’s one way to describe it.”

You huffed in frustration. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

Viktor only grinned, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself out of your chair and crossing the room to the counter. “Alright, move aside.” You grabbed the ingredients with a practiced hand, preparing a new brew. “This is coffee, not the motor fluid you made.”

Viktor leaned back in his chair, watching you as you worked. “That’s very thoughtful. I suppose you can always become a barista if you fail the class.”

You turned, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Just wait, Viktor. You’ll see. If I fail, I’ll open my own shop. I’ll call it ‘Professor Coffee’—I’ll make sure the brew is strong enough to wake the dead.”

Viktor’s laugh was soft but genuine. “It seems you’ve got it all figured out.”

***

You reach out, barely muttering, “Could you pass me…” before the tool is already in your hand. You glance at Viktor, who hasn’t even looked up from his work.

“How did you know?” you ask, eyebrows furrowing in surprise.

He taps his temple, a small smile playing beneath his goggles. “I have a good memory.”

***

You frowned at your workbench, trying to put a name to the tool you needed, but your mind blanked.

“Can you pass me the…” you began, unsure, your voice trailing off. You made a small gesture with your hand, hoping Viktor would somehow understand what you meant. Without hesitation, he handed you a wrench.

“No, not this,” you said, waving it off. “The other one?” You gestured again.

Viktor stared at you, brows furrowed, before passing you a screwdriver.

“Not that one either!” you huffed, frustration creeping in—not with him, but because your mind had suddenly decided to fail.

The ritual continued, with Viktor visibly amused as your hand hovered over the various tools he’d passed you. Wrenches, pliers, a hammer, and a couple of screwdrivers littered the workbench. You glanced down at your notes, trying to remember.

Viktor hummed, looking from your desk to your notes. His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a knowing smile. “Ah. This one?”

Before you could respond, he was standing behind you, lowering the tool into your hand. His arms brushed the sides of your face, and you felt the press of his stomach against your back. For a moment, you froze, breath catching in your throat.

“A calliper,” you whispered.

“Well done, lásko,” Viktor muttered into your ear.

***

The clock announces an hour way past when you’ve expected to be home already. “Should we call it a night?” you ask Viktor, who sits opposite you, a soft smile curling on his lips.

“Some things have changed, then,” he says, tapping his crutch lightly against the floor. “You used to work until figurative death back in the day.”

“Well, I guess I’m getting older,” you reply with a grin, your tone light but laced with a touch of weariness. “What about you? Any big changes?”

He knocks on his brace playfully, lifting the crutch with a small gesture. “Besides the visible?” He chuckles softly. “Not much. Still working to the death.”

Your smile falters for a second, your gaze softening as you roll closer to him on your chair. You rest your hands gently on his knees, studying his face for any signs of deeper discomfort.

“Are you well, though?” you ask, your voice quiet, careful.

Viktor looks at your hands for a moment, then props the crutch on the desk beside him. He squeezes your palms, his grip firm but tender.

“I am now,” he replies, his voice low, almost like a confession. “Haven’t been for a while, but now I’m well. As well as I can be.” He pauses for a beat, then adds with a small smile, “And now that you’re back, I’m even better.”

You brush your fingers gently through his hair, feeling the familiar warmth of his presence, the intimacy of the gesture. Viktor hums softly, his eyes fluttering closed in response. So familiar, you think, a wave of nostalgia washing over you.

You swallow before speaking again, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’ve missed you.”

Viktor’s eyes remain closed, his expression softening, and when he speaks, his voice heavier now when he sighs. “I know.” He pauses, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ve missed you too.”

***

You and Viktor lay in bed together, tangled in the warmth of each other’s embrace. His arm was draped around you, and the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek was a steady comfort. The room was quiet, unbearably so, when you nuzzled into his neck, inhaling deeply. His scent—rich, familiar, like the warmth of him—filled your senses, and you clutched him tighter, as though trying to memorize the feeling of him.

"I'm going to miss you so much," you whispered, your voice muffled against his skin, your breath shaky with the weight of the thought.

Viktor hummed softly in response, his fingers tracing small circles on your back. "I know. I will miss you terribly too." His words were gentle, but there was a deep sadness in his voice that you could feel even without looking at him.

He nudged your face with his nose, his palm warm as it cupped your cheek. His touch felt like a promise, though you weren't sure what to expect. "If it's meant to be, we will meet again," he said, his voice low, the words wrapped in the quiet certainty.

A pang in your chest tugged at you, and without thinking, you leaned up, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was soft, but your heart ached with the knowledge that this might be the last time you felt him close. It tasted with bitter acceptance, as you poured every bit of feeling you had into it, hoping it would somehow last, somehow hold you both together despite the distance that would come.

When you pulled away, your heart felt heavy, like it was breaking in your chest.

***

You both sit on the couch in your apartment, papers and notes scattered around you, a quiet hum of frustration bounces between you. Viktor’s hair is dishevelled, falling into his eyes, and his shirt has found its way half-out of his pants, a few buttons undone. He stares at the pages in front of him, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and determination. You glance over at him, hoping for a breakthrough.

“Any ideas?” you ask, your voice tinged with a hint of desperation.

Viktor groans and rubs his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “You know what… I think I’m getting old too,” he mutters, dropping his hand to your lap. “Can we get back to it when I’ve had at least two hours of sleep?”

He looks at you, his hand settling on your knee absentmindedly, his fingers warm through the fabric of your clothes. You stare at his hand for a moment, before looking up at him. He seems so tired, but also so… beautiful. His rumpled clothes and tousled hair remind you of the boy you loved.

“Sure,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You look at him, really look at him. He’s always been handsome, but tonight you can finally see how much time has passed. The wrinkles carving his face deeper, jaw stronger, singular grey strands shining through the chestnut hair. Eyes the same. He doesn’t look like a boy anymore.

Wordlessly, you move closer to him and his gaze doesn’t falter. You cup his cheeks and brush your thumb over his lip. And then, your mouth comes close to his, into a soft brush, trembling and tentative. And Viktor responds with a hand sliding up your thigh and a tilt of his head. He cranes his neck and closes the little distance left between you with a sigh of relief.

His free hand slides up to your neck, pulling you in as his mouth parts and tongue joins to wrestle with yours. He gasps when you bite his lower lip and hums, as his palm slides behind to cup your ass. Fully in his grasp, he press yourself more onto him, fingers tangling into his hair, coaxing small sounds out of his throat. It’s wet and slow and when you peek through your eyelashes his brows are scrunched and a blush blooms down his neck to his chest.

He doesn’t kiss like a boy anymore, you think to yourself. It comes unbidden and warms your insides up.

The taste of him lingers on your lips as you pull away just a fraction, your breaths mingling. You barely have a moment to think before Viktor kisses you back, deeply, hoarse inhale taken straight from your lungs leaves you dizzy.

***

Viktor had walked you back to your dorm after a late-night study session at the library. His pace was slow, almost reluctant, as if he was trying to figure out what to say before you parted ways. You were too tired to wait for him to find the words, your mind still foggy from hours of studying.

“I guess this is goodn—” you started, but before you could finish the word, his lips were on yours. The kiss came out of nowhere, abrupt and clumsy, pressing you back into the door behind you. For a moment, you froze, your tired mind scrambling to catch up with what was happening.

Then, the realization sank in, and the sound that left your lips transformed from startled surprise to a soft moan. You responded without thinking, hands sliding up Viktor's sides, feeling the warmth of his body as you kissed him back.

He dropped his cane, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. His touch was urgent, hands cradling your back and drawing you in as you ran your fingers through his hair. Feeling your response, he grew bolder, shut his eyes and concentrated on drawing deep breaths through his nose to not have to part from you.

Hands everywhere, as if he couldn’t decide what to do. You nearly laughed when she squeezed your butt quickly, only to go back to your waist, slide into your ribs and then to the small of your back. So feverish.

When the oxygen run out, he broke the kiss but still kept you close. “I wanted to do this for the longest time,” he chuckled into your mouth.

***

He gives himself a good-willed push off the couch’s armrest but ends up trapping your hip beneath his. His face scrunches in worry when you hiss, but the sound quickly transforms into a laugh. When your stomach shakes beneath him, Viktor feels a strange swelling in his chest. This is so familiar.

He looks at you longingly, sliding his fingers into your hair. Your laughter dies into a moan when his groin presses between your legs. His tongue grows more eager now, as if he remembers just how much he used to want you. “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he breathes against your lips, and you respond by fisting his shirt, nearly tearing it. You try to say you’ve missed him too—fuck, how much you’ve missed him every day—but you can’t, because your mouth is full.

You brace yourself on your elbows, meeting him halfway. You’re not sure you can bear to part long enough for him to take your clothes off, so instead, you take his hands and press them to your ass. He accepts, of course, kneading your flesh in rhythm with his breath.

When you finally straddle him, your fingers move to undo the rest of his shirt. That’s when he stills. His palms come up to wrap around yours, and a quiet plea escapes him. “Wait,” he says weakly, his cock already hard—you’re sure this costs him a lot.

“Whatever for?” you ask, nosing at his face before pressing kisses to his cheeks, his closed eyelids. You untangle your fingers from his and wrap your arms around his neck.

“I should show you something first,” he murmurs, and begins to undo his shirt. You lean back to give him space to sit up, but your hips never leave his, and your eyes never look away from his face. You give him the room he needs, and feel unbearably not close enough.

***

You fought with the doorknob to your bedroom for a hot minute. Viktor, being very distracting, had completely derailed your brain from this simple dexterity task with continuous neck-licking and ear-kissing. He kept smirking against your skin, all cocky and pleased with himself, ever since the moment you’d asked, “Do you want to come in?”

You stumbled into the room together, and his fingers immediately shot to your vest. You hadn’t even blinked properly before it was undone, his hands cupping your breasts through your shirt, his cane hooked over his forearm.

Laughing and snorting at his clumsiness, you’d steadied him by the waist and let him walk you backward toward the bed.

Your hands fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, but they were small and stubborn, and you were too impatient. With a frustrated huff, you abandoned the effort and slid your hands over his shoulders instead. “Arms up,” you ordered, and Viktor chuckled as he complied.

He lifted his arms obediently, but as you dragged his shirt over his head, it caught for a moment, tangling around his face. He let out a muffled laugh, flailing slightly as you tugged it free, and the moment he was loose, he lost his balance. He tumbled backward onto the bed with an oof, propping himself up on his elbows as he grinned up at you.

You stepped between his legs, watching as his expression softened, turning almost reverent. His hands found your waist, fingers brushing deliberately over the fabric of your skirt before he slid it down, letting it pool at your feet. His lips followed the motion, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach before he rested his chin there, gazing up at you.

He cradled your hips, thumbs stroking lazily over your skin. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, his voice quiet, careful.

You nodded, eager, and leaned down to kiss him, pouring every answer he could ever need into the press of your lips.

***

“There is both more and less to me than there used to be,” Viktor says, rubbing slow, thoughtful circles up and down your thighs. His expression is pensive, and an apology lingers somewhere in his voice. You hate that he feels the need to apologise in the first place.

Your touch slides across his chest, down—down the leather ridges of a brace you’ve never seen before. It screams Jayce Talis with every bolt, every stitch, and your heart aches at the thought that you weren’t here when this was happening.

Your eyes dart between his chest and his lips before you finally nestle deeper against his pelvis, wrap your arms back around his neck, and crush your mouth to his in a kiss that weeps remorse. “You beautiful, beautiful man,” you whisper, pressing your face into his. “How are you so brave?”

You cup his cheeks, and he only smiles, covering your palm with his.

“I’m not brave. I just… survived,” Viktor says with a small shrug. Then, after a pause: “Would you like to help me take them off?”

You nod, eager, and lean down to kiss him, pouring all the fragmented pieces of yes into the press of your lips.

***

Viktor rolled with you across the sheets, his hands skimmed up your sides, warm and eager, fingers pressing into your skin like he was trying to memorise the feel of you. Your mouths met again, lips parting, tongues teasing—lazy and deep, now that you had each other finally.

He pulled you closer, your thighs bracketing his hips, and when you reached down, fingers curling into the waistband of his trousers, he let out a shaky breath. You grinned against his mouth, tugging them lower inch by inch, letting your nails drag over his skin just to hear the quiet little sounds he made in response. Finally, with one last playful yank, you pulled them off entirely, giggling when they got caught at his ankles for a moment before slipping free.

And then you saw it—his brace.

Viktor stiffened immediately. His hands twitched at his sides, and he turned his head slightly, as if he wanted to look anywhere but at you. "It’s nothing," he muttered, voice quieter than before. "You don’t have to—"

You reached out, your palm settling gently on his leg. "Viktor," you said softly, your touch firm but tender. His gaze flicked back to yours, guarded, unsure. "You are so beautiful."

He gasped, a sound so quiet you might not have caught it if you weren’t so close. His lips parted slightly, eyes searching yours like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right.

You didn’t give him time to argue. Instead, you leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his thigh, just above the brace. He shivered beneath you. Carefully, you undid the clasps, your fingers working with quiet reverence, peeling away the brace as if unveiling something sacred.

It left behind faint indentations in his skin—lines and ridges pressed deep from the whole day of wear. You kissed each one, your lips trailing over the marks with the same care you’d give any other part of him. Viktor’s breath hitched, his fingers threading into the sheets, gripping tight.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, barely above a whisper, he breathed, "You undo me."

***

You set the last metal part of Viktor aside, and now, finally—after years of longing—you see him. His legs are parted, eternal bruises marking his thigh and knee, the toes of one foot cramped closer together than the other. His ribs bear pearly little scars where the chest brace has caught against his skin.

His cock rests idly in the crease of his thigh, beautiful as ever—pink at the tip, his navel scattered with curly hair that meets in a neat line just below his belly button. His hips are sharp angles, his belly rising and falling with each breath. You take in this adult man’s body and compare it to the boy you fell in love with. And you are sure now—there is only more to him than there used to be.

You step between his legs, and his arms reach out, fingers tracing a scar on your lower abdomen. He hums, “This is new.”

“You should see the other guy,” you murmur playfully. “A machine malfunctioned at the lab. One of the energy conductors went unstable, and before I could shut it down, a piece of metal sliced me open.” You pause, watching his face tense. “I got lucky.”

Viktor brushes his thumb over the scar tissue before lowering his lips, pressing a kiss to it—slow, reverent. “My brave girl,” he mutters against your skin. Your head lulls back on your shoulders, fingers threading into his hair and you let out a sigh.

You shudder when he presses a delicate touch between your legs. His hand, more calloused than you remember, gathers the curve of your inner thigh—but oh, his fingers still feel the same. The same timid swipe across your core, the same quiet hum of approval at the wetness you've gathered for him. Then, his free arm comes to wrap around your hips, pulling you closer as he presses his ear to your belly and slides two fingers inside you.

More skill, you notice. A pang of jealousy coils in your chest—ugly, unnecessary—but you don’t let him see. He kisses your stomach, and his eyelashes tickle your skin as he moves his hand up and down and his fingers hit the spot that has you moaning out his name. “As tight as I remember,” he hums, and it lances through you how infinitely hotter he has become.

You tug at his hair to make him look at you. Two gold gems drill right through you when you say, “Viktor.” A sigh, then, “I think I really need to fuck you now.”

He smiles sweetly and kisses your stomach again. “Then it seems we are on the same page.”

***

After a lot of fumbling, adjusting, and whispered curses, you finally found what worked. Viktor propped his knee up with a pillow, his other leg hooked under yours, grounding you together. His weight pressed you into the mattress—not crushing, just enough to make you feel him everywhere, warm and steady.

He rolled his hips into you, slow and measured, his arm caging you in as he kissed you through it. The heat of his breath spilled over your mouth, his lips parting just enough to let out the quietest of moans. And even in the haze of pleasure, you could see it—the determination tightening his brow, the concentrated press of his mouth against yours. He was on a mission, and that mission was you.

One arm wound snugly around your neck, cradling you into him, while his other hand worked between your legs, fingers slick and diligent. He timed each stroke with the snap of his hips, coaxing you closer, closer—

“Oh—Viktor—”

The sound of your voice shattered something in him. His rhythm stuttered, his forehead dropped to yours, but his fingers didn’t stop, circling, pressing, working you toward your peak. You dug your nails into his back, rocking up to meet him, and then—

It rushed over you like a cresting wave. Your thighs tensed around his waist, your breath caught, and the pleasure crested so high it stole all thought. He moaned softly, watching, feeling every pulse of your release around him.

His movements became less controlled, needier, a touch more frantic. He groaned against your shoulder, muttered something in a language you barely caught, and then followed you over the edge. His body trembled against yours, hips stuttering, breath shaky as he spilled into you, his lips still parted against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds in the room were your slowing breaths, the faint creak of the mattress, and the heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Then, Viktor finally lifted his head, flushed, sweat-dampened curls clinging to his forehead. He swallowed hard, his expression abashed but glowing with something warm and dazed.

“I hope that at this point, it is merely a formality,” he said, still breathless. “But… may I be so bold as to call you my girlfriend from now on?”

***

Your hips slot back together as if no time has passed. He fills you the same way, stretches you perfectly, and the expression he makes as he sinks in—God, it’s the same. Crushingly fucking gorgeous. Relief and bliss war on his face, his lips parting around a shaky groan as his hands seize your ass, pulling you down fully with a sharp slap of skin against skin.

He nuzzles into your neck, breath heavy and warm, licks up the column of your throat before sinking his teeth into your tendon. You gasp, moan, and pull at his hair, and the low, satisfied hum he gives in response shoots straight through you. His grip on your hips tightens, thumbs pressing into your skin as he guides you into motion, dragging you up before urging you back down. A faint roll of his own hips meets yours with every descent, his restraint slipping as the pleasure builds.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice—he’s changed. There’s more confidence in the way he moves, the way he takes from you, the way he talks to you. His voice is deeper, richer, words curling into your skin like smoke.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, dark and approving. He drags a hand up your spine, settles it at your nape, tilting your head so you do look—so you watch the way he devours you with his eyes. “You take me so well, lásko.”

Heat spreads down to your toes. You try to bite back a whimper, but he sees it, hears it, and smirks. Smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Oh, he’s so much bolder now. And you’re falling apart because of it.

It starts with the way he tilts his hips just right, the way his grip on you tightens like he knows exactly where you need him. His free hand glides down your spine, tracing sweat-slick skin before slipping between your bodies. Two fingers find your clit, and your breath stutters. He circles once, twice—slow and deliberate—before pressing down, firm and unrelenting.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, voice like silk, like sin. He rewards you with a deep thrust, dragging a broken moan from your throat. “Let me feel you.”

You do—oh, God, you do. Pleasure overtakes you, crashing through your body in waves, pulling you under. Your thighs shake around him, your hands fly to his shoulders, nails sinking into muscle as you arch and shudder and keen his name. He groans, eyes dark and reverent as he watches you unravel in his lap.

Yet still, there are things that haven’t changed. The way his breath hitches when you clench around him. The way his moans turn desperate when you lean forward and suck at his throat. The way he starts to chase the pleasure once he gets close, gripping you tighter, rutting up into you with a fervour that makes your head spin.

And the way he comes—the same shudder, the same deep, gasping moan, the same way his arms crush you against his chest as if he could pull you inside him. His release spills deep, his body trembling beneath yours, and you realise it then, as you always have.

He is grateful for this. For you.

Your noses brush as he catches his breath, and his hands smooth over your back, grounding himself in the feel of you.

“Still with me?” you murmur, running your fingers through his damp curls.

Viktor exhales a breathless laugh, lids heavy, lips parted in something like awe. He nods, shifting just enough to press a lingering kiss to your collarbone. “Always.”

[v6quewrlds]

Need even just a blurb of angst and miscommunication Justin

She stared out the window of the sleek dark sports car as it inched through the congested LA traffic. The neon lights of the city reflected off the gleaming hood, painting the car in a chaotic dance of color that did nothing to improve her mood. She had been looking forward to this night for weeks—a chance to relax and enjoy her boyfriend's company after a particularly grueling work week. Now, it seemed as if the universe had conspired to ruin it with a multi-car pile-up on the freeway.

"I can't believe this," she said, more to herself than to Justin. "We're going to be stuck here for hours."

Justin shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the road. "Red lights everywhere, it's a mess." He glanced over at her, her expression tight with frustration.

"Hate this LA traffic." She huffed, her gaze remained out the window, arms crossed over her chest. "We were having such a great night."

Justin's jaw clenched. He knew she was just letting off steam, but her complaints were beginning to annoy him. He reached out and put a hand on her leg. "Babe, it's not like we can do anything about it. We just gotta sit tight."

Her eyes snapped to his hand, her voice cool as she shifted her thigh away from his touch. "I know we can't do anything about it, but maybe if we'd left earlier, we wouldn't be stuck here now."

"Well, you're not exactly helping, babe." Justin snapped, his discarded hand finding its way to the steering wheel again. His knuckles turned white as he squeezed it tightly. "All you're doing is complaining. It's annoying." The last part was said under his breath, exasperation leaking into his tone.

Her eyes narrowed at the accusation, the tension in the car thickening like the late-night fog outside. "And what would you like me to do, Justin? Sing a song to entertain you?" she retorted, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"That's not what I meant, and you know that," Justin replied firmly, his own frustration rising to match hers. "Just chill out. Stop finding something to be miserable about." With that, his right hand moved towards his phone in the cupholder, the blue light illuminating his features as he began to scroll through his music playlist.

The car remained silent, the tension palpable as she continued to glower out the window. The throb of the bass from the car stereo soon filled the space between them, a clear message that Justin was done discussing the issue. She felt her anger spike at his dismissal, her foot tapping angrily against the floorboard.

Justin began to sing under his breath, his head bobbing to the beat of the music. She leaned against the car window, feeling a headache brewing with every pulse of the music. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, exhaling out the irritation that was bubbling within.

After her third exhale, Justin's eyes cut to her reflection in the rearview mirror. He saw the tight set of her jaw, the way she held her shoulders. "You could lose the attitude," he muttered, hoping the music would drown out his words.

But she heard him. And it was as if his words had shattered the last of her composure. She turned to face him and for a moment she didn't speak. "Excuse me?" she said, her voice measured and cold.

Justin's eyes flicked to hers for a brief second before returning to the road. "I said, you could lose the attitude. We're both tired, but that doesn't give you a free pass to be like this."

She felt a flare of anger. "Like what? Tired and upset? Last time I checked, that's a pretty normal human reaction to being stuck in traffic after a long day."

Justin's eyes met hers briefly, the blue of them flashing with annoyance. "Whatever you want, babe. Just don't expect me to sit here and be miserable with you."

Her response was a frigid silence that stretched on until they finally pulled into the driveway of their home. The moment the car stopped, she gathered her purse, phone, and the heels she had discarded hours ago. Without a word, she opened the door and stepped out, slamming it shut behind her. Justin watched her stalk up to the door, forcefully tapping in the code as he locked the car behind him.

Inside, she made a beeline for their bedroom, shedding her dress on the way. She showered first, unwilling to give Justin even the smallest chance to join her as he usually did after a night out. The water was scalding, as if she could wash away the irritation that clung to her like the sticky residue of LA smog.

Her mind was racing with thoughts of their argument, replaying each word like a sports reel in slow motion, looking for a moment she could pinpoint as the exact start of their discord. But all she found was a blur of frustration and misunderstanding. Part of her knew she was being a little dramatic, but she couldn't shake off the way Justin snapped at her. It was unlike him, and it stung.

Justin waited in the bedroom, already having brushed his teeth and stripped down to his underwear, as he busied himself with the tidying of the bathroom counter.

By the time Justin exited the shower, trading his towel for sweats and a t-shirt, she had already changed into her pajamas and was curled up on her side of the bed, her back to him. The room was dimly lit by the glow of the charging lamp, casting long shadows across the plush comforter. He couldn't suppress a roll of his eyes before lifting the comforter to slip in next to her. The mattress shifted slightly as he settled in, and she felt the warmth of his body radiate toward her despite the space she had put between them.

Justin cleared his throat. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" he offered tentatively. "I know I snapped at you in the car. I had a long day too."

She didn't move, didn't respond. The silence stretched out, growing tighter with every heartbeat. Justin sighed and slid into bed, his hand reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Babe," he whispered, his voice soft with apology. "I didn't mean to upset you. Can we just talk about it?"

Her body remained stiff, the only indication she heard him was the slight hitch in her breathing. Justin could feel the anger rolling off her in waves, and he knew he had to tread carefully. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he murmured again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I messed up."

She stiffened under his touch, and for a moment, she didn't move. Then, with a heavy sigh, she rolled over to face the ceiling, her eyes still sharp with lingering irritation. She pursed her lips as she avoided meeting his gaze.

"I'm tired, Justin," she said flatly. "Can we just go to sleep?"

He slid closer to her, his hand finding its way around her waist. "Sweetheart," he murmured, his thumb tracing soothing circles on her skin. "We're both tired, but we can't just let this go. We need to talk about it."

She sighed, feeling the warmth of his embrace but not yet ready to give in. "There's nothing to talk about," she replied "You were rude and dismissive. That's all."

Justin's hand paused in its gentle stroking. "Baby," he said, his voice earnest. "I get that you're upset, but I didn't mean it like that."

Her eyes searched the ceiling. "How else am I supposed to take it?" she asked, her voice strained. Justin didn't respond, his hand continuing to move in slow, comforting circles. The silence grew heavier until she felt it pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

Finally, she turned her head to face him. "I don't want to fight with you," she said, her voice cracking with weariness. "But I can't just ignore how you spoke to me. Just give me some space tonight, we can talk in the morning."

Justin's eyes searched hers, the regret in them palpable. "Okay," he whispered, his hand lifting away from her waist. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, his arms folding behind his head. The quiet between them was now filled with the distant hum of the city and the occasional sound of a car passing by outside.

They remained like that for a long moment, the quiet stretching out like the vast emptiness of the unseen sky outside their bedroom window. Justin resigned to closing his eyes, hoping that in the morning, they could find their way back to each other.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before she was asleep, her body subconsciously moving closer to his. He waited until her breathing grew even before he dared to pull her into his arms, her head fitting into the crook of his shoulder as if it were made to be there. He could breathe easier now, the tension in his chest loosening slightly.

author's note⠀⁎⠀could've made this way more angsty lol

[fandomtherapy44]

Work Rivals Gojo Satoru x Fem! reader

Paring: Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader

Warnings: SMUT, language

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cafekitsune

CW: 1,815

Summary: Y/n and Gojo have always been in competition fighting for who's the best. So what happens when an elevator breaks down and they are forced to face their real feelings?

