#i finally got my poetry books out from the cabinet and out where i can see them

[brenna]

the vibe for june 9th is board game day. I forgot to take any photos during, so here's one of the games we played, fit to print. first time playing it, and it was fun.

[bluejayblueskies]

Could you do either 3 or 74 with JMart for the kiss prompt?

kiss prompt list!

3 - drunk/sloppy kiss | 74 - Kisses Where One Person Is Sitting In The Other’s Lap

I did both! cw for alcohol consumption and food

.

“Jon,” Martin says, amused. “What are you doing?”

 Jon mumbles something that Martin can’t quite catch, his face buried in the crook of Martin’s neck and his hands fisted in the front of Martin’s jumper.

 “Mm, I didn’t quite catch that, love.”

 Jon groans, low in his throat, and pulls back just enough to say, “I’m cold. Whoever built this house clearly did not have Scottish winters in mind.” Under his breath, he mutters, “Shoddy workmanship, that’s what this is.”

 Martin hums and wraps his arms around Jon, pulling him tightly to his chest. “Maybe Daisy just never got around to insulating the place.”

 Jon makes an unintelligible grumbling noise and buries his nose in Martin’s hair. Martin can picture the look on Jon’s face—that little furrow he gets between his eyes when he’s irritated, the way his nose wrinkles as he says words like shoddy—and he can’t help the fond smile that comes to his lips. He shifts and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jon’s head before saying, gently, “Do you want hot chocolate? I think I still have some of that dark chocolate you like in the cupboard.”

 “Yes,” Jon says slowly, “but that would require you going to the kitchen, and then I’d get cold again, which would quite defeat the purpose.”

 Martin pauses for a moment, considering. Then, with a conspiratorial grin on his face, he shifts his hands to Jon’s legs, ignoring Jon’s questioning noise, and stands, bringing Jon with him.

“Martin!” Jon yelps, a surprised laugh slipping free as he wraps his arms and legs around Martin like a limpet and grips tight enough to bruise. “What are you—Martin!”

 Martin pauses, halfway to the kitchen, and says, “Yes, love?”

 Jon makes an indignant, sputtering noise, but Martin catches a glimpse of a smile before Jon buries his face back into the crook of Martin’s neck and says, “Don’t- don’t drop me.”

 “Never,” Martin says easily before traversing the remainder of the distance to the kitchen and setting Jon down safely on the counter. He pulls back, despite Jon’s protest, presses a soft kiss to Jon’s forehead, and says, “Let me go get the cocoa ready.”

 As Martin pulls out the chocolate and the milk and switches on the old electric hob, Jon pulls the sleeves of his jumper—Martin’s jumper, actually, though they’re pretty much communal property by this point—over his hands and rests them on his knees. His feet swing gently, kicking up against the cabinets every so often, and the soft thud of a socked foot hitting wood endears Martin more than it has any right to.

 Martin can feel Jon’s eyes on him as he prepares perhaps the fastest batch of hot chocolate he’s ever made, partly because of his own desire to chase away the bite of December air filtering in through the lackluster wood slats of the cottage and partly because if he doesn’t get Jon back in his arms right now, he might actually die.

 Finally, finally, the chocolate is melted, and Martin mixes in a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg before switching off the hob and dividing the liquid between two mugs—a bright, cheery yellow for Jon, a swirl of dark green and blue for Martin. When he turns back to Jon, a mug in each hand, his eyes focus on something in Jon’s hand and a surprised laugh slips free.

 “Where did you get that?”

 “From the supermarket,” Jon quips, holding up the bottle of Baileys demonstratively. “You were there, if I recall.”

 “Mm, yes, but you can be very good at smuggling things through the checkout,” Martin says. “A whole bottle of alcohol, though—very sneaky.”

 “I’m really not trying to be,” Jon says, amused, before twisting off the top of the bottle with a flourish. He gestures toward the mugs with the bottle and says, “Yes or no?”

 Martin bites his lip, considering, before giving Jon a small shrug. “Yeah, why not? A little shouldn’t hurt.”