Satoru Gojo, how do you describe someone who is a giant pain in my ass! My whole life I have been in consistent competition with him our whole life. It started in high school, where in each class and each test I felt like if he was just one point above me he would be laughing about it to everyone. I mean, I wouldn't know, I haven't really met him, but I knew if I was not on top, my family would think I was a failure. We both come from super old families that always expected that we were the best in everything from classes to who had the best lunch. I’m serious about the lunch thing in elementary school, our parents would send chefs to school and would make whatever we wanted.

And somehow he would always beat me, always one point ahead of me. It made me infuriated, also my parents breathing down my neck did not help. So when we finally got out of high school, I thought I could breathe and focus on myself, I was very wrong. First day Gojo had my job too. Every day got worse and worse to this little competition. Also, it wasn't great that my friend thought he was hot and would constantly talk about him.

“Y/n!” She ran after me as we went for coffee. “Did you see Gojo this morning, like oh my gosh, can he get even more perfect like I’m pretty sure he was wearing a Gucci shirt.” She sighed dreamily.

“Kai, what does it matter if it’s Gucchi or not?” I muttered while stirring my coffee in my cup. Trying to hold back my disdain.

“Um, how about the fact he’s rich too Y/n!” She shoved my shoulder in disbelief. 

“He’s not that great!” I raised my voice without meaning to everyone who looked at me.

“You talk about him like he’s the devil reincarnated but you've barely spoken to him.” Kai studied me with suspicion.

“Wait? Don’t tell me you guys used to date!?” My eyes widened at that.

“No! God No! It’s just that we went to school together.” I mumbled again.

“WHAT!” I spring up and cover her mouth and drag her into another room.

“Don’t scream that!” I swatted at her.

“Girl how could you keep that from me! That you went to school with Gojo Satoru!” 

“It’s not like we're friends we actually were in more of a rivalry then anything.” I crossed my arms looking down.

“Is that why you pretty much hate him?”

“I don’t hate him… It just annoys me how perfect he is.”

“Gotcha… well if that was me I would have hopped on that white-haired train a long time ago.” She moves her eyebrows up and down in a suggestive way.

“I know everyone would if they could.” Another thing that annoys me. 

Our elevator sucks we've told our boss like twenty times to get it fixed so you know we don’t die, but it’s still broken. I enter it sighing thinking about all the work I had to do and then I hear a voice yelling to hold the door.

“Wait, hold the door!” It was a smooth, low voice, the kind that would make any person pass out. And of course, it has to belong to fucking Gojo Satoru.

“Close close come on close!” I slammed on the button but the thing is broken so it’s slow as all hell.

“Thanks L/n.” He has a little pep in his step getting in the elevator. I roll my eyes and step to the side. I have to say he looks handsome today. A white button-up and black tailored pants. A silver Rolex on his wrist, pointing attention to his veiny-toned forearms. When he shifts, you can see his muscles bulge through the white fabric, making you want to see more. His leather briefcase scented with a light pine mixed with his cologne which was a Seawood and cinnamon musk. I hated how he could just be that handsome without even trying.

“So how is your project going?” He asks me to try to past the grueling three minutes.

“It’s fine Gojo,” I stated flatly.

“What you're not going to ask back?” 

“Why would I? I’m sure it’s going great for Gojo Satoru.” I scartiscally say huffing out my chest. 

“What’s with the attitude L/n?”

“I don’t know, Gojo, maybe it’s the fact that you don’t even have to try.”

“You don’t think I have to try!” He angrily expressed.

“Really you're playing the dumb card. Fine play it that way.” I couldn't believe him acting like he didn't know what I was talking about.

“I really don’t know what you're talking about!” He threw back. It seemed all my emotions of the last years had piled up and were being released like pompi.

“What about the fact that you have always won every competition, every test and now even at my job!” He lets the words sink in.

“You mean those stupid competitions that our parents put us in when we were kids!?”

“They were never stupid to me!” I’m practically in his face now. The anger in my veins pushing me forward.

“Oh my gosh L/n! Is that why you've always been so pissy towards me just because I've won all those things! When it’s not even my fault!” When he puts it like that, I look at my actions.

“Well, if you did-” I have to stop because the elevator stops abruptly, making me almost slam into Gojo, making him catch me.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure someone will come soon.” He tries to reassure me.

The small canvan of the elevator is now encased in a blue emergency light barely letting us each other. But I can’t even open my eyes, being terrified, if I did open them we would throw down the shaft. He notices my fear and grabs my hand.

“Hey Y/n we’re going to be okay.” With those words, I opened my eyes and did something that surprised both of us. I kiss him. I don’t know compled me do so the fear coursing through my body or maybe it was years of pent up sexual frustotion in one kiss. As soon as I realized I did I let go.

“Gojo, I’m so sorry. I-” I didn't get to finish before he pulled me right back and slammed his lips on mine. Our lips had found a groove that we didn't know we were missing. This second kiss was desperate, messy, unrealting as he lead me to hit the back mirror. Our hands clawing at each other’s bodies. When we finally let go in the blue hue I could see his lips puffy and red and mine were left with a sweet sting. In that moment, his hands go around my waist and his lips go for my neck this time.

“I've always wanted to do this with you,” he whispers in my ear, making shivers go down my spine.

BELOW

“Oh you little-” I’m shut up by him biting down on my neck. “Fuck Gojo!” I moaned out.

“That’s what I like to hear~” He purred out. Gojo licks over my hickie and makes a mess, he suckles at my neck. His tongue licks all over the sore spot. He keeps on nipping and tugging on the spot making my body junt out looking for some more relief. He lets go and my neck is left feeling the cold, I then feel his bulge through his pants on my knee. I pull him by the tie.

“Does pleasuring women turn you on, Gojo?” I tell him as I nip and lick his ear shell. He nods his head. “Then let me show you my appreciation.” I pull at his ear again and get down on my knees. I slowly pull down his pants zipper. 

“You don’t have to Y/n.” He breathed out.

“But I want to Gojo.” I can see through his briefs that his cock was already leaking pre cum. And his bulge was taking up a lot of space of the outline. I reach up and pull his briefs down his cock pop’s up. It is the biggest I have ever seen, it’s about seven inches and his head is red and puffy, ready to be squeezed. I lick my hand and start pumping it. As I touch it, it instantly gets harder.

“You're so big Gojo don’t know how I’m going to fit this.” At that I put my mouth around it. 

“Ahh shit Y/n you feel so good.” he throw his hand to the wall to steady himself. His cock pusles around my tongue. My tongue makes rings around it. I can feel veins and his taste is delicious, it was sweet and salty. Like a chocolate crossient that would melt on your tongue. I start to deep throat and he can barely stand it. It doesn’t fully fit in my mouth so I have to use my hand to ring the rest. He then grabs my hair and starts to fuck in. He starts to go faster and faster. “I’m going to cum!” He let’s go. His cock flops out. “That was… fucking amazing Y/n.” That sent confidene all through my body.

“Thank you now are you going to fuck me with that monster or not.” He smirks and lifts me up my legs wrap his waist. 

“Of course I will I got to fuck the attiude out of you don’t I?” There’s the cocky asshole I like. HE goes to kiss me again. Our teeth mashing together. His hand travels down under my pencil skirt and rips my fishnet tights at my crotch. I am soaked.

“All this is for me huh?” He slid my panties to the side and line’s uo his cock. “I’m going to go in okay?” I nod and he steadily sinks in. Just at that I felt so full. “You feel so tight, Y/n so good let me know when I can move in.” I barely hear anything because I am so distracted by this feeling.

“You can move kay.” I get out somehow and he starts slowly thrusting up. I put my arms around his neck. His cock get’s comfortablpe and thicker. His hip’s mett mine with each thrust. His balls slapping against my pussy. It goes in circles, drawing more and more out of me. 

“How is it, Sweetness?” 

“So good toru~” I moan out. He then add’s a finger to my clit to really drive it home. “FUck!” My wetness is now gushing like a waterfall.

“That’s my girl almost there right?” 

“Yes!” He pumps a couple more time’s and my pussy squzze’s and we an sexual explosion we cum together. I guess Gojo Satoru isn’t too bad.

I also have another Gojo smut fic if you like! Valentine's Day

[usomads]

Slow Burn // Jimmy Uso x Reader

Author’s Note -> Hiiiii :) had this sitting in drafts so I decided to finish it… and I’m– 🤤. Will be working on more stuff in the coming days, so stay tuned! Also, my lovely friend @zyvngi made this clip and I just… yeah there was no way I wasn’t using it lol. As always, happy reading y’all!

Pairings -> Jimmy Uso x Fem!Reader

Warnings -> Fluff (if you squint), Cursing, Drug Use (Weed), P in V, Not Proofread, MDNI

Word Count -> 4.4k

You enter Jon’s house as you always did, swinging the door open without knocking and waltzing right inside– your body collapsing on his living room couch. Media had kicked your ass today, more than usual, and you were definitely feeling the effects of it. Jon happened to have a day off today, one that was hard to come by, especially with the work you two did at WWE– him being a talent and you a producer. That’s how the two of you met 4 years ago, and you’ve been inseparable ever since.

“Well, good afternoon to you too, princess.” Jon teases, as you shoot daggers at him. 

“I don’t know how much more I can fuckin’ take. Paul’s driving me crazy, the work is endless, and absolutely nobody seems to appreciate how much work I’m putting into this to make shit happen every show. I’m about to fuckin’ lose it.” You groan, flopping down onto the couch and rubbing your eyes.

Jon leans against the island countertop, grinning, clearly amused by your frustration. “Sounds like you’ve had a day… wanna vent or just keep it low-key?”

You sigh dramatically, sitting up on the couch. “No, no, I should probably let it all out. I swear, I’ve been busting my ass, and every time I think I’m ahead, something else gets thrown on me. And everyone thinks I’m this superhero that can just fuckin’ fix it,” you pause, rubbing your temples. “I just want a break, but I feel like there’s no time to take one.”

He nods sympathetically, then walks over to the end table and pulls something from the drawer. “You really need to take a break though, you keep goin’ like that, you’re gonna burn yourself out.”

You laugh bitterly, half-glancing at him. “I know, I know. It’s like I don't even know how to take a break anymore. It’s always work, work, and more work.”

Jon takes out a joint from his pocket and lights it casually, raising an eyebrow at you. “You want some help with that?”

He takes a slow drag, exhaling slowly as you stare at him– shocked.

“You… smoke?”

He laughs, shrugging nonchalantly as he continues to puff on the joint. “Yeah, ‘s not somethin’ I bring up, but yeah, sometimes it helps me unwind. And you look like you could use a lil’ somethin’ to take the edge off.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “I just… I never thought you’d be the type to do… that.”

“What, smoke?” he chuckles. “Well, you never really asked. Trust me though, a little bit won’t hurt. It’s just us, Y/N. No work, no stress…” he grins, taking another drag then passing it to you.

You’re hesitant, but also curious. You take the joint from him, your voice getting soft.

“I don’t know… I’ve never done… this before.”

Jon smirks at you, sitting down and leaning back on the couch as he grabs another joint– one for himself. “First time for everything, right? No pressure, ma. Just take it slow.”

Nervously, you take a drag, coughing slightly. “Oh my god…” 

He laughs softly, leaning closer to you and offering you a reassuring smile. “Yeah, it can be a bit much at first. Just breathe through it, you’ll get used to it.”

You exhale, giggling nervously and shaking your head. “Okay, okay, I’m definitely not used to it. But… this actually feels kinda nice.” 

You’re growing more confident by the second, taking another drag. Jon watches you intently, a gentle smile on his face.

“That’s it, you’re doin’ great, ma. You deserve to feel nice, just let go of all that stress, you know?” he soothes you, his voice dropping lower than usual. 

As the night goes on, you both start to relax, the conversation flowing more freely. The effects of the joint take hold, and the atmosphere shifts in a way that has allowed the two of you to open up in a way you hadn’t before. You lean back against the couch, your eyes a little heavier but more relaxed. 

“You know, I never realized how much I needed this… to chill. I feel like I’m always runnin’ around, doin’ everything for everyone, and never doin’ anything for myself.”

Jon nods, a softer tone to his voice as he responds to you, looking at you intently. “I get it. You’re always taking care of other people, but you forget about you. You deserve to slow down. You gotta take care of yourself, too. Not everything’s on you.”

You turn to look at him, the weight of his words hitting you deep within your chest. “I don’t know why I feel like I have to do everything. It’s like if I stop, everything’s gonna fall apart.”

He softens, his expression growing more serious. “You don’t have to be everything to everyone, you’re enough just as you are. But I get it, you don’t want to disappoint people.”

A moment of quiet rushes in between them as the room feels more intimate, the casual chatter fading into something more profound. The connection between you feels intense, a shared vulnerability settling in. 

You look down, almost embarrassed, as you speak softly. “Maybe I don’t know how to stop being so… perfect. Like, I always have to keep everything together. I don’t know how to let someone help me.”

Jon reaches over and tilts your chin to face him, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to always be perfect, Y/N. With me, you can just be you, no pressure.”

The mood shifts. Your eyes lock, and there’s an undeniable charge between you, something unspoken but deeply felt. The air is thick with tension as you unconsciously move closer together. Before you can even process it, Jon leans in and kisses you, slow and unexpected. It’s not rushed, but full of emotion, a silent acknowledgement of everything you’ve both been feeling. The kiss deepens naturally, your mutual desire growing, and in that moment, the world outside fades. Reality hits you after a moment and you pull back slightly, eyes wide in shock as your breath catches in your throat. 

“Wha–?”

He pulls back quickly, his own eyes growing wide, clearly panicked. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to– I just– I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have–”

He stands up, pacing slightly, his hand running through his hair. After a beat you stand as well, still in shock as you move towards him and gently place your hand on his arm. 

“Jon…” 

He turns to you, his eyes pinged in fear and nervousness as he looks at you. You step closer, looking at him with a soft but intense gaze. Before he can utter another word, you reach up, gently pulling him back down to you, kissing him again– this time with more certainty, as if you had wanted it too. You pull away slightly, breathing a little heavier as his eyes search yours, his expression mixed with relief and surprise– then, a smile starts to form on his face. 

Jon leans in, his forehead nearly brushing yours as that signature smirk of his plays on his lips. “Damn, Y/N… You got me over here thinking I messed up, and then you go and kiss me like that?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s something deeper laced within it—something raw, something real.

You exhale a soft laugh, still feeling the warmth of his lips lingering on yours. “Maybe I just wanted to shut you up,” you tease, running a hand through his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

Jon’s grin widens, his hands still resting on your waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles against your skin. “Oh, word? That’s how you feel?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Nah, Y/N. I think you’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

You raise a brow, playing along. “And if I have?”

His gaze darkens, his fingers tightening just slightly at your waist. “Then I’d say we got a whole lot of catching up to do.”

Before you can respond, he reaches over to grab the joint resting in the ashtray nearby, taking a slow drag before bringing it to your lips. “Here,” he murmurs, voice dripping with something dangerously smooth. “Relax a little. We got all night.”

You hold his gaze as you take a hit, the smoke curling between you as he watches you, his eyes flicking down to your lips before dragging back up. The tension between you thickens, wrapping around you both like a slow burn.

Jon leans back slightly, exhaling, his lips curving into a lazy smile. “You always look this good when you’re high, or is it just ‘cause you’re sittin’ here with me?”

You smirk, handing the joint back to him, your fingers deliberately brushing against his. “I don’t know, Uce… Maybe it’s just you.”

His laughter is deep, rich, sending a shiver down your spine. “See, now you just gassin’ me up,” he murmurs, tilting his head as he studies you. “But I ain’t mad at it.”

You shake your head, biting your lip as you watch him. “You like the attention, huh?”

Jon leans in again, this time close enough that his nose nearly brushes yours, his voice nothing but a husky whisper. “I like it when it’s from you.”

Your heart stutters, and for a moment, all you can hear is the faint hum of music in the background and the sound of your own breathing. The world outside doesn’t matter—right now, it’s just you and him, the air thick with smoke and something even more intoxicating.

“Say the word, Y/N,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing up your arm, slow, deliberate. “Tell me you want this as bad as I do.”

You swallow hard, meeting his gaze, your pulse pounding in your ears. Then, with a small smirk, you whisper, “What took you so long to figure that out?”

Jon grins, and before you can say another word, his lips are back on yours, the kiss deeper, more urgent, as if he’s making up for lost time. He groans softly against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls you flush against him. The warmth of his body, the lingering haze of smoke in the air, and the way his fingers tease at the small of your back all send a slow-burning heat through you.

“You tryna drive me crazy, huh?” he mumbles between kisses, his voice husky, dripping with amusement and something deeper.

You smirk, tilting your head slightly to the side as you let your fingers trail up his chest. “I think I already have.”

Jon exhales a slow laugh, shaking his head before taking another hit of the joint, watching you through half-lidded eyes. “Oh, you definitely have,” he murmurs, exhaling the smoke lazily before slipping a hand up to cup your jaw, tilting your chin back slightly. “But I ain’t mad at it, baby.”

Your breath catches as his thumb traces along your bottom lip, his touch featherlight but enough to send a shiver straight down your spine. You hold his gaze, letting your lips part slightly, teasing him just enough before you take the joint from his fingers and bring it to your lips. His eyes darken as he watches you, his expression shifting into something unreadable but entirely consuming.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” you murmur after a slow exhale, the smoke curling between you both, “and I’m gonna start thinking you want me.”

Jon chuckles, shaking his head as he licks his lips. “Oh, I been wantin’ yo’ fine ass,” he admits, his voice dropping lower, thick with something almost possessive. “Just been waitin’ for you to catch up.”

Your pulse quickens at his words, at the weight behind them, at the way his fingers are still tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the pull between you both magnetic, undeniable.

“And what happens now that I have?” you ask, arching a brow, challenging him, teasing him.

Jon grins, slow and knowing, his hands sliding down to your hips before he pulls you onto his lap, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Now? Now I finally get to show you how bad.”

His words send a spark of electricity through you, your body reacting before your mind can catch up. You tangle your fingers into his hair, tugging slightly just to hear the way his breath hitches, the way his grip on you tightens.

“Damn,” he chuckles, his nose brushing against your cheek as he tilts your head, lips ghosting over yours but not quite touching. “You really been holdin’ out on me, huh?”

You smirk, your fingers still tangled in his curls as you whisper, “Maybe I just wanted you to work for it.”

Jon lets out a deep, satisfied hum, his lips finally capturing yours again, this time with even more urgency, more fire. His hands roam your body, fingertips grazing exposed skin, setting every nerve ablaze.

“Mm,” he murmurs between kisses, pulling back just enough to let his forehead rest against yours. “I don’t mind puttin’ in the work, baby. Not if it means I get to keep you right here.”

Jon’s grip tightens on your hips as he tilts his head back slightly, looking up at you with a mix of amusement and hunger. His fingers trace slow, teasing patterns along your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine. The warmth of his hands, the faint burn of the smoke in your lungs, and the deep pull of his gaze make your head spin in the best way possible.

“You really got me like this, huh?” he murmurs, his voice husky, rough around the edges. He smirks, exhaling a slow breath as his fingers press just a little harder into your waist. “Sittin’ on my lap, lookin’ at me like you already know what you doin’ to me.”

You bite your lip, dragging your nails gently down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. “Maybe I do,” you tease, tilting your head slightly, watching his expression shift. “And maybe I like it.”

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head as his hands slide up your thighs, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. “Oh, I know you do,” he says, his lips ghosting over your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. “You playin’ it all sweet, but you been wantin’ this. I can feel it.”

Your fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt, holding on to him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. Maybe he is. The heat between you is thick, the air electric with the weight of everything left unsaid. But right now? You don’t need words.

He leans in, his lips just barely brushing against yours, teasing you, making you chase the kiss. “Damn, baby,” he murmurs, smirking as he pulls back just a little, enough to make you whine softly. “You really gonna make me work for it?”

You smirk, tilting your head playfully as you drag your fingers up the back of his neck, pulling him closer, your lips barely touching his. “I thought you liked putting in the work?”

Jon groans, shaking his head with a laugh before finally closing the distance, kissing you with a deep, slow intensity that sends heat pooling in your stomach. His hands explore, memorizing every curve, every dip of your body like he’s wanted to do this for far too long.

He pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, “You taste too damn good, Y/N.”

Your heart pounds as you smirk, brushing your nose against his. “Must be all that smoke.”

He grins, his fingers tracing lazy circles at your waist. “Nah… it’s just you, baby.”

The way he says it, low and smooth, makes something flutter deep in your chest. You were just playing before, flirting for the fun of it, but now? Now, you can feel it. This is more than just a moment.

Jon studies you for a second, his gaze softer now, a little more serious. “What you want, Y/N?” His voice is still deep, still teasing, but there’s something genuine underneath it. Like he’s really asking.

You hold his gaze, your fingers still tangled in his curls as you whisper, “You.”

He grins, slow and satisfied, like he just won a game he was always meant to win. “Then come here, baby,” he murmurs, pulling you closer. “Let me give you what you been waiting for.”

Jon’s lips move against yours with a slow, deliberate hunger, like he’s savoring every second. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you steady on his lap as his tongue brushes against yours, deepening the kiss in a way that makes your head spin. 

His hands wander, sliding up your back, tracing along the curve of your spine. His touch is firm, possessive, but there’s a tenderness beneath it too—like he’s memorizing you, committing this moment to memory. When he pulls back, just slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours, his breath is heavy, his eyes dark with something deeper than just desire.

His lips find yours again, this time slower, deeper, his fingers gripping you tighter like he’s afraid to let go. And you melt into him, letting yourself get lost in the moment, letting yourself feel everything.

He leans back slightly, his dark eyes drinking you in, his expression smug but soft at the same time. “So you admit it,” he murmurs, tilting his head, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your hip. “You been wantin’ me too.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but you can’t hide the smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe,” you tease, dragging your fingers down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. “What? You need me to spell it out for you?”

Jon lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Nah, baby. I just like hearin’ you say it.” His grip tightens on your hips as he pulls you even closer, making you feel just how much he’s enjoying this moment. “Say it again.”

Your breath hitches as his lips brush against your jaw, his voice like honey and smoke, smooth and intoxicating. “Say what?” you whisper, tilting your head slightly to give him more access, your pulse racing.

His grin grows against your skin as he places a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your neck, his tongue just barely teasing you. “That you want me.”

You let out a soft laugh, biting your lip as you slide your hands up to his shoulders, gripping them just enough to make him hum in satisfaction. “You’re really enjoying this, huh?”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression smug. “Oh, hell yeah.” He licks his lips, his gaze dark and hungry. “But I’d enjoy it even more if you quit playin’ and told me what I already know.”

You take a deep breath, your body fully pressed against his, the heat between you undeniable. “Fine,” you murmur, dragging your fingers up the back of his neck, playing with the curls at the base of his skull. “I want you, Jon.”

The second the words leave your lips, his grip tightens, his hands sliding down to your thighs before flipping you onto the couch, pinning you beneath him. You let out a surprised gasp, but it quickly turns into a soft moan as his lips crash against yours again, this time more urgent, more possessive.

“You have no idea how long I been waitin’ to hear that,” he murmurs between kisses, his lips trailing from your mouth down to your neck, his hands roaming every inch of you.

Your head tilts back against the cushions as you breathe out, your heart pounding. “Then why the hell did you wait so long?”

Jon lets out a low laugh, his breath hot against your skin. “’Cause you play too damn much,” he teases, nipping at your collarbone. “Had to let you catch up.”

You roll your eyes, tugging at his hair just enough to make him groan. “And now?”

Jon lifts his head, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. He smirks, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip before leaning in so close you can feel every word as he whispers, “Now, I ain’t holdin’ back no more.”

Jon’s kiss is slow, deep, and consuming, like he’s savoring every second of finally having you in his arms. His body presses against yours, his warmth sinking into you, making it impossible to focus on anything but the way he feels—solid, strong, right. His hands explore, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist before gripping you like he’s afraid you might slip away.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with something deeper than just desire. Possession. Affection. Something real. His thumb strokes your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the heat burning between you two.

“You sure you ready for this, baby?” he murmurs, his voice husky, his breath fanning against your lips.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding, but there’s no more hesitation. The tension, the teasing– it was always leading to this. To him.

You nod, looking into his eyes with a level of certainty that surprises even you. “I’m sure,” you say, your voice soft but filled with passion. “I want this. I want you. Now.”

He groans against your lips, his hands sliding down to the waistband of your pants, undoing them with a practiced ease. Every touch sends a wave of pleasure coursing through you, making it harder to think, harder to breathe. You tug at his sweats in return, eager to get him closer, to feel all of him, and when the last barrier is gone, the world outside completely fades away. 

He doesn’t hesitate. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer, and you can feel him, feel all of him, as he enters you. Moans fall from your lips as your walls adjust to his length, entirely consuming you as he slides in deeper. The sensation is intense, overwhelming, and it leaves you breathless as you both adjust to the fit.

You move together, the rhythm natural, fluid, as though you’ve been doing this forever. His groans match your own, every snap of his hips intensifying the connection between you. The way he touches you, the way he kisses you, it’s all so much more than physical. It’s about something deeper, something you both have been unknowingly craving for so long. There’s tenderness in every touch, urgency in every kiss, and beneath it all, there’s that deep, undeniable love that’s starting to take shape.

“God, Y/N,” Jon groans against your skin, his voice strained, as if it’s taking everything in him to keep control. "You feel so fucking good. So perfect.” He presses you closer, if that’s even possible, and you can feel him, feel every inch of his body hard against yours, as if he can’t get close enough. Each touch, each kiss, feels like an explosion of raw, unfiltered emotion, and as you move together, there’s an undeniable sense of belonging that wraps around you both like a cloak. His hands are everywhere, tracing the lines of your body, pulling you closer to him with every breath, every movement.

Your lips are caught in a feverish kiss, hungry yet tender, each one of his caresses sending waves of electricity through your body. His lips leave your mouth only to graze your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, making you tremble beneath his touch. There’s something about the way he kisses you, something intimate and all-consuming, that makes you feel like he’s not just touching your skin—he’s touching your soul.

"You feel so damn good," Jon murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. His hands slide down your back, pulling you even closer, and you can feel the heat of his body against yours, the way he's completely consumed by this moment, this connection. His lips find the soft curve of your neck again, pressing kisses there that make you tremble, and you can’t help but moan softly.

“Don’t stop,” you whimper, your voice shaky, your body vibrating with need. Every inch of you is on fire, every nerve alive with the sensations he's stirring within you. You want him, need him, and there's no turning back now.

He looks at you then, his eyes dark and filled with raw emotion. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N,” he breathes, his lips hovering near yours. “You’re mine. I’m all in. Always have been.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sincerity in his words, at the vulnerability he’s showing you. The intensity of what’s between you both only deepens, and you can feel the truth of it, settling between you like a promise.

"I’m all in too, Jon," you breathe, your voice steady now, filled with the certainty of everything you've been feeling. "Always have been."

His lips meet yours once again, and this kiss is different. It's softer, more intimate, filled with everything you’ve both been hiding—desire, love, longing. Every part of you is connected to him now, body and soul. You move together, slow and steady, savoring every touch, every kiss, like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

You can feel him, feel the depth of his affection, his love for you, and you respond with the same intensity, giving everything you have to him. The world outside doesn’t matter anymore. It’s just the two of you, here, in this moment, and nothing could ever compare to the way he makes you feel.

“Fuck, Jon…” you moan, your head falling back. “I’m–”

“I know, baby,” he groans in the crook of your neck, “I know.”

And as you move together, your bodies becoming one, there’s a sense of completeness, a feeling that you’ve found exactly where you belong. And when you finally reach the peak of that all-consuming desire, it’s more than just physical pleasure. It’s an emotional release, a release of everything you’ve been holding back, everything you’ve been too scared to say.

When you both collapse into each other’s arms, breathless and sated, you can’t help but smile. There’s no question anymore. What you’ve shared tonight is only the beginning. This is only the start of something deeper, something real. And you know that with Jon, you’ve found exactly where you’re meant to be.

[aggieharkness]

Have I earned it, mother? Chp. 7

Pairing: Avis Amberg x reader

Summary: she had never realised how cold blood could feel, how raw her own hands could leave her skin, how your presence lingered in every corner of her house and in every inch of her body, but you weren't in the room with and yet your arms wrapped around her waist as if nothing had changed.

Warnings: blood, mention of torture/abuse, injuries/wounds, mention of guns, mention of character death, panic attack, nudity, medical equipment and mentions of surgeries. I promise that there's hints of fluff and pretty things as well.

Authors note: Like a zombie, slithering through the ground, I come to you all bearing gifts. Here you have the newest chapter, that has taken me far more time than I had anticipated. This is the last bit of big drama that I will write, so fluff, romance, and smut will be coming your way soon. No one worry because I will fuck Avis's brains out soon, I promise. I understand that this chapter might not be to everyone's liking but I still hope that you like it and as always, be gentle but tell me If I need to be more graphic, if I'm lacking in something. I am here for you, my dear people, I listen. I also accept ideas and suggestions that you might have. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Avis Amberg.

Shoutout to @bravewithacapitalb for being my beta reader and for being there to help me when I got stuck and give me wonderful ideas. I love you and I will give you a barrel of olive oil some day. Also shoutout to @p2pecleanerwitheyes and @renyfisher for being wonderful human beings ❤️

Chp. 1 Chp. 2 Chp. 3 Chp.4 Chp.5 Chp.6

Word count: 30K (As an apology for taking so long)

Take a breath and open your eyes, my darling

Every sound was muffled, as if a pair of hands were covering her ears, her eyes moving from side to side in a sedated state when everyone around her seemed to be rushing around, up and down the hallway, doctors and nurses barking orders that echoed against the white walls. All the people around her were barely shapes, only clouds of colours that her eyes refused to focus on as the stretcher you laid on vanished through two heavy doors at the end of the foyer, leaving her standing over cold tiles. She couldn’t remember how or where her jacket was, a thin white blouse clinging to her body, the once pristine fabric now covered in splatters of blood and dirt, the imprint of your hand resting on her abdomen, the material having picked up every wrinkle of your skin, the shape of your fingers, every line that crossed your palm. She could even make out your fingerprints, the sight burning the skin beneath as much as the bitter tears that had formed in her eyes begged to fall and yet she refused. No one in that entire hospital mattered to Avis more than you, and when her trembling voice had asked the doctor if you would make it the gravely look on the older man’s face had been enough of a response, words never answering her question. That might be the last time she saw you, battered and bruised, hanging on to life by a ripping thread that she could not fix as they whisked you away. She hadn’t even got to say that she loved you.

Her entire body shook, adrenaline and fear holding her upright as grief and agony enfolded her completely, her chest rising and falling arrhythmically as she fought the sob that threatened to escape from her throat. She was perfectly aware that she was leaving dirty imprints on the clean floors, dust, sand and mud stuck to the soles of her heels as your blood dripped from her fingertips one drop at a time. She was mesmerized by the way it ran along her palm, slightly reddened by the butt pad of her shotgun, in slender rivers that followed the path of each crevasse on her hands, lingering in between her fingers before they branched out, coating her soft flesh and sinking deep on the imperfections of her skin. Only a few minutes ago the crimson liquid had burnt her skin as much as the muzzle of the weapon had caused blisters to form on the pads of her fingers, but they had been completely different sensations. She would have preferred to take a knife to the heart over and over again than to have your blood on her hands, the emotional, mental and physical pain almost too much for Avis. Standing in the hospital now it was as if instead of the molten lava that had scorched her, she was feeling the sharp edges of an icy river. Her eyes just could not steer away from the way the droplets formed around her scarlet nails and fell in slow motion, almost as if gravity both pulled them to the ground and repelled them until they crashed onto the tiles beneath her feet.

The sound was barely there, so quiet that no one should have been able to hear it, but it blasted inside Avis’s head like an explosion, a thousand bombs going off at the same time, rumbling inside the building like an earthquake that was making her tumble on her feet. She had taken a step forward, unsure of what to do with herself, and if it hadn’t been for a pair of slender and gentle hands that wrapped themselves around her arms she would have fallen down onto the hard ground, the skin of her bare knees scratched and bruised where it would have collided with the freezing tiles. Her own body was protesting against the weight that her legs had to support and the hands that aided her in standing upright, but she could not fight either of them, and as the heat of the person that was keeping her on her feet seeped through her blouse onto her skin she felt the freezing touch of your hands on her. It was as if Death had greeted her, it’s bony fingers clinging to your body as your lungs fought to draw breath, Avis’s hands never letting go of yours thinking that having her close could bring you comfort, her soft words, laced with anguish and the hint of tears that she refused to cry in front of you, begging you to not leave her. She still had the sound of your raggedy breaths engraved in her brain, carved in blood and fire so deeply that it left her lightheaded.

Guilt sliced through her like a dagger, a constant train of what-ifs running on a loop in her mind. If she hadn’t let you leave the night before none of this would have happened, if she had listened to what her heart was telling her instead of being so terrified of what her daughter or everyone else would think if they saw you enter her house and not leave until the early morning she would not be standing in a hospital praying and begging to any and every God that wanted to hear her to please save your life. If she had held onto you instead of watching you slip through her fingers like smoke no one would have got hurt and she wouldn’t have had to kill a man, something that she both regretted and knew was the only way out. She would not be crying venomous tears that clawed at her skin and ripped her cheeks to shreds for the only person who had loved her for her and who she had learned to love back, no fake smiles and expensive presents given to her to hide all those things she already knew were happening behind her back. Ace was barely a few floors away from her and the thought of seeing him hadn’t even crossed her mind, all her attention on you and the memory of your broken body, cold under her touch. How was she meant to give the image of the worried wife when the person she truly loved, the other half of her beating heart, was fighting for her life?

None of this should have ever happened, not for a film, not for the studio, they were only material things that could be replaced, restarted from scratch but the loss of a human life could never be fixed. She was well aware of such a fact, the sight of Lon gurgling and choking in his own blood flashing before her eyes for an instant, a shiver running down her spine in disgust, and as much as she regretted having been forced to reach such a point it was impossible for Avis to feel full remorse for her actions. They had taken you in the night, like the criminals they were, and had let Lon do whatever he pleased, Ace partially to be blamed for having granted him far too much freedom all these years, and for what? Among all the anguish that poisoned her blood, she felt rage, a fury that she had never felt before that rotted inside her and made her feel like the worst human being on the planet though there was no real reason for her to feel such a thing. But the guilt crawled through every pore and chanted in her mind that she was to be blamed because she had green-lighted Meg and she had accepted the position of head of the Studio when she could have easily handed it to Dick, maybe even to the board, and it was her, and only her choices, that had ended up with you barely alive in her arms. There was a hole in her chest so deep, so vast that she feared she might never recover, withering like a rose as winter drew in. If she lost you, your sparkling eyes closed forever, your angelic face still for all eternity with no smile to lift her spirits and make Avis’s heart leap in her chest, bruises and wounds she would never forget hidden under layers of makeup that showed only a glimpse of who you had been, she would lay beside your coffin and force Death to claim her because a life with you would be like a universe with no stars, forests without trees, her body without a heart and soul.

Her entire being felt as if it was caught in a hurricane, emotions drowning and confusing her in a whirlwind that swept her off her feet and left her floating in between rough winds that cut through her skin like sharp shards of glass, words written in your blood carved onto the weapons as they dug onto her body. Each word lingered like the last embers of a fire, and it felt as if they had been tattooed on her skin, blistering her flesh and consuming her in a constant wave of pain that she couldn’t escape. A rogue curl had fallen from her perfect updo, the ginger tones masking the specks of blood her hands had inadvertently left on her soft hair as it brushed her cheek, flyways twisting in frizzy ringlets on the back of her neck, where the warm breath of a person touched her skin. Hints of a floral perfume mixed with the metallic stench her body was immersed in, her brain slowly comprehending that Ellen was the one holding her up even if she was risking staining her blue suit with your blood. Nausea began to build as the smell became unbearable, Avis lulling her head back as her face turned pale, fighting with all her might to not vomit in front of everybody; she would never be able to face them. Not that she could find it in herself to turn around, afraid of what half a dozen pairs of eyes would see on her face and shaky frame, dishevelled and utterly miserable and broken, but worse of all was what she might see on theirs.

Would they pity her or be afraid of her? She could not blame them for choosing either of those options, after all, she was asking herself that same question, but if she were to turn around and face the answer when she was so down, when her heart had been ripped out of her chest and sliced until it laid in shreds on the cold tiles of the hospital hallway, she would not be able to recover. Ellen took a step to her left, dragging Avis along with her but the woman’s body sagged heavily on the other one’s slender arms, black heels scraping the tiles as the ginger tried to get her legs to work, weak and trembling as the adrenaline she had been running on began to fade leaving an amorphous mass of aching muscles and stinging scrapes behind, the small wounds she hadn’t even noticed before adorning her hands in a gruesome spectacle. She hadn’t even seen the skin that had been peeled on her index finger from where her flesh had gotten caught on the trigger of the shotgun. She was no longer paying attention to her surroundings, voices barely making their way to her ears as Ellen carried on pulling her towards the side, her oak eyes glued to her hands once more as if she was only now noticing what your nails and hers had done to her skin, hidden underneath the blood that was beginning to dry, coagulating and thickening around her wrists and on her palms, leaving a horribly disgusting sensation behind. 

With clumsy steps, Ellen managed to get Avis to the closest seats, black wooden chairs that were clearly too uncomfortable to sit on for long periods of time, but whether her friend noticed or not was of very little importance to her. As soon as the back of the redhead’s knees hit the cold seat her body crumpled down, legs completely unable to support her any longer. How could she feel everything so raw, so vividly and at the same time be so numb? It made no sense. There could never be enough words to describe the turmoil inside her, the pain, the shame, the regret, the anger… it was a mix of it all that ravaged her mind and slammed against her skin, destroying everything in its path and leaving nothing but rubble and dust behind. Every moment of her life had been the same, controlled, measured, even when she went down to the gas station, did she do it knowing how and where, but you had changed all that. For the first time in her life there was excitement, there was the thrill of sharing experiences with someone, not out of duty, but because you cared, there was a reason for her to wake up in the morning and get through the day, your smile shining around every corner, your eyes a constant in her mind, their life and eternal light getting her through the worst. You had given Avis her life back, her reason for existing, and now all she had was your blood clinging to her, suffocating her as the splatters turned into thin, sharp tendrils of crimson poison that wrapped around her neck, trapping her, slicing through her flesh.

She was falling apart, breaking piece by piece with each passing second, feeling how her own blood was seeping from in between the cracks like a waterfall, leaving her dry, barely alive even if in truth her body still drew breath and the droplets that stained her skirt and slid down her legs were not her own. Never before had Avis felt as if nothing but glass was coursing through her veins, the pain never-ending, escalating by the minute like a constant reminder that it was her fault, and she could not escape, chained forever by her actions to the freezing ground as water rose all around her, threatening to drown her. Ellen’s face was maybe a foot from hers, but her features were blurry, incoherent shapes that her eyes could not focus on, her mind too distraught and busy to pay attention to her, or perhaps she was frozen in time, stuck still in the car with your broken body in her arms, pushing clammy strands of hair from your face as if that would make the wheezing your lungs produced less gravely, as if your eyes would open and look at her once more as if nothing had happened. But it had, and her perfectly planned and controlled life had been smashed to the ground, dust clouding her mind, voices in her head screaming at the top of their lungs making her deaf, unable to hear anything but her own guilt. She wanted to run away from it all, to make it stop.

The night you came to her house for the first time with your old coat around your frame and a never-ending line of documents in your hands, she had thought you another of her husband’s conquests. A pretty young thing who wanted nothing but to become a star, after all, that was the only reason she had heard for more than twenty years why people move to Hollywood, but when you had told her that that was not your case, she had taken an instant interest in you. You were… unusual, to say the least, and you most certainly were worthy of her attention after what you had done with her, matching or even surpassing Jack and Ernie, but you had not left her after that. You had showered her with affection, your eagerness to please her endearing to her flirty nature, and as you shared more of your time with her, she became drunk in the way your eyes lingered on her body as if she was a diamond, completely enthralled and bewitched by the way you were making her fall in love without realising it. You had shifted her entire life into something worth fighting for, had made her trust her own decisions and stand firmly on both her feet, only to be caught in the crossfire in the end. You would be safe if she had stayed in her lane, if she had not taken charge like Ace had wanted her to, but as much as she wanted to blame him, he had not given the order to produce Meg, she had. To her she seemed as if she had been the one who had killed you with her own bare hands.

And it stung. Her skin, her muscles, her very own blood choked her with disgust and anger at herself, crawling through every inch of her flesh like a thousand cockroaches and spiders that wanted to eat her alive until nothing, but bones remained, but even then, she would not escape the guilt and the absolute grief that knocked her to the ground. She had shared things with you that she had never been able to tell Ellen, her best friend for more than a decade, your tender touch drying her tears, your rosy lips letting words of love and kindness drip onto Avis’s skin like a balm, healing her, picking up the pieces that life had left for you and building her again, gold and roses sealing each piece with each kiss. She could not bear the thought of never hearing your voice again, of not having you there to console her and tell her that everything would be alright, her secrets and her love laying beside you under soil and dirt as her tears soaked the ground under her, infertile lands that would never grow a single daisy, a single rose, vast plains of sand and rocks where not a drop of rain would ever fall. Void of life, matching the black hole inside her chest that fed on her despair, taking her light and her breath, with it, leaving her freezing on her chair, feeling the rivulets of your blood sliding down her flesh like snakes.

Would this be her life if you didn’t survive? A walking corpse, living half a life with the remorse that she could have prevented it all by keeping you in her arms, by leaving with you that night, by having pressed you more into staying. A thousand what-ifs ran rampant in her head, each making her feel worse than the one before, fuelling the fury and rage that hadn’t left her since she had seen the cross, only now anguish seemed to her guide and agony her path as a rain of daggers made pain a constant. The grip on the edge of the chair made her knuckles turn white under the dry and cracking layer of blood, following and seeping into every single crevasse and pore on both the palm and back of her hands, her vision unfocused. Ellen was fighting a lost battle, trying her best to gain her attention when Avis was in fact miles away from the hospital, lost in a hurricane that no one could save her from, slender fingers rubbing soothing circles on the ginger’s arms to no avail. The touch never registered inside Avis’s mind, lost in the ocean that separated her from reality, her body sitting on that dammed chair when her mind was still in that house, in the car, in every room of her house, and every room of yours, following the traces of your perfume as if she could find you and take you in her arms, clam her raging heart and tell herself that everything had been a nightmare. She had never wanted anything more in her life than to hear that you would come home with her, terror bubbling inside her as the thought of planning your funeral hit her like a building collapsing on top of her.

How on Earth would she do it if you didn’t make it? How would she choose your coffin, the flowers, the music… when all she would think about was the fact that her bed would forever remain empty, cold even if Ace woke up and returned home? You touch would linger on her skin, your ghost haunting her and the halls of her house with whispers and freezing clouds of future that had been take form you, Avis chasing you and your memory for all eternity as she lost herself to a madness that she never wanted to get over, because in that state of mind, losing all sense of reality, you would still be there. The tears that had gathered in her big, sorrowful eyes, broke through her will and fell in quick succession, burning her skin raw, leaving a bitter taste that mixed with the metallic stench that clung to her like a second skin. She had dreamt of a church filled with flowers, every corner breathing in lilacs and whites as she made you her wife, the love of her life walking down the aisle dressed in silks and lace of the purest pearly white, a dream that now could turn into the worst nightmare she had ever lived, the baby breaths and roses turning into lilies as her clothes bled into the deepest black the universe had ever seen, matching her rotting soul. She could not lose you and yet she could not stop thinking that no matter what happened today she would always remain your partner, your friend, and your wife until her heart stopped beating and her lungs expelled her last breath, and if life had deemed it right to claim your life, a fact she would forever resent, she would be your widow.

There were no clocks on the wall all throughout the hallway, but she still heard the incessant ticking of time that spoke of all the seconds lost into a past that could not be changed. Avis was finding it so hard to cling onto what little hope she had left inside her, the baby lights shining so dimly that the darkness that had built in her mind kept hiding them from her, its warmth at the tip of her fingertips, almost there for her to grasp only to be pushed away to the edges of the firmament. Why couldn’t she trade her life for yours? She would rather lay on a stretcher battered and bruised beyond recognition if you remained untouched, not a scratch on your beautiful body, your locks pristine and soft, your cheeks rosy and full of life, your perfect eyes glowing still as if they were not fighting to hold on to a ripping thread. Avis was freefalling down an abyss where there was no bottom, just an endless sight of darkness that took her away from you, or perhaps it was you who was being taken from her, but why would it matter, there was a rift building between you two that she couldn’t cross. She had never truly noticed until now how incredibly cold hospitals were, freezing in truth, tiles everywhere slamming shards of ice onto her skin, Ellen still trying desperately to get her attention. The blond could not remember a single day in her life when her friend had looked as lost and broken as today; the great Avis Amberg was crumbling in front of everyone and neither Avis herself nor Ellen knew what to do to prevent it, or if they should.

Sounds became bombs, and every breath, every footstep echoed inside her head as if she had an orchestra playing, every single instrument off-key and untuned playing a hellish aria that could make her head explode any moment. Everything irritated her, everyone unimportant to her right now, and suddenly all that she had been numb to only a few moments ago raked at her flesh, driving her insane, angering her exhausted frame to the point that without thought she pushed herself to a standing position. Ellen tumbled back, Dick quick to grab her so she wouldn’t end up on the floor, both pairs of eyes watching dumbfounded as Avis walked down the hall before pausing and retracing her steps. She was not herself, that was clear in the way her body sagged with each step, heels clashing and crushing against the tiles as her hands pulled on her clothes, nails piercing through her skin as the physical pain spread like wildfires all over, but it did nothing to quiet down her screaming mind. All she wanted to do was to make it stop, to sit in silence as she let sorrow consume her, but the world was too loud, too fast, too careless and cruel and its weight was killing her the same way it had done to you. Was this how love was supposed to feel when things were wrong? As if her heart was dying with you, like there was no tomorrow unless it was with you? If it was so, she had no desire to keep it, because she could not escape the pain, the memories that she held onto as if she was the one barely alive turning bitter with each breath she took, constricting her chest. If this was love, she would rather die than to be told you were gone. She could not bear a single second in this world if she could not go home with you.

Her entire body shook, trembling as if the entire planet was succumbing to an earthquake, tiles, chairs, and people fading in and out of Avis’s line of vision as she struggled to push air into her lungs. Everything around her was so bright, forcing her to close her eyes in an attempt to dim it somewhat, black spots dancing under her eyelids as she tumbled on her feet, hands flying in the air looking for something or someone to hold onto. They landed harshly over the freezing walls, contrasting with her almost feverish body, sagging and melting as her legs lost all strength, giving up under her. She was collapsing, exactly the same way her world was falling apart, every cell unable to breathe, lungs begging for an oxygen that Avis could not provide, the tears mixing with your blood as they fell over her ruined clothes scorching every inch of skin they touched as if they could leave blisters behind. Her knees bent, hitting the harsh material the walls were made out of as her ankles threatened to twist, her heels feeling like a thousand needles, her clothes like plaster that trapped her, unable to move. For an instant her eyes opened and focused on her hands, fingers leaving macabre paintings over the white tiles as her palms slid down, following her exhausted frame, traces of blood imprinted forever in between invisible cracks, Avis’s fingerprints fading before her eyes as the crimson streaks carried on forever. Her palms smeared your blood as if her flesh was completely covered on it, dripping thickly over her eyelids, falling off the tip of her nose, staining her lips and drowning her as if the only thing she could fill her lungs with was the hot metallic liquid that burnt her insides like lava.

She was on the verge of passing out, falling like rags on the ground, when two strong hands wrapped around her torso and pulled her up, pushing her off the wall as her eyes observed the work left behind, grotesque shapes of monstruous trails and partially imprinted palms staring back at her as the deep red liquid dripped towards the ground. Her feet never made contact with the floor. She was swept into someone’s warm arms, a whiff of pine and whiskey hitting her nostrils, but the smell did not make her nauseous as it mixed with the metallic stench, it was, in fact, a comforting aroma that she tried to hold onto with both hands, fingers curling around the fabric of a white shirt, colours that she could make out through the tears. This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid, to be seen as weak by the people who were supposed to rely on her, to see a leader, someone they could trust, but she was now only a shell of her flamboyant persona, a broken item that people would run away from. She was supposed to be Avis fucking Amberg, not whatever she had turned into, whatever this was! How could anyone look at her and expect her to lead them ever again when all they could see was a weak, crushed woman? They would never respect her again, she thought, they would never look at her the same, and that brought a sense of defeat that she hated with every fibre of her being. Gently Jack walked over to the seats, placing her back on the chair she had just vacated with Ellen hovering over his shoulder, pale as snow, slender fingers aching to comfort her friend, but Avis did not want to let go of the man’s shirt, or perhaps she couldn’t, locked in place. Every joint and muscle felt stiff, the adrenaline in her bloodstream vanishing like smoke, fading and leaving behind an utterly depleted and trembling body that fought with all its might to sustain Avis.

-Mrs. Amber, please, calm yourself down.

-Listen to the man, Avis. Breath.

Had Ellen always sounded so sharp, so high pitched that it grated her nerves while at the same time, it made her blood freeze in her veins? She wasn’t a cruel or rude woman by nature; Avis could not think of a single moment in the woman’s life when she had been nothing but gentle and caring, and yet her words were commanding, though in the ginger’s current state of mind, she had not picked up on the worrisome tone that had laced the blond’s words. Oxygen, she needed oxygen, no matter how much, just enough so that the ever-growing black spots would vanish, so the weight on her chest would stop crushing her lungs and ribs, but she could not seem to get her brain to respond. Her heart was pounding a thousand miles per minute, her ears ringing as blood pumped through her veins at such a speed that she was beginning to fear her entire body would explode, which made her shallow breaths ever more rapid and arrhythmic. Ellen kept trying to get through to Avis, but half of the words got lost in the rattling of noises and screams that echoed inside her head, and as her skin turned paler, a gruesome contrast with the splatters of blood, Jack took matters into his own hands.

-Ms. Kincaid, bring me ice, as much as you can.

-Ice? Why?

-Yes, just trust me, please. Hurry or she’s going to pass out. – she had not a single inkling why he would ask for such a thing, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt and rushed down the hallway and out through the white swinging doors, the sound of rubber scratching on the ground along with the screeching of the hinges floating in the air like invisible dust that gathered around the congregation, adorning and accompanying the whispers that fell from thin cracked lips.

-At least we are in a hospital if push comes to shove.

-Henry! What the fuck is wrong with you?!

Through the corner of her eye, Dick’s form moved as the blurry shape of a dark suit that stood a few inches shorter than the brown one next to him, and even though her puffy brown eyes could not see it, he was fulminating the younger man with a look that clearly meant for him to shut his mouth. He really did not know how to read a room Dick thought angrily, and so in an attempt to calm things down, Henry raised his hands in surrender and turned away, returning to his seat. Had Avis been her usual self she would have given him a run for his money, but alas she was still holding onto Jack’s shirt as if he was the only thing that was keeping her grounded, fighting to breathe as his hands ran up and down her arms. What must he think of me, she thought? A woman who had commanded him, who had stood on top as he pleased her and did everything she desired, a woman he owed his career to, to a certain extent, turned into what? She didn’t even know who she was, what she felt, what was left of her. But if only for a moment, just an instant, she could read his mind, see what he did, she would find that he didn’t see any of those flaws, the cracks she was so terrified of. She was so much more than just that façade she went around flaunting, she was a layered, complicated woman that not many had the pleasure to see in predicaments like this, and although what they had shared had been strictly business and had ended months ago, he did care for her. She had been through enough in her life, why did she keep getting knocked off her feet like this, the harsh cement scraping her hands and knees, making her bleed until she had the strength to get back up again only to end up back over the dirt, bruised? 