 Jon obligingly pours a dash of Baileys into Martin’s mug before adding a not-insubstantial amount to his own mug. They settle back onto the couch, mugs cradled between both hands. The gentle, flickering light from the fire reflects in Jon’s eyes and casts shadows across his cheeks and nose, and Martin feels affection swell within him, as warm and sweet as the cocoa in his hands.

 “How much did you put in there?” Martin says some time later with a small laugh, when Jon’s mug is empty and his eyes are hazy with intoxication. Jon’s on his lap again, his legs bracketing Martin’s and his hands resting firmly on Martin’s shoulders. Which Martin is definitely not complaining about.

 Jon shrugs and wiggles a bit closer, which is not helping the flush Martin can already feel creeping up the back of his neck. “Just a bit.” He gives Martin a smile a touch more lopsided than normal and says, “I… I will admit, my alcohol tolerance is… essentially non-existent.”

 “Yeah, I got that,” Martin says, the words jumping up in pitch near the end when Jon leans forward and, without warning, places a feather-light kiss on the side of Martin’s jaw. “Jon.”

 Jon shrugs and releases one of Martin’s shoulders so he can place his hand on Martin’s cheek. Martin feels every point of contact between them like pinpricks of static electricity, and he leans his face into Jon’s hand with a small, contented sigh. “I’ve been told that I get… touchy when I drink. And I’m already quite fond of touching you, so perhaps you can understand why I very strongly feel the need to kiss you right now.”

 Martin flushes deeply, and his hands tighten on Jon’s sides. “Oh,” he says, embarrassed at the way his voice squeaks around the word. “Well, I- I’m quite fond of touching you too, and ki—”

 The rest of Martin’s words are swallowed whole as Jon leans forward and kisses him, hot and fierce and a bit sloppy. Points for enthusiasm, Martin supposes, and he certainly isn’t going to complain about being kissed rather passionately by his very attractive boyfriend who he loves very much.

 For a few minutes, there’s just this: Jon’s mouth hot on Martin’s, his hands tangling in Martin’s hair and pulling in a way that has Martin making little bitten-off noises against Jon’s lips, Martin’s hands gripping Jon’s hips tightly and his thumbs rubbing little circles across Jon’s sides. At some point, Jon shifts and knocks his empty mug off the couch and onto the rug. He breaks the kiss with a frown and twists to stare at the mug. After a moment, he shrugs and says, “It’s not broken,” before turning back and capturing Martin’s lips with his again, pushing Martin back against the couch as he does so.

 Finally, out of necessity more than anything, Jon pulls back with a contented noise, just far enough to rest his forehead against Martin’s. His breaths ghost across Martin’s lips, quick and labored like he’s just run a marathon, and after a moment, he says, hoarsely, “I’ve decided, after considering all of the variables and conducting quite thorough research, that kissing you is unequivocally my favorite pastime.”

 Something in Martin’s chest flutters at that, and he says with a wide smile, “Oh? Even more than reading? I’m honored.”

 “Mm,” Jon says in affirmation. He pulls back further as a yawn splits his face in two before curling into Martin’s chest and resting his head against Martin’s shoulder. “I could tell you to ask again tomorrow, when I’m once again fully in possession of my faculties, but my answer isn’t going to change.” He turns his head, presses a kiss to Martin’s collarbone, and says teasingly, “It’s official: I love you more than books.”

 “Is that so?” Martin says, amused. He runs his hands down Jon’s back, lingering on his shoulder blades and the knobs of his spine before settling on Jon’s lower back and kneading that spot where Jon always caries tension. Jon makes a low, contented noise and somehow burrows further into the fabric of Martin’s jumper. “Well, then, I suppose I should inform you that I love you more than poetry.” After a moment of consideration: “I love you more than the cows.”

 Jon lets out an exaggerated gasp and pulls back to give Martin an affronted look. “No, not the cows! They’re good cows, Martin. You said so yourself; I distinctly recall it.”

 Martin laughs and leans forward to press a quick kiss to Jon’s nose. “You’re right, how rude of me. I retract my statement entirely; if we’re going in order, I love Martha the cow, then Francis the cow, then you.”

 “Much better,” Jon says with faux severity. After a moment, though, his lips curl into a soft, affectionate smile and he moves his hands from Martin’s shoulders to the sides of his face, rubbing his thumbs gently over the top of Martin’s cheeks. “I do, though. Love you. Very much so, in fact.”