She didn’t deserve this. Jack had listened to her during that first encounter, the pain and the sadness that had laced every word in a way that she thought no one would pick up, breaking his heart little by little. How could he not when her eyes had been screaming for love, for anything, to anyone who would listen? Every moment spent with her had been filled with an aura of expensiveness and power he had not minded, a sense of respect, and to be honest, fear, running down his spine every single time, but beneath that tough exterior, an insecure, emotionally starved woman rested, a side of her he had only gotten a glimpse of on rare occasions and that now sat bare and open before them all. He had never thought anyone, or anything could crack Avis Amberg like this, but then again you were not an accessory in the woman’s life, you were everything to her, an extension of her being that anyone with eyes could see, two hearts beating in unison. Hearing Mr. Samuels speak hurriedly about what had happened to you had been a shock for the entire cast, and as Jack, Archie and Rock gathered their things to aid Avis he had stopped for an instant and wondered how she must have felt, how she was handling everything. Ace had never been particularly loving towards her, forcing a cold, tough layer of rejection to be cast over the hurt interior that had shaped Avis into the woman she was now, but you had shattered all that slowly with each kiss, every whisper and glimpse of affection you had thrown her way, melting the wax that had encapsulated her, freeing her at last like a butterfly that set flight for the very first time. Knowing that she could lose you at any moment had been just as rough back then as it was now, though kneeling before her trembling frame trying to prevent her from hyperventilating herself into a fainting spell, he began to think this aftermath was worse. He had not been ready for the sight that had welcomed him when Avis had returned from the half-demolished house, he had most certainly not been ready for what had been left behind in the hospital hallway.

Ringlets of ginger hair had swayed in the midday warm breeze, caressing the nape of her neck and her pale cheeks, all colour had drained from her face as the image of Lon gurgling and coking in his own blood played on a loop in her mind, as fresh as the splatters of the crimson liquid that had landed on her skin, like macabre freckles that painted her flesh, shards of bone having flown towards her legs shredding her stockings, small bleeding scrapes on her shins that his eyes picked up on briefly. The shotgun rested in a grip so hard her knuckles had turned white, Ellen running behind her completely out of breath but Jack’s gaze was not on the blond, blue eyes taking in the dishevelled and panicked look that shadowed Avis’s features as if the sun had vanished from the sky, the world eternally forced to live in perpetual darkness, no moonlight to show the way, no stars sprinkled in the navy canvas that spread above their heads. Jack was used to fear and terror, after all, he had fought in a war, but for some reason all that could not compare to the way fury mixed with horror in a way that made his skin crawl, Avis’s deep brown eyes reflecting every emotion as if her very soul was an open book. His hands had travelled down to her hips as his thoughts swirled deep in his mind, coming to rest gently over her knees after a moment, the touch of her cold skin and ruined stockings under his palms pulling him from his memories to stare at that same face that  shone with bitter tears, the crystal liquid turning pink as they picked up the red beads that had dried over her flesh. Neither of them could say if it was yours or Lons.

On his wrist a small golden watch ticked, the tiny black clock hands showing to everyone each second passed, the way a single second turned into a minute, then another, and as they accumulated in the air there was still no sign of Ellen, no footsteps to break the deafening silence that enfolded Avis’s rapid breaths. There was a constant rain of questions in her head that flooded the floor with no answers in sight to vanish them, making her feel as if she had lost complete control of her life, begging silently for a doctor or a nurse to come out and tell her what was going on, if you needed anything because she would give it to you, be it a better hospital, better staff, her own organs, her own blood, anything you required, but the hallway remained impassive to her suffering. She had been defeated, she thought, by her own hand to be exact, actions and consequences meeting in the same place at the same time at last. Jack’s hands remained on her, never ceasing the reassuring movements, not that they worked at this point, sobs fighting her physically to escape her throat as it gasped for air, the sounds making everyone around her watch in horror as she turned paler by the minute, veins visible under her translucent skin, but the boy would not give up so easily. With gentle hands his fingers travelled down her claves to her feet, and although the gesture might not look like much to others, he removed Avis’s shoes as tenderly as he could, placing her feet firmly against the freezing tiles.

The gasp that parted from her blueish lips was the first proper time her lungs had drawn breath in several minutes, the crisp, antiseptic air filling her chest in shock, but Jack knew more needed to be done. The ground would match her temperature soon enough and the shock would fade back to her panicking persona, but he could not leave her, not when her hands were still holding onto his shirt. He had to wait, much to his dismay, until Ellen returned. He would have to throw the garment away he thought, the fibres of the fabric ruined, soaking up your blood like a sponge, but he could afford to lose a shirt, there were millions of them on the planet, but no one in that entire hallway could afford to lose you. Next to him Dick and Henry talked in hushed words, the topic redundant to the task at hand, and yet Jack could not help wondering what was so important that had to be discussed right then and there when there were definitely more important things to take care of, but he was in no real position to interrupt them. The sound of a heel on the floor reached the young boy’s ears after a few instants, his head perking up to make sure he was not hallucinating, and just as he did that another one filled the space until the blond appeared through the swinging doors with a glass bowl in her hands, rushing back towards them. Her slender hands and bony fingers cradled the ice as if it was the most important object in the universe, as if those same hands had not touched Oscars, sculptures and paintings, not to mention pieces of jewellery that cost more than Jack’s own life. Nearly slipping on the ground as water dripped from the edges, Ellen kneeled on the floor next to him.

-What do I do with this?

-Help me pry her hands off my shirt and put them in the ice.

-But won’t it shock her… Oh! I get it now. You work on the left one, I’ll handle the right one.

 It wasn’t an easy task as Avis’s grip was iron like, hard and nearly unbreakable, but with enough determination the both of them worked on prying each finger off, the boy not caring much about ending up covered in blood, matching the stains on Ellen’s once pristine blue suit and Dick’s dark one, although you could not see them unless the sun hit him directly on the front. Avis fought against them at first, terror dripping from her eyes in between the sharp tears that seemed to never end, but her body was growing weak, and soon enough the warmth of the fabric changed to the heat of each their bodies as they finally worked her hands of his shirt, revealing imprints of scarlet red that would soon dry and remain there forever. Without a moment to lose Jack grabbed the ice and dunked Avis’s hand inside it, Ellen following suit, feeling the slicing cold on her skin, but her pain did not matter, blue eyes watching intently as her friend yelped and gasped once again, but this new shock to her system lasted longer, bringing with the sudden drop of temperature a physical pain that knocked her of her feet. It felt like a complete reset, as if her body had shut down for less than a second and then restarted again. Her tumultuous mind quiet for the first time in what seemed to be hours, breaking the cycle of self-deprecation and guilt she had fallen into, tears ceasing to fall at the unexpected touch of the ice on her sensitive skin, brushing painfully over her blisters and cuts, but neither Jack nor Ellen let her lift her hands. It somehow forced her brain to focus on only single thing instead of the millions of thoughts that had taken her mind hostage, registering one sense at a time, in this case, touch.

-Come on Mrs. Amberg, in in four and out in four. You can do it. – her gaze fell on his kind face, seeing him through the dark spots that had began to slowly fade in her eyes, hearing his deep calming voice as he counted. One, two, three, four. She took a deep breath and held it until the countdown began again. One, two, three, four. It was slow but sure work, and at last oxygen began to enter her system regularly, steadily filling her lung and every cell in her bloodstream, the dizziness she hadn’t even noticed before vanishing like smoke as a tender breeze swept through the hallway, taking with it every ailment she could possibly have and leaving behind only an exhausted body. With each inhale pine overwhelmed the bloody stench, whiffs of vanilla accompanying the fresh aroma as Ellen got closer to her. She had never thought of how sweet her friend’s perfume was, nor how manly but formal Jack smelled. Her mind could almost imagine your gentle berries lotion caressing her skin. – That’s the way to do it Mrs. Amberg. We can stay here as long as you need. In. One, two, three, four.

What sweet sound silence was, no screams, no madness that pulled her into a hurricane of insanities and grief, no voices grating at her nerves and playing with her emotions, kicking her while she was down, when she could not defend herself. It was heavenly to only have Jack in her head, not even herself as it was still stuck on the feeling of the terrible ice. It really was true what they said that one’s worst enemy was their own mind. Her panic melted of her body bit by bit like the wax of a candle, flames consuming them until nothing, but cold hard white rivers were left over metal candlesticks, specks landing on top of wooden tables that would never be removed. Parts of it still lingered under her skin, and would probably do so for the rest of her life, but with each silent tick of Jack’s watch her heartrate slowed down to a pace somewhat normal, the wheezing and sharp sounds of her lungs begging for help no longer in existence as they drew breath with relative ease, the boy’s voice fading into nothing as the attack passed. Chocolate irises could not bear to hold gaze with either pair of blue eyes, watching instead in disgusted fascination the way the ice melted under her palms, turning what once had been a most perfectly crystal clear water into a sea of pinks and deep shade reds that froze over the first thin layers of the mismatched cubes as blood clots fell to the bottom of the bowl, thin, translucent trails left behind, but this could never even begin to wash it off her skin. She feared it was all part of her now, forever stamped on her body. 

-Avis? – Ellen’s hand rested gently on the woman’s forearm, making her stare at the wet but warm fingers of her friend. She had never noticed the many wrinkles that decorated the pale skin, how short her nails were nor the way not a single spot blemished the back of her hand. They were small details that made Ellen so inherently herself but that for some reason the ginger had never seen before. – Avis, look at me. Please. – as much as she wished to run away from the surely pitiful glares she was going to encounter, she lifted her head, not ready to see the disappointment in everyone’s faces but at the same time unable to deny her friend her request when she voiced it with such a pained tone. As brown locked with blue she did not find a single trace of all those feelings that had been clawing at her, only worry. – Are you alright?

-I… Yes.

-You had us all so worried there for a moment. I was sure we would have to call for a doctor or a nurse. Are you certain you are fine?

-I am, Ellen. As fine as I can be under these circumstances.

-It’s not the answer I wanted but it will have to do. Take your hands out of the ice before you lose a finger. – Jack remained silent as Avis removed her hands, drying them on a handkerchief Dick was gallant enough to hand her, the soft touch of white linen on her wounds gentle and tender, even if the ice had numbed the pain a little bit. From the corner of her eye she observed the young boy, his hands inches from her bare feet, his countenance reserved, almost as if he feared she would yell at him at any given moment. Was he still terrified of her after what he had witnessed? Her hands trembled slightly as she grabbed his chin and forced their eyes to meet, but the gesture wasn’t harsh, her body could not manage harsh right now, and in those deep blue irises of his she found distress.

-Jack… Thank you.

-I… Of course, Mrs. Amberg.

-What is it?

-I don’t think I understand the question.

-Why are you looking at me as if you had just been through Hell? Did I say something or do something to you?

-No, not at all. It’s just… Well, I have come to think of you as some sort of friend and…

-And what? – How did she do it? Moved from nearly collapsing in his arms to looking at him with anything but kindness as if he was the one who had just been through the most traumatic thing in the universe and not her. Her hand caressed his cheek before it fell back on her lap, Ellen having removed the bowl from her friend’s thighs and leaving it on the floor to the side.

-You scared me. I had never seen something like this, not since the war and it was horrible to be face to face with the fear and the panic all over again, only that it was a thousand times worse because it was happening to you. You don’t deserve this Mrs. Amberg, no one does, but you, out of everyone I’ve ever known, are the one who deserves it the least. You should have never been forced to feel such horrors.

-Oh, Jack. 

-I mean it. You are my friend, at least I think of you as one, and someone as wonderful as you should never have to live through things like this.

-Life is not fair, my boy. The worst of people could live forever not facing a single consequence for their actions, while kind people, like you, have to face hardship after hardship. I’m hardly a saint, Jack.

-But you are no monster either. It is of no concern to me what you might have done in your life, but I am sure that it is not as bad as what has been done to you. You are finally happy; life can’t be so cruel as to rob you of that.

If only things worked like that, she thought. If only life could wait and let the world fix their mistakes before they sentenced them to pay for their crimes, but alas it kept on turning, waiting for no one, pausing for nothing, time running away from everyone’s hands as the hourglass turned only once, swirls of sand falling until the very last drop flew through the air. He was still so young with so many things to learn, and Avis felt so old, the decades she had lived falling heavily on her shoulders. There were so many things she wanted to say to him but all of them felt discouraging, heartless at most, and she did not wish to dim that beautiful light the boy possessed, a light that only yours could outshine. He had lit her up in every encounter they had shared but it could simply not be compared to the way you had uplifted her, put her in a pedestal and worshipped her as if she was the most precious work of art, dressing her in gold and placing roses at her feet, your essence, your light, forever casting a most perfect halo over her skin and underneath it. A shine that comforted and gave her the strength to carry on every day of her life since the moment she met you. You were younger than Jack and somehow you carried the wisdom of a thousand lifetimes that lingered in the way you walked, on the taps of your fingertips over wood, in each look and every word that fell from your lips, sweet as candy and soothing as honey.  

What wouldn’t she give to be staring at you right now and not at him, your baby blue dress draping around your bent knees like waterfalls, the gentle touch of your fingers barely making contact with her ankles instead of Jack’s calloused hands? Silence filled the foyer like an invisible gas that had rendered everyone mute. Suddenly heavy doors screeched, hinges screaming as they were pushed open making heads turn as fast as muscles would allow, a sharp pain running down Ellen’s neck at the motion, but she did not complain. A man in a white coat stepped into the hallway, years of medical practice engraved on his mature face as the heaviness of loss and work weighted him down, curving his spine as he made his way to the congregation. This was it, Avis thought, the moment everyone had been desperately waiting for. Her entire life was about to change, either for good or bad, and in both cases it made anxiety rise in her chest once more, completely unready for the grief that might slip from his thin lips, a nervousness that she could not control. But there was no need for her to do so, not when Jack, Ellen, Dick and the rest of them were there for her, would be there for her no matter what, and as the man’s steps got closer, the two of them held onto her injured hands with a caring and comforting touch. Her breath caught on her throat as soon as the man’s polished black shoes paused a couple of feet from them.

-Mrs. Amberg.

-Doctor Friedman. How… how’s Y/N?

-She’s stable for now. She did come in an awful state, I won’t lie, and she will need time to recover from the extensive injuries, but for now the surgery we performed to handle the internal bleeding was successful.

-So, she will recover? She’ll survive?

-You brought her in with several bruised and even broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder that we were able to handle before he took her to theatre, a punctured lung and bleeding spleen, along with many other minor injuries that the nurses are handling now. She was very very lucky, Mrs, Amberg. I can’t say that she will have the same life she did before, but she should get better, yes. -never before had she heard sweeter words. Angels were singing in her head as she released the breath she had been holding, the weight that had been crushing her for hours finally freeing her from its destructive grip. Relief was coursing through her veins as the doctor’s statement sank deeply inside her brain. You would be alright. Everything would be fine. And yet the man’s voice spoke in a gravely tone, his features darkened by the seriousness of the situation, putting a damper on Avis’s happiness for a moment. – I must warn you that her recovery will be slow. She is to be confined to a bed for at least a month, until I’m sure that her ribs have healed enough for her to stand without pain and once her legs are able to support her.

-What’s wrong with her legs?

-Her right ankle is broken, and she has a crack on her left femur, probably caused by a blunt object hitting her. I don’t know what happened to her and I don’t want to know, but it’s a miracle I’m not treating her for dozens of broken bones. She really is a fighter.

-For how long will she have to stay in the hospital?

-I cannot give you a specific amount of time, I’m afraid. It all depends on whether her lab work comes back within acceptable ranges and if there is no risk of her suffering any more harm once her body has begun to recover. We shall cross that bridge when we to it, if that’s acceptable to you Mrs. Amberg?

-Of course. Anything to make sure Y/N heals without issue. Could I… could I see her?

-I would usually say no as she is still in a very precarious situation, but I can give you a minute or two with her. She’s still under the effects of the anaesthetic and we did have to put her on a ventilator to reduce the stress on her respiratory system, so I’m giving you a heads up that the sight might be quite distressing, but it is only temporary. Can you handle that?

It crossed her mind to mention Ace’s state, just for an instant, how she had grown used to the sight of him surrounded by tubes that breathed for him, but her better judgment prevented those words from ever slipping out of her mouth. Without a second thought though she nodded her head, extracting her hands from Jack and Ellen’s tender grip, lifting herself off the chair and taking one single step towards the doctor. Jack’s hand on her knee stopped her just as her still trembling body had been about to take a second one, turning her head towards the kneeling boy to see him holding her shoes in his other hand. A sigh escaped from her red lips, the carmine slightly smudged on the corners of her mouth as she let him put them on. When Avis had been little, her mouther used to tell her stories before she had gone to sleep, tales from the old continent that she still remembered to this day, stories that she had read to Claire when she had been a child, before everything had turned to shit in her life. This very moment reminded her of one of those charming fairytales, but reality could never be as beautiful as the scenes in that worn-out book. Jack was not her prince charming putting on a glass slipper on her dainty foot, she was hardly a princess or even one of those ladies that wore tiaras and danced in room decorated with brocades and gold, and there would be no castle at the other side of the heavy doors. Avis’s princess charming was currently somewhere in this hospital asleep, waiting for her love to come and see her even though there would be no kiss that could heal you from the horrors that had transpired that day.

Her heels echoed against the tiles as she followed the doctor silently down the hall, feeling everyone’s eyes glued to the back of her head, but she never turned. She needed to see you, she needed to make sure that the words spoken to her were real and not just flimsy things that could easily be forgotten, taken by freezing drafts of cruel wind, and if she turned, even if it was for a single moment, and locked eyes with Ellen or Dick, her resolve would crumble. They would question her with one glance, and then she would begin to doubt herself, wondering if she really wanted to expose herself to whatever was awaiting her in your room, if she really had the stomach to see you in the same state her husband was in. They wouldn’t understand the visceral need to know that she had not lost you, that she wouldn’t have to fear a phone call in the middle of the night from some nurse or other telling her in rehearsed sadness you were gone. She was beyond grateful and happy that you were alive, of course, and she highly doubted anything could ever show and express the depth of her feelings of relief and utter delight, borderline delirious, that Lon had not taken you from her, that despite every hardship, you had fought and won, but there was still that tiny little voice telling her, asking her if it was real or just a panic induced hallucinations. She would have believed the later if Dick’s handkerchief hadn’t remained in between her fingers, the once perfectly manicured nails tracing the embroidery on the edges of the linen as the doctor held the door open for her.

In the course of barely twelve hours, she had gone through every emotion known to humankind, from lust and love to terror and anger, but this new fear that was taking hold of her felt completely different from anything she had ever felt before. Your body would heal, with time, but would your mind ever truly recover from something as horrible as this? Every time she blinked Avis could see the shape of your battered body on the filthy ground of that house, blood everywhere, your once perfectly alabaster skin now black and blue, not an inch of you safe from Lon’s wrath. But that had been but an instant, even during the ride to the hospital her eyes had remained on your face, never glancing down your body otherwise she would have broken down in front of you and she could not afford for such a thing to happen; you had needed her. But now you were somewhere safe, and she could not help but wonder what you would think of her when you woke up and told she told you about everything. She had killed a man for you, would you think her a monster? Was she truly ready for this? Her steps halted in the middle of the floor, the doctor not noticing her absence until he was around six feet from her, turning on the heels on his feet to look at her, eyebrows raised in a questioning manner.

-Mrs. Amberg? – those deep raspy tones that Dr. Friedman carried in his voice floated up to her ears, but they sounded to her like nails raking on a board, the undertone of his question lost before it could even be processed by Avis’s brain. Why couldn’t she just stop feeling so intensely? Why couldn’t her body just turn it all down for once and let her get on with the task ahead instead of making her feel like a scared child all over again?! For the first time in decades, she wished she could hold onto her mother’s hand.

-Come on, Avis. We’ll go in together.

In the back of her mind, she could trick her brain into believing that the perfume her nostrils picked up on wasn’t Ellen’s vanilla one but the floral she had missed for over twenty years now. No matter how old she got, how many years she cradled in the wrinkles that adorned her skin, she would always wish for her mother to be there with her, guiding her, telling her that everything would be alright, that she was strong enough to go and see you, to carry what you could not the same way you had been doing for her since the cold December night. Ellen’s touch on her forearms almost felt the same as hers, kind, loving, never rushed and never harsh, simply a statement that she was there for her. Turning her head towards the blond she saw a tender smile on her thin, rosy lips, and as if time had stopped to let Avis catch her breath, it began to tick once more as both women stepped forward in unison. Perhaps she had not given her friends enough credit, she thought, far too used to all those fake people that didn’t give a single fuck about her and her feelings, always believing that no one understood her, that she was everyone’s last resort when it came to things that didn’t involve money or connections. She was never even flirted with unless she started it, which always left her devasted by the time she got home. But Ellen was always there, listening to her, walking beside her down a hospital hallway just because she knew she would need a bit of push instead of telling her what a bad idea this whole thing was.

She made a mental note that she would make more of an effort from now on to show her just how important she was and how much she loved her. After all the poor woman had seen and helped her when she was at her lowest, when she had drunk herself to sleep after arguments with Ace, when she had had difficulties with Claire… The list was endless, and she could hardly recall a single time when she had said thank you to the woman for being there; she most certainly would fix that. In a small gesture of appreciation Avis moved her left hand until it came to rest on top of Ellen’s, the warmth of the blond’s skin mixing with her own bringing a sense of comfort that was very much needed, resumed their walk after a moment. The doctor guided them all the way to the end of the hallway and through a narrow corridor on the left, stopping in front of a dark wooden door that was marked with the number 217 in metal, each symbol hammered by thick nails onto the heavy planks. Her free hand shook as she pushed it open, the sound of several machines reaching her ears as both ladies stepped into the dimly lit room. It was exactly like Ace’s she noticed, with the same boring white walls and fluorescent light bulbs that flickered every once in a while, a single small window opposite the door covered in what only could be described as the grimmest grey curtains in existence, the smell of antiseptic and blood heavy in the air.

The sight was indeed anything but grotesque, crude, simply utterly heartbreaking. Your gentle frame lay underneath white bedsheets and a grey thick blanket; your skeletal body dressed in a gown that did nothing to hide the thousands of bruises that painted your skin. Dried blood remained stuck to your golden locks, turning them dark over the pillow, a mosaic of gruesome shades that made nausea rise in Avis’s throat for a moment, the acidic taste of vomit gracing the back of her tongue. You look so small, so tiny and broken in that big bed, wires and tubes circling your body in every angle and direction possible, dark glass bottles of blood and medication handing from drips, injected into your veins through yellowish tubes and wrapped around your arms and hands to prevent them from slipping, though you showed no signs of being on the verge of waking up any time soon. There were still red tinges on the parts of your skin that were not covered in bandages or plaster, the hues of death that refused to leave you just yet, on your temple, on the tips of your fingertips, around your cracked lips that were parted by a big white tube. She was quite familiar with that machine, watching with unshed tears the way the spring moved up and down with each monitored breath, the mechanical sound in no way a stranger in her life by now. And yet it somehow echoed differently in her mind, like a million screams that all matched your voice.

She had barely noticed how she had wayed on the spot, Ellen’s grip slightly stronger on her arms as to support her, Avis’s hands now dangling from her sides like rope, her entire body like a rag doll that remained on its feet because someone else was propping her upright. Your chest rose and fell artificially, and even though the doctor had been quite clear that it was to avoid any more stress on your weak state, she could not help but wonder if it had been a lie to hide the fact that it might be keeping you alive. Would you remain forever asleep, deep in a world so far away from Avis’s that all she would ever see of you again would be this, your deteriorating body as the days passed? Every minute spent with you had been like a blessed rainfall, washing her body of all pains and miseries, granting her fresh water to drink from your hands, an angel with no wings. She desired to see you barefoot over the grass, the sun bathing your alabaster skin with a perfect golden glow, locks of hair flowing freely in the wind as dandelions floated lazily around you, perhaps a butterfly or two landing on your fingers as bees buzzed in between flowers at your feet. Every waking moment was spent imagining you without a worry in the world, in the Garden of Eden dressed in nothing but your innocence and your golden virtue, waiting for Avis to fall into your arms in nothing but her wild locks of fire, laying down next to you in a bed of white poppies that cushioned you both from the hard ground.

She wanted you in ways that she could not understand, needed you so deeply that it made her entire body ache when she was away from you, her treacherous heart begging for you to be returned to her arms. Every instant without you made her soul yearn for you in ways that could make new sins appear on black ink on parchments at the Vatican, your name written in perfect golden calligraphy as hers followed suit in a deep red, like your humble apostle. She would set the world on fire for you, to see you open your eyes and find even a glimpse of love and recognition behind them, to feel your hands squeezing hers under all that medical equipment, to hear your raspy voice saying her name, and as she took one step towards you, Ellen never letting go just in case, she felt her chest constrict in a painful wave of grief. Yes, you were alive, but you were at the same time so far away from her, within her reach and yet her fingertips never seemed to be able to touch you, an invisible sea between you. Her brown eyes raked over your frame, but they always returned to your face, cuts and bruises decorating your pale skin in a macabre painting done by a madman, strokes deliberate, calculated over your once rosy cheekbones, splitting your lips and eyebrows as if he had been breaking a brand-new canvas, slicing your flesh so he could paint the walls of your enclosure with your blood, a hellish forest of splashes and puddles of burgundy and scarlet red dripping down the concrete, deaf to your pleas and screams. Stitches closed them up now shining under the flickering lights preventing your veins and capillaries from letting a single drop of your essence fall down your skin onto the bedsheets.

Ellen’s right hand held onto hers, and with curious brown eyes Avis watched as her friend lifted them and brought them to the edge of the bed. She made no attempt to touch you, leaving that part for the ginger to do when she was ready, but she remained a constant by her side, a supporting member of a team that played one of the most important roles; to simply be there. Avis hadn’t noticed how harsh the bedsheets seemed to be under her palm, rough, too starchy for her liking, and perhaps even a little worn-out, a feeling that she was incredibly displeased with and that she would make sure the nurses changed as soon as possible. You needed to be comfortable, and this was most certainly not up to standards. She was going to pay good money to this hospital once you were released, she expected you to be dressed in linens and cottons soft enough that they could never leave a rash on a baby’s skin, clean enough that Avis herself could eat on them and not worry about a single speck of dirt tainting her coffee, every single thing used on you of such quality that it could be used on the Royal Family without a doubt. It was understandable that since everything had been so rushed they had had to use the first thing their hands had grabbed, but that didn’t mean your entire stay would be like this, not while she was alive and next to you. The doctor cleared his throat behind them, making Ellen’s head turn to look at him to see him pointing at his wristwatch, a sign that the few minutes he had granted them were coming to an end.

-Avis, we’ll need to leave soon.

-Just one more minute. Just one. Please.

Dr. Friedman was not a cruel or heartless man, and as much as he knew he should follow every protocol in the book, he understood that whatever had transpired that morning must have been a most traumatic event and therefore the women in front of him needed the reassurance that his words were real. One more minute wouldn’t be the end of the world. He nodded his head silently, retreating back to the shadows by the door and letting Ellen whisper the good news to her friend who visibly relaxed her shoulders as she took a step closer to you, her ruined skirt barely a few inches from the mattress. With skin pale as milk, she could almost trace the outlines of your blueish veins up your arms through the many bandages that protected them, down your neck towards your hidden chest and over your eyelids. Everywhere she looked there they were, like spiderwebs of a tone between indigo and periwinkle that spread underneath your skin in different lengths and sizes, and if she narrowed her eyes just enough, she could almost make out what little blood you had left on your system coursing through them, your weak heart pumping in a steady rhythm. She only had a few more seconds left with you, this brief moment in which no words were exchanged, not even a glance except for Avis’s eyes roaming over your body, coming to an end far too soon and far too quickly for her liking, her hand inching closer and closer to yours as quickly as the speed of light and slowly as if she was traveling back in time.

Like lighting striking down her body Avis’s fingers finally made contact with your skin, a quiet gasp nearly falling from her lips as heat seeped from your body to hers. One single tear rolled down her cheek, eyes closing as she let the sensation wash over her, relief blooming fully in her chest like a garden in Spring, white roses climbing up the walls of her heart, daisies growing in her veins as her feet walked on the fluffiest of clouds or the softest of grass. She highly doubted she would ever forget the feeling of your freezing skin under her fingertips, like sharp shards of ice that had cut her flesh so deep scars would forever be imprinted on her skin, marks that no one but herself would ever feel, but as your still smooth flesh seeped a gentle warm glow onto her body, raining life back into a heart that grieved your absence and your memories, she was sure she could find it in herself to push every horror as deep into the back of her mind as it was possible. For the first time since you had kissed her tenderly last night, she could feel you again, alive against all odds. Euphoria could be a better way to describe what she was feeling, an unbridled joy even if she could make out all the tiny cuts and stitches that held your skin together, her fingers leaving reddish translucent trails of your own blood behind that the bowl of ice and water had not been able to remove, as she caressed the back of your hand, eyes watching the way your eyelids twitched almost as if you could wake up any moment, but she knew better.

-I’m sorry, Mrs. Amberg, but I can’t let you stay any longer. I suggest you go home and rest, perhaps have a bite to eat and come back this evening. The anaesthetic will have worn off by then, and it will only be a matter of time until she wakes.

-She will wake up, won’t she? – she refused to meet his eyes, afraid that the truth might be reflected in his greyish irises even if his mouth delivered what he might think were harmless lies.

-Yes. It might be later today or in a couple of days, whenever her body has recovered enough from the trauma and the surgery to regain consciousness. – so soon? What if she wasn’t there when you woke up and you thought you were all alone? She couldn’t possibly leave you now. Noticing how Avis hadn’t moved, not even attempted to step back from you, the man approached both ladies, and in a slow gesture he placed a bony hand on her shoulder in a way that could only be described as comforting. His voice carried a tone of patience and understanding that she wasn’t used to, each word delivered with such certainty it made her feel like there could be no other truth than his. - Mrs. Amberg, trust me when I say that she will be alright. I will keep an eye on her personally until you return, but that has to be in a few hours, alright? You need to rest as much as her.

Trust didn’t come easy for Avis, so used to being used by people as if she didn’t have feelings, just a means to gain something, but this man made it irrefutable for her to not do so. He didn’t gain anything by lying to her, she thought, looking at his older face over her shoulder, observing the veil of age and wisdom displayed in his eyes, a partially hidden smile gently gracing his lips behind a peppery moustache. He wanted you to live and go home as much as she did. A sigh made its way out of her throat, her fingers lingering on your hand for one more instant before they released you, leaving an empty spot that even in your unconscious state you somehow felt, knowing deep inside your mind that she was there, almost smelling her perfect perfume through the antiseptic and the blood. Not wishing to part ways like this, making it all seem so cold and distant Avis approached your head, pushing stained locks from your forehead before bending over the bed, balancing herself on the tips of her toes as her lips touched the soft skin she had just exposed.

 Her heart leaped in her chest the moment your warmth met her mouth, almost making her cry in relief as if she was coming to terms with how alive you were all over again,  but she could not prolong her stay any more than she already had and let her brain get lost in those wonderful thoughts, so as she placed her bodyweight back on her heels she observed through a wet chuckle the imprint of her red carmine on your smooth flesh. No one said anything about wiping it as Avis stepped back, her fingertips brushing the fabric of your gown before her arms came to rest at her sides, not that they were thinking about doing it in the first place, simply followed her silently towards the doors, Avis fighting to not look back just like Orpheus had done with Eurydice, afraid that whatever agreement she had signed with her silent prayers would be broken the instant her eyes landed back on your bed and she had to watch frozen on her spot as you were taken from her. Standing once again in the hallway the doctor was quick to excuse himself as he had other patients to check on. Ellen took the lead and pulled Avis away from your room and back to where everyone was still waiting, nurses smiling sweetly at them even though their eyes were blown wide at the state of both ladies. It made Avis hug herself, conscious that she looked nothing like she usually did with her curls bouncing out of the hairdo, frizzy and sticking out in some places, not to mention her ruined clothes; she felt nothing like her usual self. Ellen pushed the doors, holding them until her friend had walked through, letting them screech as they closed. Dick was the first to reach them, meeting in the middle of the foyer.

-Is she okay? How did she look?

-She’s… fine. Still sedated but the doctor says that she might wake up soon. He told Avis that it was best for her to return this afternoon.

-That’s good. Great news. Do you want me to drive you home Avis? – he placed a hand on her shoulder, a tactic she was beginning to hate. She wished for everyone to simply stop touching her, to let her handle all this however she saw if and at her own pace, but she partially understood that they didn’t have any other way of making her feel and see that they were on her side. The specks of anger that had built in her chest popped like tiny bubbles just as quickly, the angry words she was about to deliver to poor Dick getting lost among her aching muscles.

-No. I think I’d rather have Ellen do it. Besides, you have other matters to attend to.

-The film can wait for one day, Avis. We’ll pick it up tomorrow, don’t worry, I will personally cover the loses.

-I’m not talking about the film. Something must be done about Lon’s body. – the elephant in the room had the spotlight at last. None of the men had had the courage to bring it up even though they knew perfectly well what had transpired in that house, after all, shots could only mean one thing. Henry had flatly refused to even bring it up, saying, as both ladies left to see you, that he already had done his job and wasn’t going to get his hands dirtier than they already were, a cowardly move, Dick thought. The other three boys were simply too terrified of how Avis would react if they did that, that they had mumbled words under their breaths that sounded like excuses to the man, leaving only him to face the hangman at the end of the day. He couldn’t have been more grateful to Avis for bringing it up herself. - We can’t leave him there or it might draw some unwanted attention to us. Could you handle that, Dick? I don’t think I can, not right now.

-Of course, don’t worry. I’m sure that Mr. Psychosis over there knows of someone who can help. We’ll figure something out.

-Thank you. Just a heads up: it’s not a pretty sight what I left behind.

-I suspected as much. I’ll warn the boys. You head on home.

-Phone me if there are any problems, okay?

-I most certainly won’t. Go on, I’ll take it from here. – the first hints of a genuine smile broke through her serious semblance, picking at the corners of her mouth even if it was for a moment. She took the chance to squeeze his hand affectionately as a thank you before both ladies began their journey down the hall and to the parking lot. - Drive safely Ellen!

What had she done to deserve such wonderful friends? He was going out of his way to do something for her that she was extremely aware was dangerous, a criminal act that he was willing to cover up to protect her, and to a certain extent, you. No one would have ever even thought of doing that except for Ellen, maybe even Jack if you pushed him enough, but Dick would jump into action if he knew Avis could not. The boys waved them goodbye as they passed them by, Ellen mouthing a silent thank you to Jack for the ice trick from before, holding onto the ginger’s arm as they pushed the door open. Slowly, inch by inch, everything was sinking into her mind, every moment she had lived, every word she had heard replaying like a scratched record, the world around her not as blurry or as muffled as it has been when she had entered the hospital but still not quite as real as what was in front of her face, as if everything three feet from her didn’t exist. Every memory mixed as if they weren’t sure where they were supposed to go, like a puzzle that she could not finish even though she had all the pieces because the table kept on being moved, spilling them onto the ground over and over, her body aching even more each time she had to bend to pick them up. The sight of your body under all that equipment overlapped the image of Lon on the hard ground, you alive and him spewing the last few breaths the bullet she had embedded in his chest would allow.

She had barely registered the journey to the car, not noticing the hot rays of sunlight that hit her skin as if she was walking under a desert, nor the sound of her heels or Ellen’s on the asphalt as they approached the black Cadillac. Her purse was gone, she realised, looking from side to side in a panicked state as if it could magically appear out of thin air, not knowing where it was or if she had lost it in the turmoil of activities that had led them to this place, eyes flickering before she saw the blond pulling the car keys from a pocket in her jacket, unlocking the vehicle. It was right there, on the passenger seat along with the revolver she had handed to her friend. It was dangerous to leave both items for everyone to see, but at the same time she highly doubted anyone would have tried to steal them, bloody handprints almost engraved on the back of her front leather seats, perhaps from different hands, or where they hers? She seemed to recall a moment in which she had turned to beg Dick to drive faster, but she could not fully remember if she had rested both of her hands over the leather, maybe her friends had accidentally left them when they had manoeuvred you onto the back seats. Her eyes glanced then to where you had laid what seemed to be seconds ago, dirt and blood everywhere she looked, not inch unstained, the cabin filled with a horrible metallic stench that only seemed to get worse as sunlight broke through the windows, heating the air inside. 

Nausea hit her like a train going at full speed, forcing her to step away from the car as the vile taste of vomit returned, stinging and burning the back of her mouth as tears gathered on the corners of her eyes. Under other circumstances she would have considered walking back home, safely cooked up in her mansion in under twenty minutes, but people were already eyeing her a mix of worry and fear that she didn’t want to face out in the streets, rot to have the police stop her and start asking questions about a business they did not have to know about. She would have to endure the smell, she thought, turning back to the car to see Ellen fighting the foul stench herself, turning windows down so that the breeze would help dissipate it as much as possible. Through the open door that Ellen was working on, cranking the window lever, Avis saw the dark outline of your body marked on the seats, puddles of still wet blood dripping down onto the car mats one by one, perfectly formed tear-shaped beads travelling through the curves on the leather, imprinting the maroon shades onto the stitches. They were ruined, completely and utterly unsalvageable, she thought, not even an inch safe from some sort of splatter or smear of the crimson liquid, but it would be no issue to get someone to replace them, not leaving behind a single trace of the horrible experience. Hell, she could get herself an entire new car if she desired it, but her brain was exhausted and could not make decisions of that sort at this moment in time, the only thing clear enough for her to acknowledge being her wish for Ellen to take her home, away from everyone and everything.

A couple of minutes later the blond turned the engine on as Avis settled herself on the passenger seat and exited the hospital’s parking lot. The smell was still there, forever clinging to every surface, but the wind that had picked up around the car as Ellen pressed the accelerator, snatched most of it and pushed it out of the cabin with brute force. An eery feeling crept up her spine, eyes moving almost of their own accord to the back only for Avis to be forced to look through the windshield, a battle between her better judgment and that side of her that could not move on from what had happened. It almost felt as if invisible hands were hovering over her throat ready to strangle her with a mix of guilt and regret, pushing the happiness that you would survive to the side as if it meant nothing, demons that she had not faced in what seemed an entire lifetime taunting her. The woman behind the wheel was a completely different story. Shock prevented her from feeling anything but worry, as if nothing else existed in the entire universe, her perfectly normal life shattered into an amorphous shape that she had no idea how to understand and handle, feeling as if she could not fully comprehend just how deep you and Avis were connected, and therefore how bad this entire situation truly was. It left her bewildered to say the least, but she would never have to live with the thought that she had killed a man, unlike the woman next to her. Both ladies were lost in their own little crumbling worlds by the time the doors of the Amberg residence became visible.

No old man was there to greet them as they drove past the wide-open metallic gates, just as they had left them when they had come to pick up the weapons. When had that been? Avis wasn’t wearing a watch, and she could not recall what time Jack’s had shown while they were at the hospital. Over the leather, the revolver slid from side to side in between them as Ellen parked the car on the side, the gun hitting her thigh as everything came to a halt, eyes glued to it as if it had been the first time she saw it, the shotgun she had cradled not that long ago lost in the ginger’s mind, just as much as her jacket. They could be lying on top of twigs and grass in the forest, or maybe they were somewhere in that sterile place you were trapped in, her brain didn’t seem to even be trying to remember. They were, in fact, on the mats right behind her, soaking up blood by the minute, hidden under a dark mist of death that followed her everywhere she went, a reminder, a constant danger that made the hairs on the back of her head rise. Pullin on the hand break, Ellen turned off the engine, leaving them both simply sitting there, eyes staring into the distance unsure of what to say or if they should do something at all. Nothing could ever change what had happened; the burning crosses, the threats, the blackmailing and your kidnapping, all resulting in you being in a hospital and a man dead over the rubble of his parents’ house. Not a single word they said would erase a single second, turn back time to that moment late the night before in which Avis had been in this exact position, sitting on the passenger’s seat of your Packard instead of her very own Cadillac.

-Avis. - her hands were still trembling as her eyes broke their gaze from the revolver, lifting her head slowly to look at the blond. Sympathy swam in her blue eyes, concern crashing into her irises in waves of cold water that didn’t quite reached the ginger. Slender fingers intertwined with her own. – Everything will be fine. Y/N is strong, she’s already survived the worst of it. I’m sure she’ll wake up soon.

-I know, it’s just… so hard to believe that it will actually happen. Am I becoming paranoid Ellen? I have this feeling that at any moment I could get a call and she’ll be gone.

-You are not paranoid, you are worried. We all are. This… all this has been bigger than what we anticipated. Far more horrible that we could have ever thought, it’s normal for you to feel that way. She was almost taken from you.

-She was so cold, Ellen. It was as if I was touching pure ice, as if my skin was burning every time I put my hands on her. I was so sure she would be gone before…

-Hey, don’t think that. She’s fine, she will recover, and everything will go back to how it was.

-Will it? I don’t think there could ever be a normal again. We can’t go back to acting as if none of this ever happened, because it did, and I know it has scarred you as much as me, don’t deny it, Ellen. Please.

-I won’t. – would it even matter if they went back in time? Actions would still be engraved in blood and fire in their brains, haunting them in every waking moment, chasing them in nightmares that they could never escape from, shredding their skin with their sharp claws, making their ears bleed with their cruel laughs. What difference would it make if at the end of the day everything would still be fresh in their heads? Avis’s eyes noticed the layer of grief that ghosted over her friend’s eyes, and instead of waiting to be comforted she did the comforting instead, squeezing the woman’s bony hand hoping she would understand. The unshed tears were all the answer she needed. - We are all still in shock, let’s just try to get through the day to the best extent we can. Do you want me to stay with you?

-No, it’s okay. Do you need me to stay with you?

-I’ll be okay on my own, don’t worry.

-Then I’ll get the driver to take you to the studio so you can pick up your car. Promise me you’ll phone me if you need me, okay?

-I should be the one saying that, since you often forget to ask for help.

-Maybe things will change from now on.

Ellen raised her eyebrows in surprise, a small cheeky smile on her thin lips that matched the hints of lifted corners on Avis’s own mouth, a comfortable silence falling in between them as they exited the car. She felt the sun on her skin this time, the warmth that caressed her body gently through the white fluffy clouds that floated in the bright blue sky above. It was a continuous back and forth; one minute she could not feel anything but sorrow, and the next, joy filled her so completely that it almost made her think she would explode. It was as if she was caught up in between two worlds and she had no clue which way to go, which door to choose from the thousands that were presented to her. An absolutely insane hurricane that toyed with her emotions constantly. It made her doubt whether you could actually recover when you had looked so small, so vulnerable and pale, but at the same time she knew she had to believe that with people like Dr. Friedman around you nothing bad would happen to you, and that soon enough she would have you in her arms, cuddling in bed, kissing every inch of your body until dawn came. A soft breeze pushed rogue curls off her face, the floral aroma of her garden overwhelming her senses, making the metallic perfume she wore vanish as if it didn’t exist.  She rummaged through her purse to get her keys, steps slow, exhausted as she made her way to the doors, Ellen following her to protect her sensitive skin from the sun under the covered porch, eyes blinking lazily.

-You be careful Ellen, okay? I wouldn’t survive if something happened to you as well.

-I’ll be extremely cautious and alert at all times, I promise.

-Even so, I’ll get security for you house tomorrow morning. Don’t fight it, just humour me, please.

-I wasn’t going to. I’ll feel much better if I have someone there to watch over me at night.

-If you got with Ernie, you would have extra protection. – the heavy oak doors creaked in its hinges as Avis pushed them open, keys dangling and rattling from their spot inside the keyhole, feeling the cool breeze that wayed through the entrance. The words had left her mouth even before she had been able to filter them, but by the surprised look on her friend’s face and the soft chuckle that escaped her lips they had been exactly what was needed, lifting part of the gloomy atmosphere off the air around them.

-Oh, Avis! I can’t believe you; you are still trying to push me into his arms? Honestly. – she accommodated herself on a chair next to the door, crossing her legs under her blue pencil skirt as if it was just another conversation over a glass of wine, but in that case her suit would not be ruined by stains that not even a dry cleaners would be able to remove. - For what is worth I have already had lunch with him a few times.

-But you weren’t the dessert he was hoping for, I’m sure.

-Oh, you! Things will happen if they are meant to, and that its all I’ll say on the matter.

The following silence was comfortable, happy even, just like it had been all those times they had chatted in the afternoons when neither of them wanted to go home to an empty house, when they had wished to gossip and laugh and simply feel young and foolish. The grey clouds still threatened to rain in the corners of their minds, but they didn’t feel as imminent as before, as if the harsh truths of reality could be put on hold for a while. It was a breath of fresh air for everyone if they were being honest. Before stepping inside her house Avis turned to Ellen, and as a goodbye she kissed her cheek in a quick peck, leaving a translucent mark of her red carmine on the blond’s skin, promising her that the driver would right there. Gertie was waiting by the kitchen’s hallway as her employer stepped into the house, letting the wood creak as the door closed behind her, but the woman didn’t say a word, unable to at the sight of her. She had been perfectly composed when she had left the house that morning, even when she had rushed to gather the guns not that long ago, the woman in front of her looked as if she had just come back from a battlefield. If Avis had noticed the look the maid was giving her, she didn’t bother to mention it, simply asked Gertie to tell the driver that Ellen was waiting outside and made her way to the staircase as the other woman scurried away, a million questions floating in her head. Alone at last she let the armour fall of her body completely, mentally echoing as they dropped onto the ground, the last traces of adrenaline sliding of her arms onto the carpeted floor under her feet.

Each step felt as if she was climbing up a steep mountain, lungs begging for rest as her legs burned from the exercise, but she could not stop, she needed to reach her bedroom as close the door, isolating her from the rest of the world. Her left hand followed the polished wood of the banister, dried scales of blood parting from her skin, stuck to the railing without her noticing, like sprinkles of a punishment you had not deserved.  She had never counted each stair, but it seemed to her as if she would never reach the landing of the first floor, as if with each step she took she was walking backwards and not forward, like a never-ending walk down a hall where there were no doors. It was simply extraordinary in every sense of the words how much every bone and muscle in her body fought against her mind, aching and screaming at her to stop, to sit down and let the world pass by her, but in under a minute she stood over the carpet of the desired floor, barely three feet from her bedroom door. She could hear people moving about downstairs, voices floating as words she could not make out, nor that she wished to, her mind was already rushing as it was, she was not going to add more noise to the growing orchestra. Her heels made no sound as she walked towards her sanctuary, the white door keeping her away from everyone and everything, completely alone and secluded, curtains drawn so only the minimum and necessary sunlight could get in.

As soon as the door clicked shut everything went quiet. There were no cars on the road, no birds chirping joyfully on the other side of her window, no neighbours lounging by their pools with music or guests, just a deep silence that drilled itself into her head. Even before she had let go of her purse her shoes were already off, dropping her height by about five inches, soles pressed against the floor releasing hours’ worth of pain into the air, a sigh of relief falling from her lips. In a vase by the window a bouquet of white roses rested, filling up the space with a gentle floral aroma that could hardly make it past the stench that clung to her body, every single piece she was wearing material for a campfire as they were ruined beyond repair. Throwing the purse on top of the pristine covers she made her way to the bathroom, locking the door behind her, and with precise and practice movements she turned the faucets on top of her pearly white bathtub on. Water poured in angry rivulets, crashing against the porcelain and spreading like a transparent wave until the drain claimed it all, swallowing without mercy. She watched mesmerised for a minute or two, feeling the cold splatters land on her hands from where they rested over the curved rim, the sound loud but somehow soothing. It made her think of the waterfall you had shown her yesterday, with its crystal-clear waters sliding over smooth rocks as if they were nothing, not even an obstacle, free in its movement, choosing its own path without anyone to tell it that it could not. It had been perfect, simply beautiful; just like you.

Steam began to gather as the liquid warmed up, and after wetting two of her fingers to test the temperature Avis pushed the plug over the drain, letting the tub fill up. Normally she would pour oils, foams and other beauty products in that would leave her skin perfectly smooth and smelling like a sublime blend of flowers and sweet oils, but today she had no strength to do so, simply watched as the water spread over the porcelain before turning and heading towards the bathroom mirror. She looked horrendous, she thought. Her hairdo, for the most part, had not survived the day, waves of red and curls the shade of fire matted on top of her head, curls bouncing and cascading over her shoulder and on the back of her neck, a few messy strands framing her face. Even under the artificial light that came from the bulbs placed around the mirror she could make out perfectly every single speck of blood that had landed on her hair, some barely visible to her tired eyesight while others stood out in amorphous shapes that both contrasted and yet blended with her ginger shade. Her once immaculate make up was smeared, mascara gathered in black clumps under her eyes, innocent trails staining her cheeks from all the tears she had cried and yet could only remember vaguely, her rouge patchy over her pale skin, leaving areas with a fake pink tone as others remained as white as marble. Even her carmine was cracked on her lips, streaks cutting through the red shade like a knife that exposed the rosy mouth underneath. But as much as she hated looking all dishevelled like that it was the hundreds of tiny little burgundy splatters all over her face that drove her insane. She felt as if she had been marked by Death; everywhere she looked, every inch of skin her eyes landed on blood would meet her, drops of rubies that had cost more than she could afford to lose.

Her fingertips touched and traced a few of them, smearing the ones that had not yet dried, her own flesh feeling like it belonged to somebody else. As much as she tried to rub them off, they remained imprinted on her, refusing to part from her, and it drove her insane, forcing her fingers to practically scratch the skin off with her fingers until she felt a stinging sensation and realised, she was close to actually drawing her own blood with her nails. Both hands fell over the marble counter, gripping the edge as her body collapsed onto a stool, the vision she had of herself on the bathroom mirror now only reaching up to her bust, though she didn’t need to see the reflecting to know where your bloodied hands had landed on her body. Meeting her own eyes in the reflection she felt every single year she had lived, all the decades of hate, abandonment and humiliation mixing in an explosive cocktail that poisoned her body. Not a single day passed without her wondering why things had turned out the way they did. Why had her once perfect life crumble into a spiral of betrayals, sex and money that she had never asked for? Her plans had been burnt to ashes by an industry in which she now had all the power she desired and still she felt like that Jew that was rejected before she even opened her mouth all those years ago. When had she lost herself? Each question went unanswered, a tired sigh escaping from her parted lips as she lifted her hands and began to pull each pin from her hair, placing them gently on top of the counter, releasing the pressure of the hairdo as each curl fell in perfect waves over her shoulders creating a red mane of frizzy and angry strands.

Her pearl earrings followed. It was amazing how they remained unpolluted, not a single speck of dirt on them maintaining that pristine white look on them as her hands placed to rest on the side, as far away from the sink should they accidentally get hit and fall down a pipe. It was obvious that the next step was to undress but she felt as if she could not stand, as if her legs could give out at any moment and she would end up crumpled on the floor like used tissues, and so she remained seated for a minute or two longer than she should, looking at the falling water that was filling up the huge tub with each passing second, tiny little bubbles coating the surface before popping. She had asked for this bathtub to be made to very specific measurements, hoping that one day she and Ace would share it, soak in it as they talked about absolute nonsense but that moment had never arrived, the size of it making her feel so small each time she stepped inside it, as if she was floating in the middle of an ocean with no boats around to save her should she give up on swimming. She had clung to the idea of using it with him and just with him that she had refused to take any of the gas station boys into her bathroom, not even Ernie, but after she met you the idea of sharing a glass of wine and a conversation only with her husband began to shift, and the image of you instead, filled her mind. And yet she had not had the courage to bathe with you as she dreamed of every night. There could have been so many opportunities lost, so many feelings left unsaid, kisses never received, promises broken, if the doctors had not been able to save you, and that clawed at her heart.

She had been so close to losing you that she was having the worst of times comprehending how you had survived, how you were alive in the hospital when you had been so cold under her touch, her words barely reaching your ears as with each breath you lost a little more of that spark that kept you going. Death was a cruel player of this game, throwing the dice and taking its prize without caring who it was and who they would be abandoning in an empty house, but then again, how could someone without a heart feel any remorse at leaving sorrow and grief wherever it went? Its skeletal hands had had such a strong grip on you that Avis would have never been able to release you, not if she had tried with every fibre of her being, letting her very own soul rot in an attempt to rip you from its sharp claws, but thankfully she had not had to. Her thoughts were scattered in her mind as fog began to build on the edges of the mirror and knowing that the longer she postponed stepping into the water the bigger the chance was of the tub overflowing and her body completely collapsing on her, she pushed herself into a standing position. Her fingers worked slowly on the buttons of her blouse, feeling the sating sliding down her arms until it rested on her hips, caught under the waistline of her skirt until she pulled it out and let it fall on the ground around her feet. The blood had seeped through the thin material and had felt big red splodges on the skin of her arms, like stamps that marked were your body had touched hers.