 Around the sudden tightness in his throat—no, he will not cry, no matter how much the words make his heart swell with unbelievable fondness—Martin whispers, “I love you too. With all I have.”

 The smile Jon gives him, unabashedly tender yet still shy around the edges, melts Martin utterly. Jon leans forward and presses another lingering kiss against Martin’s mouth before wrapping his arms around Martin’s neck and resting his forehead against Martin’s. “Bed?” he says softly, voice rough and weary around the edges.

 “Bed,” Martin agrees.

 And the surprised noise Jon makes when Martin sweeps him up in his arms again and carries him to the bedroom is like birdsong and windchimes and the rustle of leaves, stunningly beautiful and tucked safely next to Martin’s heart.

[talkfastromance4]

stuck with u--calum hood (part ii)

Read part one here

word count: 4.7k

warnings: nsfw, boyfriend!cal, oral sex (female receiving), slight exhibitionism, slight cum talk, slight dirty talk, unprotected sex, 18+ please

Let me know if you’d like a part 3! I’ve got ideas but they revolve around baby Hood and I know I write that way too much but I can’t be tamed so if you don’t want that this will be the last part ok

Enjoy! :)

Masterlist

• • • •

She was finally able to visit her family for a few weeks with Calum and Duke accompanying her on the trip. Staying in her childhood bedroom had its drawbacks of not being intimate with each other. Not that Calum went without trying. He’d move in to give her a goodnight kiss, distracting her with his lips while his hand attempted to slip under her pajama bottoms.

“Hold your horses, handsy,” she’d giggle and pull his hand away. “Wait until we’re alone.”

“We are alone,” he’d pout against her neck.

“My parents are right across the hall. You know me, I can’t be quiet.” She’d play with his hair affectionately trying to appease him.

“I love that you can’t be quiet,” he’d smile back then sigh deeply, it tickled her skin. “Fine, but when we get back home…you’re mine.”

After rekindling their relationship, it was stronger than ever. They found a routine that included a workout regime while also spending some alone time apart. Sure, they still had their qualms, but the resolve was quicker than before.

She was so happy to help out with the Wildflower video when that happened and made sure to follow Andy’s instructions to a T as she helped him film it. She loved watching him do his own workout routine by the pool, his muscles rippling and glistening in the midday sun was a sight for sore eyes.

One day, he was holed up in his music room on a call with the guys. She assumed it was about tour and she could hear the frustration and sadness in his voice as she passed by to start dinner. While she cooked she suddenly felt a wave of guilt wash over her because spending this time with him when he should be on tour made her happy.

His door opened half an hour later with him running his fingers through his hair in distress.

“Smells good, baby,” he says moving behind her. His hands rest on her waist, he kisses her cheek then holds her for a moment. He sighs heavily.

“What’s going on with the guys?” she asks carefully, not wanting to add her own salt to the wound.

“We couldn’t reschedule all the tour dates,” he says sadly. “We were thinking of making the set longer since it was held off, hopefully have the fifth album out before then so we can double new songs. We’ll see.”

“I think that’d be great, the fans would love a longer set.”

He hums in agreement watching her sprinkle some parmesan cheese over the fish, his lips pulsing on her shoulder like little fish kisses. When she has to put the pan in the oven, she pats his hands which he removes so she can do her task then sets the timer for the appropriate time. She takes Calum’s hand then leads him to the couch so they can sit together.

“What else is on your mind?” she asks curling her fingers in his hair, he leans into her touch resting his hand on her thigh.

“Ash said he’s been creating his own solo album since all of this started and he’s nearly finished with it.”

“Really? Wow, that’s great for him!”

“Yeah…it is,” he starts to chew on the nail of his thumb lost in thought. “It got me thinking.”

“Of?” she continues to play with his hair, his own hand rubbing circles on her thigh.

“What if I…I might want to put an actual book of my own writings together.”

“Really?! I think that’s an awesome idea!” she exclaims kissing his cheek excitedly.

“You do?”

“Yeah! Your writing is incredible, honey. Poetry is becoming such a big thing again, it helps others not feel so alone, it brings out their emotions. What would you write about?”