Her hands traced the shape of her white corselette, ruined just as much as any other of the clothes she was wearing, the crimson liquid having dyed the delicate lace around the boning, the shape of your hand perfectly embedded on the garment, almost down to the creases on your palm, fingers around her waist that she had not seen before. You had been holding onto her, but you had not been afraid of dying, you had made your peace with that, but afraid of leaving her without being able to say one last I love you. Tears welled up in her eyes and this time she made no attempt to stop them; no one could see her here, alone just like she had wanted, staring at all the cracks she had so desperately tried to cover every year of her life. She felt like a porcelain doll that was one single hit away from shattering. With trembling hands and a slightly blurry vision she unzipped the skirt, joining the blouse on the floor. She had not noticed how heavy the garment had got since she had put it on this morning, the fabric having acted as a sponge that had soaked up every gallon of blood your body had released without permission, the black colour hiding the gruesome truth it carried in between each thread and stitch. There was no pressure on her hips pushing her down anymore, only her underwear and her ripped stockings. She placed one foot on the stool and proceeded to unclasp the garter, rolling the once nude silk down her thigh, but something small and sharp that dangled from a hole around her knee caught her attention, and with her thumb and her index finger she picked it up and brought close to her face.

The next instant her hand released the item in horror as her body stepped back, hitting a glass cabinet and making several bottles topple and fall on the shelves. Her body shook, as more tears rolled down her cheeks, smearing the mascara further, her hands shooting out to hold onto the cabinet to keep herself upright even though her back was sliding over the smooth glass towards the ground. It had been so small that she could have easily kept on undressing without seeing it, that pointy and porous piece of what looked like a deep red piece of plaster, but she knew better, she knew what it truly was. She had been carrying a piece of Lon’s body with her all this time, from that hellish house all the way to her very own home, a bone fragment that even in the distance that separated them over the bathroom floor still held beads of dried blood in between its pores. God, she had truly killed a man. There was part of a human being in her home, of a person that she had not hesitated to murder; she hadn’t even blinked when she had done it, in cold blood. In her head she had repeated on a loop until even her mental voice had turned hoarse that it had to bed done, that if she hadn’t pulled the trigger, he would have killed you and would have probably ended up doing the same to her, but she could not process it. It was a if her brain had suddenly turned into a fortress that wouldn’t allow that information to pass, and it brought a distressed cry out of her throat that she tried to cover up with her mouth.

It wasn’t a matter of what people might think of her; it was a matter of she thought of herself. It was something irreversible, something that she had extremely clear in her mind about you, how if you died there was no coming back, no replacement in a drawer unlike with scripts, but there had only been one Lon as well. Was she a monster now? A criminal? A murderer? Both her hands flew to her face, covering it as she cried and sobbed, everything falling on top of her at the same time like a building collapsing, and this time there was no adrenaline to mask it and no Jack to save her from facing it all, just her and the wind whirl of emotions that she could not control. Every breath was sharp, loud and with a certain wheezing sound to it, mixing with her sobs like a sonata being played in the wrong key but she could not stop. This wasn’t her, the woman she had created after all those decades of hatred and loss, she was a completely different Avis who had no idea how to face the world anymore, who didn’t know her own strengths and weaknesses. She was a stranger in her own skin. A bitter, metallic taste reached her tongue from between her parted lips, and in utter horror she removed her hands from her face to see that the once dry blood was dripping down her arms, thin crimson rivers that branched out over her pale skin as if you had been in her arms only a few seconds ago. This was your very own life coating her skin, not his, you were the innocent one who hadn’t deserved to be beaten to the edge, hanging onto to life by a single thread that he had been far too close to cutting.

Why couldn’t she understand her own actions?! She needed her brain to accept it all before she went insane. Even though the crimson liquid held no heat except for the one that seeped from her body to the atmosphere around her, it felt to her as if it was burning her flesh down to the bone, and in a rushed and clumsy manner she crawled towards the sink and stood up. The faucet ran cold water for a moment, but she did not care, she scrubbed desperately every single inch of flesh she could, watching how the crystal-clear liquid drained in a deep red shade, the stream never lightening, never stopping, her hands still as dark as before. Her eyes met themselves in the mirror, puffy, oak irises dim of every spark they had possessed merely hours ago, following the burgundy outline her own fingers had left over her cheeks, as if she had slapped herself with her blood covered hands. The sink could not do it, she thought; it wasn’t enough. She practically ripped the stockings of her body and unhooked the corselette with as much speed as her trembling hands would allow, hurried breaths matching the silents tears that were still falling. Naked over the tiled floors she caught a glimpse of her body reflecting on the cabinet behind her and the mirror on her side, picking up on every spot of her body that had remained pristine as if they hadn’t been there with her when everything had unfolded, untouched. If she was still Avis, if the eyes that looked back at her still belonged to her why did she feel so broken? Maybe she had been that way all along and had only been able to see it now, when there was no armour to protect her, no walls to keep her true self hidden away.

Your blood ran over her body like snakes, dripping from her fingertips just as it had done back in the hospital, drops that one by one crashed onto the ground, as if hours hadn’t already passed, and as she looked away from her reflection she didn’t hesitate to step into the hot water that swirled inside the tub, letting the warmth soothe her aching muscles as she sat over the porcelain, the faucet still running. It was as if she was covered in a strange emulsion that, as soon as her body submerged itself, seemed to peel of her skin like strings. They had a life of their own, curving in strange forms and creating tight ringlets and beads that did not melt into the water until several seconds after they had been floating around, turning the white around her into a light pink that slowly darkened as the seconds clicked. All those odd shapes diluted like they were nothing, like they hadn’t belonged to anyone, as if they hadn’t had a purpose, and Avis could only watch this morbid display as if she wasn’t the one involved, the producer and yet the product of this horror film she had not agreed to be part of. The parallels were there, the hypocrisy embedded in her mind, but no matter how hard she tried to not compare your situations to Lon’s her treacherous and vindictive mind was working against her, forcing her to see two different images one right next to the other as if she was standing in the room, bloodied water dripping onto the dirty ground as it slid of her body.

On the left was you, lying over exposed cement with black and blue bruises painted on your body, broken limbs showing sharp edges of bone, bleeding through your ears, the corners of your eyes, every scratch and injury separating you from her as your delicate frame turned nearly into a corpse before her eyes. Everything around you was dark, windows taped up, not even the candle she had seen in your cage lighting up the room, just cold and shadows. On the right was Lon, with a shattered leg that glistened gruesomely under fading rays of sunshine, gurgling and choking as his chest fought against the open wound that could never be repaired, heart shredded by a bullet, lungs collapsing in a pool of his own blood, a murderer that had met his match. The only difference she could see was that you had been almost killed by him while he had been killed by her, the ghost of the shotgun heavy in her hands as they floated under the hot water. What was the distinction between her and him that wouldn’t label Avis as a murderer like him? From a shelf next to the tub she picked up a dark blue sponge and dipped it in the bath before proceeding to rub the skin of her arms with it, the strength she was using far harsher than what she would usually do but there was something in the back of her mind telling her that she needed to remove every speck of blood that covered her body. She scrubbed, scratched and turned her skin from pink to red in an attempt to vanish it all, moving onto her chest and torso in a panic state as she saw that some of it seemed to be stuck on her, that no amount of pressure and hard work could remove it. She was brutal, leaving her flesh raw, a very thin line separating her skin from being intact to a bleeding mess, and yet she carried on, frantic in her need to free herself from everything, but to no avail.

Invisible hands pressed themselves onto her flesh, bruising her shoulders, the soft skin of her neck, her collarbones and sternum, leaving the imprint of wine-coloured palms on the sides of her breasts that matched the fading outline of yours that had seeped from her blouse down to her taunt abdomen, nails scratching without noticing. They were everywhere, like a thousand demons that wished to rip her skin off until only bones were left floating in the bath, and with sponge in hand she seemed to be aiding them. Soap soon followed, that special blend she had had made so she would always smell of cashmere and champagne, but the aroma was the least of her concerns, the white bubbles forming on the sponge soon tainted pink with each stroke over her thighs and shins, hissing painfully as her cuts got cleaned. They wouldn’t leave a mark of course, but as soon as the thought crossed her mind every movement halted. Would yours? She had traced the stitches and bandages, and she had seen with her very own eyes every wound on your precious skin, but she had never even thought of whether they would remain forever embedded on you, a constant reminder for both her and you. Would she hate them whenever she saw them? Would your eyes close every time you stepped into the shower and refuse to look at yourself in the mirror? From her spot kneeling inside the tub, she could see her translucent reflection on the glass cabinet, in between fallen bottles of oils and foams, seeing for the first time her true self meeting her back. Her face was free of makeup, pale and pristine, her neck smooth without a single speck left, the ends of her hair and the strands that framed her face wet, sticking to her skin.

This is what you saw, the real her she hadn’t met since she had been a child, a side of her she had been scared of for decades but that you had adored with every fibre of your being, kissing it, cherishing it. It was as if she was seeing herself through your eyes, admiring things that were not only physical but emotional, and she wasn’t hating it. If you had seen all her flaws and cracks and still loved her, why would she hate your scars? They would be silent stories of survival embroidered onto your flesh, like rose golden threads that told a tale only a few privileged people could read, and every moment you spent in her arms she would whisper in your ear that they could never hold you back, that they could only push you further into the life you deserved. Slowly the puzzle was rearranging itself on a steady table at last.  Her hands let go of the sponge, watching in the reflection the way the moving water made it float around the surface, fingers wrapped around the rim as splatters of both reddish and crystal-clear liquid fell drop by drop around the tub. Her breaths were hurried, and her muscles ached like never before, but all panic and fight had vanished from her; she just felt so tired, so exhausted, leaving her to soak in filthy water for a minute or two as she looked at herself in the glass. There was a bruise on her right collarbone that she traced gently with her left had fingers, feeling the tenderness on her skin the butt of the shotgun had caused. This injury would fade along with the others, but yours would stay for all eternity. Unplugging the drain, she watched in silence the small swirl that formed as the water travelled down the pipe, exposing her naked form to the foggy bathroom air, the warmth of her body contrasting with the cold atmosphere even if in truth the room was filled with steam and heat.

White bubbled clung to the sides of the tub as the water level decreased, sliding down her body from underneath her breasts to her waist and beyond until the only thing left was foam stuck to her skin and to the porcelain bottom. She didn’t want to think anymore, she just wanted to push everything to the back of her mind and reach the end of the day. If she thought about everything one more time, she would be stuck in the same loops she had been all day and she just couldn’t handle it. She needed her mind to shut up and leave her be. She had turned the faucet off at some point, though she could not recall when, and to a certain extent it felt kind of dumb to turn it on again, the sponge underneath the stream of brand-new clean water, washing the left-over residue on the blue strands. Her movements were lazy, slow as with a sigh she pushed the plug back over the drain and let it fill up again, but this time she rested against the back and rim of it, feeling the warmth coated her body as the level rose, foam forming on the edges from the soap she had not gotten rid of, but it didn’t matter to her, it would soon fade as well. A bottle of bath salts caught her attention through her half-closed eyelids, the purple shade of lavender rocks making the corners of her mouth twitch in what could have been a smile. They had been a gift from you for Valentine’s Day, along with some lotions, flowers and chocolates, everything in a basket she had put away in her closet among her purses. They had hardly been expensive, and Avis knew she could have traded them for better things or even regifted them to Ellen or Miss Stinton, but they had come from you, and that bright smile you had just for her had prevented her from even entertaining the thought. These things were yours, she could never part with them, she could never sell them or give them away, no matter how much they cost or if they didn’t fit with her lavish lifestyle, they were simply yours. It was hardly an excuse, but it was the truth. She had kept every single gift you had ever given her, from flowers that laid pressed in between pages of books Ace would never read, to a metallic box of chocolates she used now to store pictures of you, bows you had forgot at her place, even a lock of you golden hair that you had cut in front of her so you would always be with her.

She had in her possession dozens of little things that had belonged to you, or still did, like the nightgown she kept under her pillow just in case you stayed with her at night, and every moment she didn’t spend with you she spent it with your things, knowing that come the morning your face would greet her again with a smile, and your lips would kiss hers as if it was the most normal things in the universe. With perfectionated practice Avis turned the faucet off with her foot once the water reached her neck, the rest of her body submerged under a thin layer of foam randomly spaced over the crystal surface. Steam swirled around her like white smoke, but it didn’t choke her, it simply floated about the room, lulling her slowly to a world in which you were there with her. She had plans for the two of you, trips, dinners, picnics, dances… She wanted to show you off like you deserved, to dress you in the most beautiful gowns and twirl you around the dance floor without a care in the world, breathing in your perfume, caressing your skin with her hands and her lips. She wanted to make love to you. She wanted Ace to be you, to call you her wife and take you with her to every luncheon and every meeting, hand in hand, have midnight conversations and laughing fits that left her breathless under the moonlight with you in her arms. She had almost lost all that the dreams that could be and the ones that society would never allow but now that she knew you would be alright, as hard as it still was to process it, there was no reason for her not to do them.

She was a grown woman who had defeated all the odds, who had fought with herself to get to where she was now. She was not going to step back and let life pass her by again, even if it meant living with the consequences of her actions. At the end of the day his death had brought on your survival. Avis took a big gulp of air and submerged herself completely under the foamy waters, red locks floating around her face as every sound in the universe dimmed, eyes closed, letting herself fall as if she was floating in a never-ending ocean. She could feel the currents brushing her naked body, legs and arms moving from side to side to keep herself upright in the bottomless waters, silence in her mind, deep in her throat and ears, no waves crashing above her head, just her body and her. It was so peaceful like this, where nothing could get to her, nothing could disturb her very needed break from reality, blue all around her form, her fiery curls swaying in a rhythm that caressed her cheeks and the back of her neck like tender kisses. She could feel the gentle flow of blood in her veins, her heart pumping steadily, her lungs holding onto the oxygen provided like a mother holds her child, close to her chest whispering promises of a wonderful future filled with love and happiness. She could give that to you, she could be beside you until her very last day returning all the love you had given her, all the passion and joy you had brough to her life. It felt like an eternity as she floated in that vast ocean, free, but her lungs soon began to constrict and the need for air overtook everything else, but her body did not disturb the gentleness of the moment and broke the surface with the utmost care, water sliding over her eyelids and nose, kissing her rosy lips as they dripped off of her from her eyelashes, oak irises opening to meet the same scenery.

She was in the same place but everything around her had changed. The atmosphere felt different, lighter perhaps, as if a pair of hands had been covering her eyes and had at last been removed, allowing her to see everything clearly again. Her life had shifted from that safe spot where she had resided for decades into a place where she was in charge, not having to ask anyone about what she was allowed to do or not, what things were appropriate or worth taking risks for. Meg was a risk she was glad she took; you were a risk she had been waiting to take for her entire existence, everything she stood for now was a risk, and she very much wanted to continue like this, no steps back. She had suffered terribly, but she was no true innocent, she had caused pain as well, and as she sat on the bathtub hugging her legs close to her chest, hair cascading down her back like molten lava, she realised that things had to change with Ace if she wanted to move forward form this point. They had been so locked up on throwing dirt and pushing each other to the ground that they had forgotten why they had got together in the first place, what was truly important. Claire had been caught in the crossfire, and no one had been there to take care of her. True that Avis had been putting on the effort to fix things with her, to create a bond, and understanding, but Ace had to as well; it wasn’t in the hopes that they would become the happy family she had dreamt of, but because the three of them deserved to at least become friends even if love could never truly happen. Ace had made it very clear that he was not interested in her like that, and she had you, the most perfect angel sent to the land of sinners to show her that love was real and not a legend or a prize for the lucky ones.

It had to happen like this because she was Avis Amberg and yet she was not, not until she was ready to become who she was meant to be. Time would tell when that moment would arrive, but for the time being she could simply bask in the joy of knowing that you were alive and would recover. The sponge floated up to her, colliding gently with her knees and breaking her concentration on her reflection on the glass cabinet. Every movement as she washed was mechanical, methodical and usual as she opened her shampoo and lathered her hair in the tender smell of orange blossoms, foam all over her scalp as she scratched the skin hoping to remove what little blood might be left, feeling it running down her back as she picked up the showerhead to remove it. There was no need for her to stand and wash her body yet again, but she did it anyway, although this time her hands were kind to her skin and refused to use more pressure than what was necessary to cover her flesh in cashmere bubbles. She had been cruel to herself far too many times today, she could afford to be kind for a change. Hot water fell over her face and body, rivers of diamonds sliding over her skin, taking with them every bit of soap they could find and releasing the image of smooth and almost perfect frame, travelling over her freckled shoulder, in between her breasts that rose and fell with each slow breath, beads of water falling off her pink nipples and crashing in quiet plops around her knees, each stream molded to her body down to every wrinkle and stretch mark.

Her hands pushed the wet hair off her face before squeezing the excess off, head lulled back as her eyes closed briefly, the sound of water returning to water filling up the bathroom as steam gathered around her, before bending to unplug the tub and let it drain for the last time. Her slightly wrinkled fingers grabbed her salmon-coloured bathrobe as her legs stepped out onto the tiled floor, cool under her hot skin, leaving small puddles with each step she took towards the sink, arms going through each sleeve, the soft fabric clinging to her curves as she loosely tied it around her waist. It left the valley between her breasts exposed along with part of her upper abdomen, but she did not mind, using her right hand to wipe the fog from the mirror before sitting back on the stool. It was a completely different sight to the one that had welcomed her the moment she had stepped into the bathroom, but it was a better one as well, no more blood in sight, no smeared makeup, just her, completely bare, meeting her reflection. Dark spots appeared on the back of her robe and around her legs from the water that was gliding down her body and dripping from the wavy ends of her ginger hair. From a hanger on the left side of the room she picked up a small white towel and gently tapped her face dry before scrunching and shaking her locks into a light dampness, proceeding with a short version of her skincare as she threw it onto the hamper to her right. Lotions, oils, serums, almost a dozen bottles rested around the sink, but she didn’t feel like doing every single step, too tired to even entertain the thought, so she simply grabbed the daytime lotion and tapped a few beads onto her skin, massaging it as the white cream got spread and absorbed.

It made her glow under the artificial lights. Coming to stand she towered over the ruined clothes, observing them in disgust, lip curling slightly before she headed towards the door and unlocked it, steaming colliding with the chilly breeze inside her bedroom in spirals that faded into nothing. She would burn those clothes that same night. She would throw them in a paper bag and watch as the flames consumed them until there was not a single thread of fabric left. After all it wasn’t as if she didn’t have clothes to wear and underwear to spare, she was not even going to try to save them. She was not going to face the memories of today over and over again every time she opened her closet or when the idea of wearing them crossed her mind, but most of all she was not going to subject you or anyone around her to the sight of them ever again. Her steps were sure but fatigued as she crossed the room towards her vanity, curtains perfectly still as they fought against the sunlight that was begging to be let in, palms swaying to the warm breeze outside as Avis sat herself on her ivory-coloured padded chair. There were small items scattered all over the white wood, from a box of hairpins to small bottles of perfume, but her hand did not reach for any of them, it picked up her silver brush, her initials engraved in the back surrounded by tulips, and began to run it over her damp hair, watching in the reflection the way her fiery locks gently draped over her shoulders, lazily beginning to curl. It was a soothing motion, like tender fingers that caressed and massaged her scalp with each stroke, and as her movements began to slow down, she felt the headache that had been threatening to form and possibly render her useless for the rest of the day was being pushed away, dissolving around her temples and behind her eyes.

Under normal circumstances she would start applying makeup as soon as she rolled up her hair; layers of foundation, rouge and mascara that shaped the stern and superior persona she had always been. But for some reason she did not wish to hide away behind all that right now. It wasn’t that she did not enjoy dolling herself up, she was the first to spend hours trying new sets and products and adored to see the beauty they accentuated on her red lips and deep outlined eyes, but it felt right now like an excuse to build those retched walls around herself again, a fortress that her tired hands could not erect. Satisfied with how her hair looked after a few minutes she left the brush on top of the wood, next to the box where her pearl earrings belonged, sighing deeply at the stiffness on her shoulders. The doctor had told her to wait until evening arrived to go back to the hospital, but she didn’t think she could find it in herself to simply sit around for hours, much less try to get some rest when she knew for a fact your unconscious face with all those horrendous tubes around you would appreciate behind her closed eyelids. It felt as if you were in the room with her, like an intangible presence that her eyes frantically looked for and never found, and yet her brain was telling her that it was real. Like a ghost that whispered words in her ear that she could not understand. She could feel you in every corner of the room, in every stitch of her clothes, under the covers of her bed, floating around the curtains that kept her world hidden from reality. You were in the very foundations of her home and in every drop of water that she had been submerged in, filling in the peaceful silence, but it was all an illusion.

A shiver ran down her spine, beads of water still clinging to her skin making her shake slightly, so in an effort to make time pass quicker she stood up and returned to the bathroom to moisturise. Her Elizabeth Arden body lotion rested right next to her Helena Rubenstein face cream, the pristine white and golden bottle clashing with the deep green jar, a harmonious battle that blended like the Heavens on her body. The door was left ajar this time as Avis untied the robe and let it fall over her blood-stained clothes, the soft fabric sliding over her flesh like melted butter until she stood naked over the tiles once more. Her hands were perfectly rehearsed as she picked up decent amounts of the cream and began to gently massage it over her arms and shoulders, following the pattern of collarbones, sternum and breasts. She was extra careful around her bruised skin, deep blues and purples beginning to form under a dark layer of what could only be considered black, the chipped nail varnish following the fading edges until she could not tell when the redness of the injury ended and the pale tones of her skin began. The thoughts began to unravel on the edges of her mind, memories sliding to the front like venomous snakes that wished to poison her and make her crumble back to the ground but she did not allow it, pushed them back to the darkness and depths of her brain with all her might and continued applying the lotion on her abdomen and as far as she could reach on her back. With one leg perched on the stool, toes pressed against the hard glass, her hands run up and down her shin and calf, fingers carefully observing the scratches as they rubbed the flesh, inching over her knee towards her thigh, smooth skin molding to the motions provided to help absorb the cream.

If you had been in the room with her your hands would have done it for her, the pads of your fingers massaging every inch of her, touching her tenderly until her body melted against yours, kisses following ever trail your palms had travelled originally to make sure she was perfectly tended to, completely and utterly loved. There would be time for that, she thought as she perched her other leg, enough time for her to show you just how much you meant to her and how much she loved you. She would take you to secluded spots so you could look up at the stars together, sharing kisses hidden by the veil of night, she would take walks with you down parks and boulevards, your arm interlaced with hers as the two of you laughed and talked not sparing anyone a glance as your eyes would be completely glued to each other. She had so many plans, so many things she wanted to do with you that she had been doubtful and worried would be frowned upon, but not anymore. She had been playing a game with rules given by someone else, it was about dammed time she made the calls instead. Her hands finished applying the lotion over her thigh, body glowing gently as her skin absorbed the cream. She stepped down from the stool after a moment to wipe her hands clean on a towel and grab her ocean blue satin robe from where it hung behind the bathroom door. It felt incredibly soft on her smooth body as she put it on, lace on the cuffs of her sleeves and the entire hemline of the garment that dressed her body in gentle blue tones. Her body was as much on display as before, her breasts practically spilling out of it as the slit showed of her legs with each step she took as she made her way back into the bedroom. Her hands itched to do something, but her brain was at a complete loss as to what. As she began to pace over the carpeted floor she saw her purse from the corner of her eye, an idea striking her as she bent over the mattress, her nipples barely covered by the blue satin, and picked up her silver cigarette case and golden lighter. With practice easy she placed one in between her rosy lips and made her way towards the window, pushing ethe curtains to the sides and opening the glass enough so that the soft warmth of the day could slide inside the room and snatch both the coolness that seeped form the walls as well as the tobacco infused fumes. 

The first puff tasted marvellous to her, the rich and bitter aroma hitting her tongue and nose, working wonders on calming whatever nerves were still a bit frayed, smoke travelling down her throat and into her lungs in an intoxicating blend of nicotine and a hint of mint that she was unsure where it came from. It got released out of her mouth and nostrils in lazy grey swirls that slipped into the air outside ethe room, diluting amongst oxygen until there was nothing left. Only the leftover state in her mouth. The world had indeed kept spinning without any of them following. Palm trees moved from side to side at angles that only made the leaves dance under the bright golden sun beams, the sky as blue as ever, not a cloud in sight, not a bird slicing through it, simply unblemished above everyone’s heads. There was the muffled sound of cars driving around, of birds chirping and bees buzzing around the flowers of her garden, blooming in a variety of colours that hours ago would have seemed black and grey. Everything was still as beautiful as ever, but Avis knew better, Ellen knew better. No amount of petals falling over her emerald grass could make you wake up any faster or heal in the course of barely a night, and as she took another drag of her cigarette her eyes drifted to the clock on her nightstand, a unique piece made in gold and sapphires that matched the perfection of Swiss watches. It read four in the afternoon. Had it really been so long? She could have sworn that the last time she had glanced at the clock, back in her office, it had read eleven. How had so many hours passed when it felt to Avis as if it had barely been five minutes? The entire day seemed to have passed in a blur around her, everyone and everything rushing, leaving her memories of the events looking like a film that was being played at a much higher rate of frames per minute than usual. Right on cue her stomach growled, reminding her that she had been going around with just a cup of coffee and some scotch in her system, not a single bite of food ingested in all those hours, just nicotine, caffeine and alcohol; the golden trio, she thought with tired and bitter amusement.

-Ma’am? – she had not heard the gentle knock on the door it seemed, as Gertie’s voice floated up to her while the woman remained in the hallway, only her head poking through the crack she had opened. Ginger girls bounced as Avis turned her head, a puff of smoke escaping from her parted lips. – Is everything alright? – the poor woman must have been scared out of her wits, she thought, watching her enter the house in such a state, but as much as she wanted to explain everything to her, she did not want to subject her to such horrors. At least she could spare one innocent person from suffering.

-Yes. Everything’s fine now. I apologize if I seemed… erratic or if I frightened you when I came in.

-No need, ma’am. I simply wished to know if you were alright or if I need to call the doctor.

-I am perfectly fine, as you can see, but I do appreciate you checking on me. You are good woman, Gertie.

-I’m simply doing my job, but thank you, Mrs. Amberg. – a soft blush crept up her cheeks, something Avis was not used to seeing and she wondered if she had been as kind to her as she had been to Avis. She was well aware that there had been many times she had to clean up after a fight between her and Ace, glasses and vases shattered on the floor, pictures knocked to the ground in fury, but had she ever told her just how thankful she was for not leaving? The woman had become a pilar of stability in Avis’s life, and she hardly thought she could do without her at this point in her existence. Perhaps she could send her on a long and very well-deserved holiday to some exotic place as a way of repaying her. - Is there anything I can do for you?

-Actually, there is. Could you phone Oscar Russel, down at the Packard dealership, and ask him if he knows of anyone who can change the seats in my Cadillac for brand-new ones? Someone who won’t ask questions.

-Of course, ma’am. Same colour and material?

-Yes, Gertie. And could you fix me something to eat? You don’t have to go overboard with the meal, just something quick and simple that won’t dirty the kitchen too much. I don’t want you to have to tidy it up again.

-Do not worry about that Mrs. Amberg. Do slices of turkey with some gravy and grilled asparagus sound appetizing, ma’am?

-Very much.

-Then I will have them ready for you in a moment and will call Mr. Russell later this afternoon. Anything else ma’am? A drink perhaps?

-No, thank you, Gertie. That will be all.

The door clicked close, leaving Avis alone once again, the cigarette dropping ashes onto the ground even if part of them were carried outside by sudden gusts of wind. Some day she would explain everything to Gertie and put the woman out of her misery, but it would not be today. She watched the sun for a brief moment, already moving west as dusk approached, the once bright white light that bathed the world turning slowly into soft golden rays with hints of orange, but not quite yet. There were still a few hours left of sunlight, the world not ready to meet the night and all the shadows that came along with it. Another drag left the cigarette between her fingers practically burnt to the very edge of the butt, and with no desire to light another she exhaled the smoke through her mouth before tapping it out on the stray that was on her nightstand. The slight tinges of tobacco clung to her robe as she made her way to her drawers to pick out a set of underwear, satins, silks and lace meeting her as she pulled the one on the top right open. There were purple brassieres, white corselettes, black bodices… in truth, anything and everything money could by at a store, but she made no attempt to find something sexy the way she had been doing since she met you, she searched for comfort and practicality, and in the end, she found her trusty dark corselette. It was a bit worn out around the straps, and some of the lace could do with a few extra stitches, but she had had it for years and it suited her body, and her currents needs better than anything else.

It came as a set, of course, so it had a matching pair of panties that she grabbed as she returned to the bathroom, though this time she didn’t even bother to close the door. She wasn’t as careless with her blue robe as she had been with her salmon one, still resting on the floor, and hung it behind the door just as it had been before, making quick work of putting on her undergarments, adjusting the hooks and her breasts so everything would sit exactly as it was supposed to, the top of her bosom spilling from under cups of simple but exquisite embroidery. Barefooted she walked to her closet and threw the doors wide open, suits, dresses and mink coats meeting her eyes but alas there was desire for such extravagance today. No rich colours and expensive fabrics would dress her body, and she was adamant about following that rule. Her fingers brushed over silk blouses and tweed skirts, some of the garments not having been worn in years, but for some reason she hadn’t parted with them, and they now laid inside her wardrobe gathering dust and as possible victims to moths should they ever get inside her closet. Chanel and Dior were most definitely out of the question, not to mention Versace, all dresses that she could wear to a dinner or a party, but not to spend a night in hospital with you, but then her eyes picked up on a bag hidden in the back. She had forgotten about it. Grabbing the hanger, she took the bag out of the wardrobe and laid it flat on top of the covers before carefully unzipping it. Inside was a simple dark forest green gown with short mutton sleeves that didn’t carry too much of a puff around the shoulder, a skirt that reached her knees, maybe an inch underneath them, and a decorative cinched waist with elastics hidden in the back. It was practical, a garment she had never worn because she hadn’t been sure what sort of event would require for a gown as simple and classic as this, a dress that spoke of privacy and propriety to a level that had never felt right to Avis but that right now she considered the correct call.

It was of no concern to her if it was made out of the softest velvet, it would probably keep her warm once the temperature outside the hospital dropped and a cool breeze began to seep into your room, so without giving her brain a chance to back down she searched for the zipper, which had conveniently been placed on the side instead of the back,  and stepped right into it. It was outstanding how designers could take one single look at her and get her measurements perfect down to the last decimal. It clung to her in all the right spots, showing of her waist while at the same time leaving certain parts of her body to the imagination, only the slightest hint of a cleavage peeking from behind the soft neckline. You would have loved it, she thought as her hands travelled over the fabric, imagining for a second that they were yours, arms wrapping around her waist as your head rested on her shoulder telling her how beautiful she looked. It made her lips break out in a genuine smile that only her eyes saw reflected on the mirror as she hugged herself as if her palms could feel the skin of your arms around her body. Standing barefooted over the carpet she looked over to the other side of her bed, the one Ace would usually occupy but that had been empty for a while now, counting the days you had spent on it and gathering in her mind the numbers, wondering if your shampoo or your perfume could still be lingering on what used to be her husband’s pillow. Like a magnet she headed towards it, needing to know and at the same time afraid that only his aftershave would hit her nostrils, shaky hands picking it up and placing it close to her chest. A tear threated to fall as she caught a gentle but lingering whiff of your berry perfume under Ace’s sandalwood aroma, and for once it did not feel as if it didn’t belong there with yours.

Perhaps many more things had changed inside of her than she had anticipated. Walking to her side of the bed she sat carefully on top of the covers still cradling the pillow in her arms, wishing to keep as much of you with her as she could until you healed enough to come home. Had she just thought of her house as yours as well, as the only place she ever wanted you to live in? It felt selfish but how could she not wish to keep you with her when she had been so close to losing you? Minutes passed without warning as she remained seated, unmoving, lost in thoughts that she would forget as soon as she woke up from her dissociative episode but that for the time being she could immerse herself in. You had mentioned once how you would have loved to live in a house with a big garden, flowers everywhere for your tender hands to care for as spring came, picking up oranges and peaches in the heat of August that you would place carefully in the skirt of your dress or in a basket, the unforgiving heat gliding over your skin as if you were unaffected by it, smiling up to her form her spot by the pool, or maybe she would get her hands dirty and pick them with you. There was an entire world of possibilities before her that she had never seen before, and each idea and plan was better than the one that had come before it, but all of them shared one common factor. Your happiness. Gertie’s voice floated up to the room and although it did not pass the closed bedroom door Avis understood that her meal was waiting for her, snapping her out of her moment and forcing her to let go of the pillow and finish up getting dressed. Her black heels were sprawled out on the floor, abandoned, probably as stained and ruined as everything else, and as with everything else, she was not even going to try to fix them. Opening another set of doors, dozens of pairs of shoes greeted her in every colour possible, in lines and cuts that not many people had the privilege of even seeing in magazines, but she already knew which ones she was going to wear.

Her hands reached for a beautiful pair of green heels, pumps, if her mind did not betray her, that matched her gown. But there was still something missing, a touch to make it all come together, a detail that would wrap it up and make look like one of the outfits Avis would usually wear but without all the unnecessary splendour. Rummaging through her jewellery box nothing seemed to stand out to her, her stomach rumbling reminding her that her food was getting cold downstairs, and she had to hurry, but there just wasn’t a thing in it that wasn’t either too expensive or simply too much. The thought of forgetting all about it crossed her mind for a moment, but she discarded it the same instant it came up in her mind and headed to her nightstand where she knew for a fact, she had a few pieces she knew she had to put away but never remembered. Underneath handkerchiefs and several pairs of gloves she found a golden locket. It wasn’t anything Ace had gifted her, much less something producers or actors had placed on the table for a good part or a good price for a movie, this was a token you had given her just because. There had been no fancy dinners or flowers awaiting her, just you with the locket after a hard day at the studio. This was it, the cherry on top of the ice cream that she had been looking for, the dried petals of a daisy inside it, the first flowers Avis had given to you back in January, almost right after New Year’s. You had meticulously pressed them and aired them so they would never rot, eternal inside their golden case that Avis was now fastening around her neck, the jewel sitting perfectly over her collarbones and stopping right at the top of her cleavage.

The sight that welcomed her in the mirror was far from what she was used to, but she could not say that she did not like this homely, comfortable look, not when all that mattered was getting herself back to the hospital as soon as possible. There was no chance in Hell she was going to leave you to wake up alone. With one last brush of her hands over the green velvet she picked up her purse and the cigarette case and headed out of the bedroom, but just as she was about to step through the threshold she stopped. Was this what she truly wanted? Could she handle all the things she had changed? In an hour Avis had turned her entire world upside down, had transformed herself into something she had never been before, but she hadn’t sat down to consider if it was what she needed. Maybe she was not as ready as she thought to push away the Avis Amberg she had grown accustomed to. That woman wasn’t bad, she was simply cold, distant. She had been hurt far too many times. She had known where her place was and what role she played, and she had been bloody brilliant every time it had been her turn, but there had been things she had hated about herself that she never wanted to live again. So, maybe instead of becoming someone completely different she could consider other options, like… adapting? Evolving to fit with the woman she was now without giving up all the good things that she had been back then. The best of both worlds with flaws and faults that you would see and help her modify to become the woman everyone deserved, including herself. Something had been missing, and she knew exactly what it was. Walking inside the room again she approached her vanity and from the first drawer on the left she picked up her signature Victory red lipstick and with meticulous fingers applied it, looking up to see those same chocolate eyes she was used to but with a sparkle of something new shining behind her irises. Now she was ready.

Her steps were confident, strong, as she walked out into the landing and down the stairs, meeting Gertie by the dining room as the woman told her that her lunch was waiting for her inside. It did not go unnoticed the gentle smile that graced the maid’s lips as she walked back to the kitchen, and it sure made Avis feel good. But she forced the sensation to subside, as if she had no right to feel that much joy when you were not there with her to share it. The meal was excellent, of course, and to her starving system it tasted as if angels had cooked it, each bite a wonderful mix of herbs and saltiness that covered the bitter taste the cigarette had left behind. Just as her hand lifted the glass in front of her to take a sip of water the doors opened, signalling that the driver had returned and Ellen was probably on her way home by now, so without missing a beat Avis called for him. His semblance had not changed from this morning, serious, competent in everything that he did, but as she turned to him with her head held high, she saw something in his eyes that told her he had put the pieces together, and was pretty sure he knew what had happened, or almost everything. It hit her like a bucket of cold water, and it made her realise just how easy it was for someone to find out about what had happened and begin to talk, half a dozen people’s lives destroyed with one quick blow. She knew he would not talk, he had been with the Ambergs almost as much as Gertie and he had never shared a single thing about what went on with her family in or out of their home, so she knew she could trust him, but that didn’t mean that strangers could not get wind of something, just one small detail and cause for everything to be exposed. Suddenly all the confidence that had filled her up popped like a balloon and the gravity of the situation weighted her down once again, making the almost fading aches return. With a quiet voice she asked him to get the car ready again as she required to be driven to the hospital and she could not use her own vehicle, to which he nodded in understanding and left. No questions were asked, no looks of disappointment or disgust were thrown her way, but she felt so small all of a sudden, as if she had been in a self-centred bubble and it had been popped by all the thorns she was walking on top of now.

Why did every happy moment have to be destroyed? Her feelings were not directed against you, they weren’t even against herself, but they were there, and they were pulling her back to square one, all the way to the very beginning as if she had made no progress at all, and she was just too dammed tired to walk that same road all over again. The food that was left on the plate didn’t look appetizing anymore, and she was not about to sit there and rot until a reasonable time for her to leave arrived. She would rip her hair off in anxiety, her head would explode. With a quick gulp she downed the rest of the water and left the glass on the table before standing up and making her way towards the entrance to grab her coat and tell Gertie that she wasn’t sure if she’d be home tonight and to not touch the clothes that were in her room, that she would handle that herself when she returned. The woman nodded even if Avis was already walking out the door, watching with worry how the confident aura had vanished in barely a few minutes. The sun was shining as bright as ever, but to Avis the blue sky was covered in thick grey clouds that threatened her with a storm, matching the uncertainty she felt regarding what she would do when she set foot in the hospital and people began to pry into affairs that did not concern them. She did not have Dick nor Henry to help her out. The driver opened the back seat door for her and let her accommodate herself before sitting behind the wheel and turning the engine on, Avis feeling the vibrations of the motor under her feet. With her eyes glued to the window and her elbow resting on the door as her hand propped up her head, every thought and question she had successfully pushed away returned, and not having the answers to any of them unnerved her more than words could express.

She trusted Dick, of course she did, but people could be cruel, and she was well aware that Henry would sell his own mother if it benefited him in some way, but would he really spread rumours or even tell the press about everything if he could earn some sort of profit? She wanted to say that she trusted him blindingly and she was sure he would never even consider it, but the truth was that she couldn’t. He had been willing to let you die all for a film, for an object that could be done again in a few months, and she was not going to forget about that fact easily or soon. She could cover up her traces as best she could, and protect Ellen, Dick and the boys so their lives would not be ruined, but she would keep an eye on Henry for as long as she saw fit, until she could say with all the conviction in the world that he would not betray them. At the end of the day everything came down to money and power and Avis currently possessed both to such levels that she knew she could run the world if she wanted to, but that it also came with far too many enemies to count. The ride to the hospital was done in complete silence, not even her breaths could be heard, but her thoughts were screaming inside the cabin. The car came to a full stop inside the hospital’s parking lot, under the blazing sun and the dark clouds.

-Mrs. Amberg.

-Please, don’t… don’t say it. I know you want to ask but…

-I ain’t going to ask and I ain’t going tell, ma’am.

-Really? – she met his eyes through the rearview mirror, honesty and loyalty shining on them as if they were the banners he carried with him every day of his life.

-Yes. You have been through enough; I won’t add more miseries to your plate. I’ve seen what they can do and I’m not the sort of person that hurts others just because they can, and I can prove it. I took Ms. Kincaid to the studio and drove behind her to make sure she got home alright, so I will wait here for you until you are ready for me to drive you back to your house.

-You… you didn’t have to do that, but I’m thankful you looked out for her. Though I couldn’t ask you to stay and wait for me. It might be hours before I’m ready to leave.

-You ain’t asking ma’am, I’m offering. You go and see your young miss and I’ll be waiting here to take you home. 

She was surrounded by wonderful people and had never seen it until now. A nod would have to suffice as she wasn’t sure her voice wouldn’t crack as she thanked him, a lump forming in her throat, and quickly stepped out with her purse in one hand and her coat in the other. It was as if she hadn’t set foot inside the building in weeks and yet she hadn’t left at all, pushing the doors open until the coolness of the white walls and antiseptic breezes embraced her once again. That was probably one of the smells she would never forget, your blood on her body being the first. Each hallway looked exactly the same, but she knew perfectly well where she was going, finding that the floors had been cleaned after they had left but witnessing the palms of her hands still marking the wall as if she had been clawing at the tiles to escape and perhaps, she had been. Everything she had felt in this room had been raw and out of control, like a dam that had let centuries worth of water flow down the valley, ripping and killing everything the furious stream found in its path, only Death left behind, and she had not wished to face it. But in the end, there had been no other choice but to do so, or at least the part that her mind and body could handle at the moment. She ripped her eyes from the macabre painting and carried on walking, nodding her head politely at the nurses and doctors that greeted her but never stopping to talk with them, your room barely a few feet away from her.

Her hand hovered over the doorknob unsure if she should go in or wait a bit longer, but with each second that she let pass she felt her need to see you grow exponentially and with quiet movements she stepped inside. Everything was still the same, your body on the bed, the ventilator breathing for you, even the horrible blankets that covered your battered frame, but when she got closer, she saw that your cheeks had regained some colour, and your skin didn’t look as pale as before. For some reason she wasn’t going to try to understand, it made her heart leap in her chest. You were even still carrying the mark her lipstick had left on your forehead, making her smile as she picked up the black armchair that rested in the corner and placed it beside your bed. She didn’t know and it was a secret you might carry to your grave, but the instant she had stepped into the room your frazzled and still partially unconscious mind had felt her, from that unmistakable aura that she carried with her and she was completely unaware of to the aromas that floated from her skin to your nostrils, perfumes that comforted and calmed your nerves. Even if your body did not respond to what your mind was trying to say to it you could feel her, hear her, and smell her, wishing and praying that somehow she would touch you and make it all real so that you would believe that this was not just a cruel hallucination you was living. She did not disappoint, and with a tender and caring touch she took your hand in hers and interlaced her fingers with yours as she whispered sweet nothings against your skin, her lips ghosting over it.

If she knew just how much this meant to you, if you could tell her, words would never stop falling from your lips, enfolding her for all eternity, because she had the chance to leave you, to let you die, and she had gone through the Heavens and every single circle of Hell to find you. She had come in like your knight in shining armour and had defeated the dragon that had almost claimed your life and there could never be a gesture as loving and as a powerful as searching for her love all the way to the middle of nowhere knowing that her life would be at risk, but she had not cared. Nothing could ever compare to this, to the scattered memories of her angelic face telling you through tears and pained words that everything would be alright, that you would be fine. Avis’s eyes were glued to your hand, feeling the heat that seeped from your body to hers along with the touch of your palm with all its lines and wrinkles matching hers. Unaware of the effect she had on you, she let her mind drift, her eyelids becoming heavy in exhaustion but with the safety of knowing that you were really there with her, and no one would ever take you away. She had dreamt so many times of taking you back to your home, to that land of crashing waves and orange blossoms that you so loved and carried with you deep in your heart, desiring to see those endless fields of yellow that blended into green in Spring, and to explore every corner of the place that had raised you into the woman you were now. She could almost see it now, the gentle rivers with reeds swaying to the lazy currents as butterflies flew, decorating the skies like swinging petals that played lazy games of catch and chase with the flowers that surrounded them. And there so many. Roses, poppies, lavenders and morning glories, all scattered through deep green and olive trees that provided shade for the small gentle bird, and in between all that beauty and magic, you, standing on the riverbend with your hands stretched out for her to hold onto.

And she would take them. Everywhere you went, she would follow, every mountain you climbed she would do so as well, and she would do it all because she loved you. God, she loved you more than she loved herself, more than actions could ever show and more than words could ever tell. Every night you would appear in her dreams, sweet and caring and always with a smile on your face, saving her from problems that would soon fade into the ether as your hands held onto hers and your lips brushed over hers, washing all her worries away. No storm could ever roar in the sky when she was with you because you were a rain of cherry blossom petals in Springtime, the sound of waves and the cooling waters of a soothing sea in Summer, every brown leaf that fell to the ground in Autumn and each unique snowflake in Winter. The essence of the universe and the first element to ever exist, and she would never believe just how she had been the lucky gal to make you fall in love with her as she fell for you. She could almost feel the way your fingers squeezed her own as you pulled her closer. No, wait, that hadn’t been a product of her imagination, she was sure of it.

Her eyes shot open, woken up from her slumber with a start that had her heart hammering against her ribs, her gaze watching your intertwined hands. Your tips moved as the pressure suddenly increased. Yes! Your fingers were indeed squeezing hers! The chair scraped the floor slightly as Avis stood on slightly shaky legs, joy and panic flowing through her veins, but even in that frazzled state of mind she never let go of your hand. You were fighting against the odds, walking through the darkness to get to her because she was there, real and you needed to see for yourself if she was fine. Just as her head turned to look at your face, searching for any other sign that you were coming back to her, your eyelids fluttered for an instant. You were right there, on the edge of the abyss waiting for something that you weren’t sure what it was to take that leap of faith and jump, to gather her in your arms and whisper to the tear-stained face you had last seen that she had been right, and you were alright. Avis was quiet for a moment until your eyelids fluttered again, and without even realising it that raspy, velvety voice of hers dropped the push you needed to jump as she pleaded you to wake up. Her angelic face had been the last thing your eyes had seen; it would be the first as well. Like a miracle your eyes opened.

[luvsizedfrellie]

ruined pasta, messy rooms, you dumbass (i care)

Ellie was slumped against her worn couch, the dim light from the string fairy lights casting shadows across her pale face. Her usual energy had drained away weeks ago, replaced by dark circles under her eyes and a perpetual scowl. She hadn't bothered changing out of yesterday's flannel shirt, and her auburn hair looked greasy enough to stick together in clumps. The Savage Starlight comic lying open on her lap hadn't changed pages in hours, she'd lost interest somewhere between panels three and four.

The door creaked softly as you slipped inside, dropping your patrol gear beside the coffee table, your eyes scanning the space until they landed on Ellie. For a moment, you just stood there, taking in the scene: empty water bottles scattered everywhere, unwashed dishes stacked in the kitchenette, and Ellie herself looking like she'd forgotten what sleep felt like.

"Hey," you said softly, dropping onto the couch beside Ellie, you didn't reach out right away, respecting Ellie's personal space even though every instinct screamed at you to pull your friend close.

Ellie grunted, not lifting her gaze from the comic. You recognized the sound, it wasn't even a word, just a noise acknowledging someone's presence while begging them to leave her alone. That was bad.

You slid closer, your shoulder brushing against Ellie's. "You look like shit, Els."

Ellie finally looked up, her green eyes duller than you had ever seen them. "Thanks. Just what i needed to hear."

The sarcasm was weak, barely there, another red flag. You reached out, gently pushing aside the comic book to examine Ellie's face more closely. Dark circles ringed her eyes, her skin paler than usual, and there was a faint tremble in her fingers when she thought no one was watching.

"You haven't eaten properly in days, have you?" you asked, your voice staying soft despite your growing concern.

Ellie shrugged, looking away. That was all you needed to know. You stood up, heading toward the kitchenette. "I'm making you dinner."

The protest came immediately— "No, i'm fine", but you cut it off with a raised eyebrow. "Save it, Els. You're not fine. You're malnourished, dehydrated, and on the verge of collapse. Joel would kill me if he knew you'd gotten this bad."

Ellie muttered under her breath, something about Joel needing to mind his own business, but she didn't fight it. That scared you more than anything, Ellie always fought. Always pushed back. When she stopped fighting, something was seriously wrong.

As you rummaged through the cupboards, pulling out pasta and vegetables, Ellie watched you with an unreadable expression. For once, there wasn't even a sarcastic comment about your cooking. That silence spoke volumes.

The water boiled, steam rising as you added the pasta. You turned to face Ellie, your eyes locked on hers. "We're going to get you fixed up, 'kay? Starting with food, then sleep, then maybe remembering what showers are for."

Ellie looked down, her shoulders sagging further, you frowned, walking over and sat down beside her again, this time wrapping an arm around her shoulders. For a moment, you were worried Ellie would pull away, as she often did when people got too close. But tonight, she just leaned into the touch, letting out a soft sigh as she rested her head against your shoulder. Her head was heavy against you, her weight an unfamiliar vulnerability that you didn't take lightly. You stayed still for a beat, letting her relax into you, unsure how fragile the moment was or how much Ellie could take before she pushed you away. The soft flutter of Ellie's exhale hit the hollow of your neck, and it hurt—God, it hurt to see her like this.

But then, as you opened your mouth to say something, Ellie's voice came first. "You don't have to do this, y'know."

You frowned, inching back just enough to meet Ellie's gaze. “Do what?”

She didn't look at you, eyes instead locked on some faraway spot on the floor. Her hand fidgeted in her lap, pulling at the worn hem of her flannel. "Pretend you give a shit," she muttered under her breath. "I know Joel probably got to you. Or whoever else decided to send you over here to play nurse or... whatever. It's fine, I get it. You don't have to stick around."

The words came out sharp, like teeth, but you could hear the crack in Ellie's voice beneath it all. She was exhausted, completely raw, and so tangled up in the lie she was telling herself that she probably believed it. That no one gave a shit. That you didn't.

It pissed you off.

"Okay, stop," you said quietly, your voice firm but without heat. "I am stopping you right there, Ellie, because that's the biggest load of bullshit i've ever heard."

That got her attention. Ellie's head snapped up, her green eyes narrowing, defiance flickering faintly across her face like a sputtering match. "’Scuse me?"

"You heard me." you didn't flinch, didn't hold back. You grabbed Ellie's chin lightly, but firmly enough that her couldn't look away. Your brows knit together, voice softening but not losing its punch. "This?" you gestured vaguely, indicating the mess in the room, the state Ellie had let herself fall into. "This isn’t on Joel. Or anyone else. I came here because i fucking care about you. And I'm not gonna sit around watching you destroy yourself like this, blowing off everyone who's been worried sick about you."

Ellie looked like she might bite back, like she might throw off your hand and bury herself deeper into her own misery. But something about the steadiness in your voice—or maybe the weight behind your words—kept Ellie planted. The frustration in her faded, replaced by something that set your chest aching: confusion. uncertainty.

"Why?" Ellie whispered, voice cracking on the word. "Why do you care?"

You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. "Ellie, are you serious? i care because it's you, you stubborn dumbass.

The bluntness seemed to catch Ellie off guard. She blinked, and her mouth opened as if to respond, but—for once—she came up short. You could see the gears turning, could see her processing, could see her struggling to let herself be cared for.

Ellie tried to pull back, shrug your arm off, but you were faster. You caught Ellie's hand in yours—not forceful, just firm enough to keep her from slipping away. "You're not getting rid of me that easy," you murmured, your thumb smoothing over rough knuckles. "Not tonight. Not ever. So, stop telling yourself you don't deserve this, because you fucking do."

Ellie's breath hitched at that. Her lips parted, trembling just slightly like there was something on the tip of her tongue she couldn't quite say. Instead, she whispered, "You don’t have to waste your time. I'm not—fuck, i'm not your problem."

"Jesus, Ellie" you sighed, your frustration softening into something almost tender. "You're not a problem. You’re my friend. My best friend." you hesitated, trying to keep your voice steady as she continued. "Ellie. You're important to me. You have been for as long as i've known you. So, whatever this is, we're going to fix it, together. One step at a damn time. But not if you're gone before we even get a chance to try.".

Ellie stared, lips pressed tight, her throat bobbing as she struggled to swallow the lump rising there. She wanted to argue—you could feel it—but instead, she slumped back into the couch, letting herself lean closer into your side. Her chin dipped, and her voice came out small. Fragile.

"Sorry."