“You,” he smiles leaning forward to press a delicate kiss to her lips. “Me, the guys, growing up as a kid, other thoughts I have.”

“It already sounds like a bestseller.”

“I don’t know where to start,” he huffs. He shifts on the couch so he’s lying on her chest, his curls tickle her chin, they hug each other close.

“Wherever you want to,” she kisses the top of his head. “They’re your words, your thoughts, your feelings.”

They sit in a comfortable silence while dinner cooks, she continues to play with his hair and rub his back with her other hand. She’s excited to see his process with this, something that’s his own creation. When the oven timer goes off, he helps her set everything else up for dinner, both of them are stuck in their own thoughts and musings.

Bedtime rolls around and Calum’s been flipping through his brown leather notebook he always writes in and the one he gave her for her birthday. He’s waiting for something to jump out at him for a good place to start. While she sleeps, he thinks. And thinks. And thinks. Until an idea blooms in his mind.

The next morning, she wakes to a Calum-less side of the bed. She looks to the bathroom but he’s not in there, then she checks her phone if he texted her that he went to the store or something. She finds the coffee maker is still on with her mug and favorite ingredients set aside for her along with a small handwritten note from Calum.

“Be back soon, love. Getting something for the both of us to enjoy xx Cal”

She smiles at the note, fixes her coffee then ponders what he could possibly be getting for the both of them to enjoy. Her mind immediately goes to something sexual, but they haven’t really discussed anything out of the ordinary as of late. She also found it very sweet that he left a note instead of a text, his romanticism never fails.

Upon waiting for his return, she rinses the dishes and puts them in the dish washer, then decides to take a quick shower. She pulls on some fabric shorts and one of his shirts then prattles about the house until Duke’s barking signifies his arrival.

“Y/N?”

She comes by the door where Calum quickly lifts her into his arms and spins her around, his rumbling laughter makers her join in even though she doesn’t know the joke.

“Where have you been?”

“Come outside but close your eyes.”

He takes her hand then covers her eyes with the other, leading her to the front of the house. Their feet knock together as he guides her to where he wants her.

“Okay, are you ready?”

“Did you get me a pony?” she teases.

“No, silly girl,” he chuckles then removes his hand, but she keeps her eyes closed. “Open.”

When she does, she’s staring at a mini retro camper that’s yellow and white with an outline of a dog painted on the front. She gasps at it; they’ve always talked about getting one so they could do a camping trip together.

“What do you think? Want to check the inside out? It’s pretty spacious inside,” he grins mischievously pulling open the door.

“Oh yeah? Give me the grand tour, sir.”

She takes his hand helping her step inside. Her mouth opens in shock at the updated version inside. White cabinets and furnished wood flooring make the space appear bigger. There’s a small nook with a table for eating, the kitchenette is small with a door leading to the toilet and across that is a small shower. Two small steps lead up to a large bed decorated with an orange bedspread and see through curtains over the back window. Up front is a small couch with pillows and a blanket.

“And, check this out,” he ducks in front of her then pushes a button, a medium flat screen appears behind two cabinets. “We can plug in our firestick as long as we’re in range of a Wifi spot so we can watch Netflix, Hulu, Disney+.”

She looks at all the small details, she loves the wicker basket ottoman in the center of the room and there’s already a small dog bed for Duke next to the table. She loves it.

“I was thinking we could go camping along the coast, I already found two great campsites, bought a grill and other camping supplies. I figured we could get away for a bit, out of the house and into the outdoors. I can work on my writing and it will be relaxing and romantic. What do you think?”

She turns around to stare at him, his head just barely touches the ceiling, but his eyes are bright with excitement. He’s glowing in this little camper that is now theirs. She closes the space between them and wraps her arms around his shoulders giving him a big kiss.

“I think that’s the best idea I’ve ever heard,” she whispers on his lips. “I love it. When can we go? We’ll need to go grocery shopping and get bug spray and travel sized shampoo and other things. Those are so cute, they’re so compact. We’ll have to pack for Duke. I’ll make a list and—”

He silences her rambling with a kiss then backs her further into the camper towards the bed. She crawls into the middle of it, their lips still locked. When he presses his hips against hers, she can feel his arousal and she moans.