Your hand moved instinctively, slipping into Ellie's unkempt mess of auburn hair, pressing your lips to the top of Ellie's head. "You don't have to be sorry."

She didn't pull away this time. Her breathing grew heavier, but steadier as she let herself sink into your steady warmth, her voice was barely audible now, almost scared. "You really care that much?"

Your voice dropped, becoming softer, more vulnerable, almost matching hers as you hold Ellie close to you. "yeah, Ellie. I really do."

The weight of your words seemed to finally break through Ellie's defenses. Her eyes grew heavy, fluttering shut as exhaustion dragged her under. You felt the subtle shift in Ellie's breathing, the way her body relaxed completely against yours, and you knew she'd drifted off. As you looked down, you noticed the slightest sheen of tears clinging to Ellie's lashes and something tugged sharply in your chest but then, a ghost of a smile touched Ellie's lips, and the ache eased, replaced by a warmth that spread through your veins.

You stayed there for a long moment, just holding Ellie, your fingers carding gently through her hair, the silence of the room was broken only by her and your soft breathing.

"the pasta—shit" you realized with a jolt that the pasta boiling away in the kitchenette, now was undoubtedly a sticky, inedible mess, all you wanted was to make things better for Ellie, and you couldn't even manage to cook a simple meal without ruining it.

You cursed the pasta, cursed the mess, but you didn't regret being there, right beside Ellie. You will be up all night cleaning before she woke up yes but, as you looked back down at her, your features softened instantly. It was worth it, she was worth it.

You carefully adjusted Ellie in your arms, your fingers brushing softly against her cheek. You knew, with a certainty that surprised even yourself, that you would do anything to protect her, to ease her pain, to bring back that spark that had been temporarily extinguished.

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Ellie's forehead. "I've got you, always." you whispered, the words a promise to both Ellie and yourself as she held Ellie close, you let yourself linger in the quiet truth: If only you knew how much i truly do.

[sacrilegesummer]

Wet, Hot, American Nights - Part 1

Heat of the Moment

summary: Steve thinks summer camp is terrible until a conversation that sparks a new found appreciation for all that camp can do for a person, and maybe he'll even make a friend out of it. warnings: underage drinking, future smut (maybe idk monkey covering eyes emoji), bad writing :p a/n: I am VERY nervous pls be kind this is the first time I have ever posted ANYTHING i've written (at my big age). I am really trying to not describe the reader in any way besides age and gender, but if there's something written that feels like projecting a certain look, pls lmk and I will edit/fix it for the future:)

word count: 4.5k

Camp Elk Heart was your home. You knew the layout of Elk Heart like it was the back of your hand. Every turn, every dip in the path, every root and stone, your body had grown accustomed to the trails like it was a part of you. It was a beautiful Friday evening, no clouds, hot but not too humid, and a rare silence was set over the camp grounds. After cleaning all of camp, a brutal time consuming task that was always the bane of everyone’s Friday, you took a well deserved shower. Scrubbing for nearly thirty minutes at your scalp to alleviate all the dirt and sand that kicked up throughout the busy day and cleaning your face to wash away the marks from teary eyed goodbyes to your campers. You changed into a tank top and a pair of sweatpants and as you went to put your shoes back on, you realized you left your sandals in the dining hall. Stepping out of the bathhouse and on to the trail, you grimace as you glance down at your once clean and bright pink shower shoes now dirty, with gravel stuck in the holes after only a few steps.You began to walk a little quicker to the dining hall.

As you walked you admired the land camp occupied. The pines that grew as tall as cathedrals, the lagoon that in its stillness reflected the sky in between large patches of water lilies, and the look of the freshly painted cabins settled in the trees. You came to camp a few weeks early to help with that task, and you took pride in your work. Camp had given you so much, you would do anything to keep in good shape, both internally and externally. You saw a head of hair through the window as you approached the dining hall, not giving it much more thought as you ripped the heavy door open. 

The AC was emitting a terrible grinding noise as you walked into the dining hall, but you were still absolutely sweating despite the pitiful movement coming from the machine. You thought of the last few things you needed before heading home for the weekend. Making a list in your head, dirty laundry, sandals, swimsuit, repeating so you wouldn't forget. Nearly every weekend someone hosted the whole camp for a couple nights. And this week, it was your turn to offer up your house to your friends and co-counselors for the weekend. After this week in the heat, everyone could use a break. A fun, alcohol fueled break. 

You walked briskly into the break room collecting your well worn pair of sandals from your cubby. You noticed your coworker, Steve Harrington, sitting on the couch, clearly not packed or ready to go, he might have even been pouting, you couldn’t tell. You were going to just keep walking, but instead you whipped around and smiled at him.

“Hey! Are you coming tonight?” 

Steve looked up from his Game Boy, the sounds of Super Mario playing gently from the small device in his hands. He looked surprised. 

“Oh, uh, is there something going on tonight?” Steve questions, sounding a little irritated. 

“Yeah! I put it on the Staff board a couple days ago,” you said, acting a little too happy and kindly gesturing towards the note that clearly said ‘MY HOUSE, THIS WEEKEND’ with your address listed below. 

“I’m hosting the party this weekend. Bring beer and a sleeping bag. My dad has a tent set up. You can probably ride with Robin if you ask nicely” you grinned at him. 

Steve first tilted his head towards the board and his face grew red, then he nodded and said, “Okay, I’ll be there.”

You give him a nod back and swiftly turn around, continuing the walk back to your cabin. Steve was…odd. He seemed very charming and friendly, but the only person he ever talked with was Robin, to everyone else he was distant and aloof. Despite this being her first summer as a counselor, Robin had been attending Elk Heart almost as long as you have. Coming to camp for the first time at 8 years old, you completely fell in love with the place. Robin had started going several years later but as campers you became fast friends, growing even closer this summer as counselors.

This was your first summer back since you were 17, and now, at 22, you felt prehistoric compared to the fresh faced 18 and 19 year olds. Steve was the next oldest person after you and Torres, the Northside Director, but Steve was one of the few staff who had never come to camp before. You had sympathy for him, coming to a camp where everyone knew each other and had their friends… that’s a hard barrier to break through. Secretly though, you think the reason Steve only talks to Robin is because he thinks he’s too good for the place, and she just happens to naturally be incredibly cool. You’d heard him complaining about the short breaks despite working 6 days a week, the exhaustion that came with camp life and the lack of ‘babes’ at camp one day. That left a sour taste in your mouth. 

You shook your head from these thoughts, maybe he’s just shy and the shared trauma of being Co’s the first week brought them close. He’s probably not the jerk you’re making him out to be. You entered your cabin and began to stuff your clothes into your duffle bag. Toiletries, towels, dirty laundry, swimsuit… you put your sandals back on your feet and ditched your shower shoes. The one strap sandal was ugly, but functional! You took a second to admire your tan lines, even more obvious now that you’ve scrubbed your feet of all the sand, dirt, and mud that accumulates in a singular day. You completely adored being outside, and the starkness of the tan lines felt like a status symbol. 

A car horn interrupts your thoughts and you hear your friend and fellow counselor, Eddie, scream from his beat up van, “Hurry up Sunshine! Gotta try an’ beat the sunset!” You continued to stuff all the things you needed, triple checking mentally and praying you didn’t leave anything behind. It was only a weekend, but you hated being unprepared. Turning all the lights in the cabin off, you jog out to Eddie’s van.

“I’m here, I’m here!” you shout over the music blasting from the radio. You crack open the door and settle yourself on the worn in passenger seat and chuck your bag into the laps of Torres, Nancy, and Jonathon, all stuffed into the backseat. “Can you toss that in back for me please?” you give the three of them a sweet look and smile. Torres flashes you a sparkling smile and tosses it behind him. 

“You were supposed to meet us at the dining hall! Had to track you down,” he laughed as he grabbed your shoulder playfully. 

“You know how I am,” you roll your eyes playfully. “Had to get some last minute things and thank you for saving me the front seat! Do you know who's all coming?”

Nancy picks up her little pen and paper and begins to read off the list she very generously created to keep track for you, “Robin is driving half of Southside, the other half is driving with Mae, Argyle is bringing all of the people on Northside who are going but Cabin 2, 14, and 4 can’t make it this weekend, so… most of Boys side. I mean Northside.” she rambled.

“Okay, but most of the camp is coming, so that’s great. The tents’ big, but they're not that big!” you laughed and then held your tongue for a moment, “Do you know if Steve is coming?”

Nancy raised an eyebrow. “He hasn’t said anything to me. Do you think he got the invite?”

“Yeah, no, I just invited him in when I saw him in the Nor’wester room. Told him to talk to Robin,” I said, trailing off. “I just don’t want him to think I’m like- excluding him or something you know?” I blurted out, looking back at Nancy in the back seat and then at Eddie, sounding a little desperate. 

“I’m sure he’s fine, his ego can take the hit,” Eddie said, passing you his cigarette. As you accept, he asks, “Should I stop at the Junction gas station or wait until we’re closer?”

“Closer, we can get ice at the closer station too”

Eddie smiles and turns the music up even more as you crank his window down, letting the wind whip your hair and cool yourself down, excited for the night but desperately needing a small moment to yourself. 

___

The party is in full swing, bonfire roaring, red solo cups and stomachs full, thanks to your mom’s huge feast. You settled on some light beer and mixed vodka drinks for the night, ‘the full spectrum’, Eddie joked earlier. Filling another cup with a shot or two of cheap vodka and cranberry juice, you walked over to your seat by the bonfire, next to Torres.

“Enjoying the night?” he asked as you sat down, the fire flickering on his smiling face. Torres was one of our international staff members, but you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact he came all the way from Gudalajara to Elkhart, Indiana of ALL places.

“Of course! Are you?” you asked him, leaning close. At the beginning of the summer you harbored a bit of a crush on the man. How could you not! He was handsome and fit and very affectionate, but after a… pretty intense weekend at Mae’s parents house, you both decided to remain friends. Besides, camp relationships hardly ever worked out, it was like incest. Campcest. And you valued his friendship too much to ever ruin that.

“Yeah it’s great, your parents were so kind to do all of this, we’re not an easy crowd to handle you know,” and he wiggled his eyebrows a little and you giggled. 

“I know, Eddie’s already broken one of my mom’s chairs. He begged for forgiveness and promised to repay her but nothing will change the fact that he’s an idiot,” you rolled your eyes. 

Torres laughed at that, and a comfortable silence fell over the two of you. After a distant yell, your friend Patty came over, grabbing on to Torres’s arm, “Torres, you have to be my partner in pong. I will totally suffer without you,” she flirted, looking at him expectantly. Patty was beautiful, tall and thin, with long black hair and the most striking blue eyes you’ve ever seen. You didn’t mind that she liked him, just because you think of it as incest doesn’t mean everyone thinks that way. Besides, they were both close friends of yours, you only wanted them to be happy. 

“Of course pretty girl,” he smiled as he got up, shooting you a wink. You winked back and took another sip of your very strong drink. You stared into the fire for a moment thinking you were alone, appreciating the moment of solitude. You loved hosting but you could only be a social butterfly for so long before you grew exhausted. When you raised your head to look around, Steve was a few plastic chairs away,  already looking at you. He quickly looked away, thankful for the fire to hide his blushing face. You stood up from your chair and walked carefully over to him, being sure not to seem too drunk. Plopping down into the plastic chair next to him you smiled. 

“How are you doing Steve?” you asked him. It was weird. Normally you both were the life of the party. Dancing on table tops, getting kicked out of bars, and trying to beat each other in a shotgun race (your special trick was flashy, but not very effective in a race so he usually won). Tonight though, you were much calmer due to a pretty tiring, hot week with some of your toughest (and most rewarding) campers. 

“I’m good, just a little tired,” he smiled and took a sip out of his water bottle. 

“Me too,” you glanced down at his water bottle, “No drinks tonight? ” you said, faking surprise.

He shook his head and laughed a little, “I promised Robin I would bring her back in the morning and I really don't want to do that hungover. I've had a couple beers though, don’t worry. I’m in a…good spot for now.” He leaned up and to his left, reaching into his back pocket, pulling out a pack of Newports. He sat back and lit one, taking a small drag, he offered it to you, raising his eyebrows. You reached out and imitated him, taking the tiniest inhale. 

“Well, that’s good. Just want to make sure you’re having a good time,” I said very earnestly. A beat of silence. I really don’t know anything about him you thought, disappointed in yourself. Sitting here, realizing you’ve never even been this physically close to him, you felt this deep urge to keep talking to him. Get to know him. Maybe make a friend. 

“Is it weird?” you asked a bit abruptly, passing back his cigarette, “Like, this kind of culture? You’ve never worked at camps before, right?”

“Yeah I mean, it's not what I imagined,” he grimaced a little, “but it’s been alright. I like being able to get tan while lifeguarding,” he said, squishing his face in distaste and taking another drag. “Everyone’s nice…really nice! I don’t know, I just kinda feel different from everyone,” he said slowly, his eyes raking over you in a way that you assume was very unintentional. 

Suddenly, one of your favorite outfits became a source of insecurity. It was simple, but maybe a little too colorful for something so casual. Your shorts were second hand, a light purple pair of quick dry shorts and your sweatshirt was an almost headache inducing pattern of pink, yellow, brown, and purple, but it was your favorite, and the only Patagonia thing you’ve ever purchased. It was expensive, but you were just so drawn to it you had to get. Now, you’re wondering if the bright pattern was off putting to others. You loved how you looked, you thought it screamed ‘camp counselor’ but now you’re wondering if it's just screaming ‘i’m weird - look at me I love attention!!!’. You looked around for a moment. 

“What do you mean? You don’t totally love kids wetting the bed, showering only twice a week, and 6 days of straight 100 degree heat or only pouring rain?” I said, wanting to get my mind off my own insecurities, realizing I was probably overreacting. It seemed malicious though, especially considering every single day he wore jean shorts or an expensive pair of brown hiking pants, while rotating the same few, plain shirts. 

“Yeah, not exactly my thing,” he said, taking another sip. “Do you go to school?” he asked, not looking entirely genuine, you thought maybe he felt obligated to talk to the host of the party. 

“Yeah! Should have graduated last May, but I’ll be done next semester,” You said, feeling a bit ashamed but hoping your face didn’t betray you. Suddenly, a loud cheer exploded from the pong table. Looking behind you, the game looked neck and neck, Torres and Patty having two cups and Nancy and Jonathon having three left. It was obvious Jonathon had no idea what he was doing and Nancy was making all the shots, but still, they were quite cute. You hoped they would last, summer romances were hard to translate into the real world. 

“Really? Why?” he asked, looking entirely shocked, drawing your attention back from the game of pong, “You’re literally the smartest person I know. Are you studying a million things at once?”

“Please, I am not the smartest person you know, you hardly know me,” you shook your head vigorously, “just, you know…do you go to school?” you pivoted, desperate to get yourself out of the spotlight. 

Catching the hint, he nods, “Yeah starting my first year at Indiana,” he said, sounding just as ashamed as you did. “I feel like a… like a weirdo, going to college so late but I didn’t have the grades for the longest time and I honestly had no idea what I wanted to do. Still don’t,” he said, running a hand through his hair. 

“That’s not weird at all. That’s honestly really smart. I really wish I did that. That’s why I’m taking an extra semester. I was so stuck on keeping everyone happy and wanting to make my parents proud that I studied a totally soulless profession that I don’t even care about,” you rambled, surprising yourself with the vulnerability. You don’t even know him, why are you word vomiting so hard right now?

“I wish I had taken a year or two to figure out what I want to do, not what my family wants, not what's expected of me,” you finished, not making eye contact with Steve. 

“What do you want to do?” Steve asked, sounding genuinely interested. 

“I want to teach,” you grinned just thinking about it, “I just love working with kids so much. Not to sound super mushy but… camp has changed my life, it basically saved my life, and it’s made me realize that these relationships are the ones I will cherish forever. The trust you build with your campers is a connection unlike any other and watching them grow in the short time we have them…it’s more rewarding than anything else. I want to do that forever. Camp is so unlike anything I’ve ever done,” you looked over at Steve as you spoke, his eyes were wide and he had a small smile on his face. 

Steve leaned forward a bit, “What do you mean camp changed your life?”

Now was the moment to decide just how vulnerable you wanted to be with Steve. Maybe you just really needed to talk about your feelings or maybe he was just, really easy to talk to. You took a breath, “I came back to camp because I was really unhappy. My major was totally depressing me because I hated the work so much. Coming here really set me on a good direction for life. I was doing things and hanging around people who were bad for me. Being back here makes me realize I don’t need to do those things for friends. Or to be cool. I’m cool without all that other bullshit. You think I’m cool right?” you said, grinning and attempting to relieve the tension of your admission.

“Oh definitely,” he grinned, “all the coolest people I know wear full monochrome outfits on a random Tuesday, start rap battles with condiment bottles, and wear garbage bag ponchos, just so one of your campers wouldn’t feel embarrassed,” Steve laughed as he thought of you this past week, garbage bag poncho over green socks, green shirt, and green pants. He’s not even sure if you’re aware you do that, “I’ve never seen anyone pull off those things like you do. You’ll be a great teacher,” he said genuinely and then took a shallow breath, “My parents told me they’d kill me if I ever became a teacher, so that’s really admirable.”

“What? Why?” you said, still reeling a little from what Steve said. You didn’t think anyone even noticed those things about you, much less Steve, someone you’ve hardly spoken with this entire time. 

“Because it doesn’t make any money,” he looked away, “My parents…my dad… have these sky high expectations for me. I don’t even really know him. He's been pressuring me for years to go to college, study business or something ‘useful’, meet a girl, get married, and all that bullshit,” he spat out, “But it never felt right. I guess that’s kind of why I’m here. Trying something new, trying to find myself, a little,” he said, getting quieter and then, “I don’t think my parents even like me. They’ve never said it but I’m pretty sure they think I’m a failure. My entire life they’ve pushed this- this agenda on me while being states away, working, constantly. Hard to parent when you’re halfway across the country and forget to call,” he said, staring into the fire and taking an aggressive drink of his water, probably wishing it was something stronger. 

You were quiet for a moment and spared a glance into your parents house. Your parents were wonderful, but you were the first of your family to ever go to college and they had no idea the pressure they were putting on you. Your parents were constantly working while growing up so they could provide you the opportunity to go to college. But still, you feel like you hardly know them, “I get that,” you said slowly, “My parents love me, but they don’t know me. They’re so afraid of me becoming like them they tried to force me to become a- a lawyer,” your face twisted at the thought of it, “because all the best lawyers let kids dye their hair blue with Kool-Aid.” You laughed, looking at Steve from the corner of your eye. You felt so comfortable sharing these things with him, but you’re not too sure why. You’re not even friends. Maybe it was the firelight or his big, brown eyes enticing you to spill your guts. Maybe you were just drunk. 

“You’re not a failure, by the way,” you said gently, Steve was still looking at the fire. “I think you did it the smart way,, the right way, if there's even such a thing. Whatever you decide to do you’ll be great at it, but don’t do what I did. Don’t try to study something your heart is truly not invested in, that’s how you fail classes, flunk out.” you said, knowingly.

He smiled bitterly, “I guess we’re two sides of the same coin huh?” but the bitterness melted into a real smile as he looked at you. 

“Yeah,” you said, reaching out to grab his hand gently, “you know, I go to Indiana too. If you want, when you get there, I can show you the ropes. All the best routes, best places to eat, good professors, all that stuff.” you spoke, hoping to not sound too eager. 

“Really? Would you?” He raised his eyebrows, holding your hand tighter.

“Of course Harrington, I love taking a little freshman under my wings,” I winked at him. 

“I am not little,” Steve said leaning in a little more, he looked like he wanted to stay more but then-

“Come on Sunshine, can’t sit by the fire all night! You’re my pong partner!” Eddie yelled from the table, “We play winners,” he gestured to Nancy and Jonathon, who were looking between you and Steve, and your hands held together. 

You abruptly pulled your hand out from his and practically jumped out of your seat. “Don’t have to ask me twice!” and quickly walked over to Eddie’s side. He tossed his arm over your shoulder and you snuck a glance at Steve. Steve was looking at the ground and gave a curt nod to no one in particular, and spun back around to stare into the fire. You felt sick to your stomach for a moment, regretting leaving the warmth of the fire, the warmth of his… 

You blinked hard and looked up at Eddie, who was holding out the other pong ball, “You ready to play?”

___

The sun shone through the windows of the tent you and your coworkers slept in that night, sleeping bags squished together, head to toe and stuffed like sardines. The room was hot with the morning sun beating down, the down in your sleeping bag doing its job, and the heat of a dozen young adults in one room combined with your own hangover was making you nauseous. As quietly as you could manage, you stumbled out of the tent. Immediately, you notice in your driveway that Robin’s car is gone. You glance back in the tent and see most of Southside is gone including Steve. You ignored the slight drop in your heart when you realized he was gone. It wasn’t even 8 am, Robin really needed to get back I guess. You wished you could have spoken to Steve a little more. It was so…refreshing to speak to someone so freely, without judgement. Or was that all in your head, spurred on by the drinks in your hand? You couldn’t be sure anymore, the memory of last night becoming a bit hazy after leaving Steve by the fire. 

You padded across your front lawn barefoot (where were your sandals?) into your parents house. Expecting a morning full of cleaning, you were shocked at the site of your parents home. The destruction of last night was stuffed into garbage bags, plates were in the dishwasher, and your couch, with a million different pillows and blankets, was straightened up. You gasped, seeing how clean it was, and making a mental note to thank whoever did this. You double checked that everything was clean and started up the dishwasher. You walked into your childhood bedroom and coat room to organize everyone’s things to make their departure a little easier and reduce the chances of someone leaving their things. As you entered you saw a note on your bed, scrawled quickly in the glitter pen that sat on your desk. It read:

Thanks for the party. I’m really glad we talked. It meant a lot. Hope I put everything away in the right spot -Steve

You put your hand flew to cover your mouth. How… kind of him. You figured maybe Robin or Patty had cleaned up, but Steve? You’ve seen him clean on Fridays; your first week you had to show him how to hold a broom and mop properly. There was no way he did this on his own. 

You thought back on your conversation last night, forcing your brain to conjure back up the moment, regardless of the headache that was forming. You thought of the warmth of the bonfire and the callous feel of his finger tips, and the genuine look in his eyes when he called you ‘the coolest’. A giddy feeling entered your body, a new friend! Especially to make a friend with someone as standoffish as Steve, this felt like quite the accomplishment. You vowed to seek him out this weekend before camp starts and thank him. Your excitement grew over the prospect of being able to build and share memories with another person, your chest beating quickly just thinking about it. You wondered what traditions he knew of and which ones he didn't. Like, has he ever stargazed on the roof of the Nature Center? Swam to the water trampoline and spend the night? You put the note in your pajama pocket, your face growing warm at the thought of hanging out with Steve. You practically skipped out of your house and began to count down the hours until you were back at camp again. 

[dreamerdrop]

Could you tell us more about the WIP called Zebras?

Zebras is an episode related little what if based on If Wishes Were Horses, wherein Julian falls asleep reading medical notes about Bajoran war orphans and finds himself dreaming about his own childhood, and thus wakes up to a small imaginary version of himself pre-augmentation.

I need to rewrite the bulk of it, but here’s a snippet from the ending without any further context.

Julian doesn't really want to be around people, but he does want to drink until he blacks out, so he finds himself sitting in a corner at Quarks, tossing back synthehol like his life depends on it, when Jadzia approaches him, looking uncomfortable.

“You know... What I meant was, does this mean you have a secret yearning to be a father,” Jadzia says softly, almost whispering so that nobody else will hear. “I was… trying to joke about you maybe having a pregnancy fetish or something, and… maybe that was why you liked the idea that I already had a worm in my belly…?” she sits across from him, her smile is very contrite.

Julian grimaces. Of course, that had been what she was trying to joke about... Leave it to Jadzia to phrase it in the most awkward way possible, and for Julian to interpret it as incorrectly as imaginable.

They really did make quite a pair.

“So… who was he?” she asks, and Julian had so very much been dreading when that question would finally come up. His throat feels dry.

“He was… a friend. I knew him a long time ago…” he finds himself staring into the middle distance, several memories playing through his mind.

“What happened?”

Julian breathes slowly, trying not to get lost in the flood of thoughts and emotions that he feels like he might as well be drowning in.

“He died. He was... He was sick. His parents, they… it was difficult for them. Looking after him, because he was… they… they wanted to help him, to fix him, to make him…” Julian chokes on the words, crying. His face heats with shame.

“He was stupid. He was stupid, and annoying, and nobody liked him, and his parents…” he doesn't mean the words at all. He’s not sure where they’re coming from, but he can’t seem to stop them. Jadzia is looking at him in almost horror.

“They took him away to fix him, but… he didn't come back. I think... I think his parents were happier without him,” he says quietly. Jadzia shakes her head, opening her mouth to protest.

“They were. They had another child. I heard… I heard them telling their new child how much better he was. How much smarter, and easier to handle he was. They… I… They didn’t miss him at all…”

Jadzia isn’t stupid. Julian knows she can tell there’s more to this than he’s willing to admit. Julian knows he’s giving away too much. He knows he’ll regret this one day. Right now, the image of watching Jules die all over again is fresh in his mind.

“Sometimes, I think… I might be the only one who misses him at all.”

Jadzia reaches a hand out and squeezes his shoulder. She lifts her own glass and clinks it against Julian’s.

“We can miss him together, at least for tonight,” she says.

The burn of synthehol doesn’t warm him as much as the genuine kindness in Jadzia’s eyes, nor does it sting as much as the still-present pity.

He supposes that one day, she’ll look at him normally again, but just for tonight… he’s grateful that someone else can feel sorry for Jules. He’s glad he won’t be the only one to miss him anymore.

END.

I’m not quite sure what to do with the rest of it in the lead up to that yet though, since I’ve been puzzling over the character voices for a while for this… I think I’ve got Julian being too much of a jerk and being sort of too… idk, softboy-ish? Rather than like… himself. And I think it makes zero sense for me not to have Sisko and Miles more involved as well, since y’know, they’re both parents and here is Julian with a tiny kid.

Anyway, it’s been a WIP since maybe November last year and I come back to it occasionally and hopefully one day I will finish it. Hopefully. Maybe. We’ll see!

[tsuncda]

no, this is so embarrassing, actually, someone burn the loser cringe out of me.

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]