“We can do all of that after I take you right here, baby,” he mumbles shifting his lips to her jaw. He lies her back against the orange and white pillows. “We need to christen this bed, hm?”

“Mhm,” she sighs enjoying the feel of his plush lips on her skin. She turns her head to the right so he can continue his kissing path then she notices the door. “Shut the door.”

“Everyone’s in their houses…”

“Cal,” she laughs pushing on his shoulder playfully. “If you go close the door, I’ll be naked and waiting for you.”

That grabs his attention. He pulls back giving her a questioning look. He bounds off the bed, the camper rocking with his motions as he shuts the door and locks it. By the time he’s back at the steps, she is indeed naked, trailing her fingers down and over her breasts to in between her legs. She lifts a finger, motioning him forward in a ‘come here’ fashion.

“Fuck,” he sighs and removes his own clothes, quickly joining her on the bed.

She giggles at his excitement dragging his mouth to hers, his hand grips at her thigh then curves in between her folds. Moans replace her giggles when his finger slips inside, curling and twiddling against her spongy wall.

“So wet already? Can’t have you ruin this new bedspread before we get on the road, can I?”

“What are you gonna do about it?” she smirks, then winces when he removes his finger.

“Lick you up.”

He looks up at her with lust filled eyes, brushing his lips in barely there kisses down her stomach then wiggles his tongue over her clit. He moans at the taste and laves her up more with his tongue.

“Mm, Cal…” she whines wriggling her upper body. He flattens his tongue, doing deep swipes up and down her folds before suctioning onto her clit. She rests her heel on his shoulder just when he inserts a finger. “Yes!”

He smiles against her, pumping his finger slowly paired with the roll of his tongue. He adds another and ups the ante until she’s panting in staccato breaths. Moans tickle past her tongue the faster he goes chasing her orgasm.

“Come for me, baby…let me feel you,” he whispers and at his words her stomach clenches and her heart jolts in her chest. He moans with her to heighten the arousal then when she teeters off he kisses the inside of her thigh. “Good girl.”

He moves his face back, but she pulls on his hair, jerking his head up so he looks at her.

“Need you now. Please,” she whimpers.

Very slowly, he licks his lips then pulls his fingers out of her. Very slowly, he licks those, too before clambering on top of her. She reaches for his hardened dick, guiding him inside. He sinks into her easily, moaning into her mouth while he fucks her. She rocks her hips with his, meeting his rhythm with a desirable frenzy.

Their motions are rocking the camper slightly, the bed squeaks quietly as they pursue their high together.

“Feel so good,” he pants on her mouth.

“Faster, faster,” she begs.

A few more quick snaps and she cries out in a loud moan, Calum’s body jerks against hers then he pulls out quickly as he releases on her stomach and then they’re both breathing heavily. She swallows thickly, letting out a gust of air and pets his curls that are now a perfect blend of blond and black. Calum lifts his head and tugs on her bottom lip with his teeth.

“I think we rocked this camper.”

She bursts into laughter then sighs, “Yeah we did. You rocked my world, for sure. Giving me a workout in my legs, babe.”

“Sore?” he kisses her nose then slowly rolls onto his back and moves into the small bathroom. He grabs toilet paper wipes himself off, pulls his boxers and pants back on then kneels on the bed to help clean between her legs and on her stomach.

“Thank you.”

“’Course,” he grins peppering kisses on her belly.

“Lay with me for a bit,” she tugs him down next to her, wincing as she lets her legs relax. She fells the strain in her thighs already and shifts into a comfortable position against him. “We’re really going to do this, right? Go camping and leave the world behind for a bit?”

“We’re going to do this,” he strokes her cheek in assurance, loving how flushed they are from the sex they just had. “You and me and Duke. We’ll make smores, nap in here whenever we want—and yes it has air conditioning,” he laughs.

“It sounds so nice,” she sighs closing her eyes then yawns. She usually falls asleep right after, he wears her out.

“Let’s not sleep out here yet, we gotta check on Duke and start a list.”

“I need to shower first,” she sits up stretching her arms above her head. “Toilet paper doesn’t really get the job done.”

“Can I join you?” he smirks springing into a sitting position and kisses her shoulder.

**

Setting up their campsite didn’t take too long when they arrived. The awning on the camper was easy to assemble and setting up their chairs in the front didn’t take that long as well. The camper was already stocked with the food they bought with their clothes in the drawers set about the whole perimeter. She even added a photo of her, Calum and Duke on one wall so it was officially theirs.

They walked along the beach with Duke collecting shells and sea glass they found. They snacked when they wanted, took a nap in their bed with the windows open. It wasn’t until the third day that Calum was struck with inspiration for his poetry book. He sat out in the sun for a while before she woke up, then when he heard commotion he walked in to see her in nothing but his tank top.

The hem just barely covered her ass, she looked sleepy and beautiful while she sang along to the song “Something” by The Beatles and started the coffee pot. He snatched his phone out quickly, took a sneaky picture of her then opened up his notebook, his pen flying across the page.

From then on the words continued to pour out of him. He thought of words and phrases all day, all of them were mainly about Y/N but he didn’t find anything wrong about that. While they sat around their small campfire, they would play their ukuleles together as the sparks became stars.

He’d ask her for help sometimes if he got stuck on the structure of a poem or if he should keep one line or a different one so it would flow better. She was more than happy to help when asked. Sometimes, right before bed, they’d shut all of the lights off and leave the windows and curtains open so the sound of the ocean waves would blow in. They’d be illuminated by the glow of the stars and moon; hands would wander in soft caresses while his lips kissed the shell of her ear.

After about a week and a half when they went into town to use the laundromat, he was on the phone with Michael then with Ashton. She’s reading the poems he’s finished so far, Calum is tracing his fingers over her back while he’s on the phone, but she’s not paying attention. She’s immersed in his words.

“Y/N….babe…hey love,” his voice pulls her from the words on the page.

“Huh, what? Is the wash done?”

“No,” he grins then crouches in front of her. “How would you feel about meeting up with Mike and Crystal at their little getaway in the hills then heading to the desert with Ash for his album release?”

“Sounds like fun,” she smiles. “When do we leave?”

The windows are down as they cruise along the highway towards Michael and Crystal’s campsite. They’re only staying for five days and Y/N is staring at Calum as he drives. His hair flicks in the wind, he has some scruff forming on his jaw and chin that she loves. It’s a soft scratch on her own cheek or in between her thighs that sends her heart haywire.

“Whaddaya starin’ at over there, little lady?” he smirks then goes right back into singing along with Voodoo by ASL.

“Just you,” she grins then notices a love bite is still red on his neck. She touches it with her finger. “I feel selfish for loving all this time with you.”

“Why do you feel selfish?”

“Because you’d be on tour right now. I feel bad for feeling happy.”

“I get it,” he nods then flashes her a smile, eyes sparkling. “Would it make you feel better if I said I’m happy I’m not on tour right now, too? It’s not ideal for a break but I think it’s a break we all need.”

“Yeah…you all seem more…relaxed. Do the guys know about your poetry project?”

“No, I’m gonna wait until I’m finished with it. I also don’t want to take away from Ash’s moment.”

Michael and Crystal’s camper was much larger than theirs, one side was completely made of glass with sliding doors that overlooked the hills and dunes. The four of them went on a hike with Duke in tow and took plenty of pictures with each other.

All too soon it was time to travel on to the desert where Ashton had a whole set up. He rented out some cabins that looked more like tents on a wooden deck. Calum and Y/N opted out so they could use their camper. While his album played in the calm desert night, Y/N and Calum were snuggled up together discussing the songs quietly with each other.

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” she tells him when the album’s played through.

“Already?” Calum asks kissing her cheek.

“Yeah, long day of driving. I’ll get our sleep things ready,” she grins at him.

“I’ll be in soon,” he wraps his arms around her for a hug. “If you wanna sleep naked tonight, I wouldn’t object to that.”

She giggles and smacks his chest playfully.

“And risk our friends sneaking a peek? I don’t think so, babe,” she snickers then bids everyone else goodnight.

Calum watches her leave, his eyes lowering to her sweatpants covered butt that still looks so adorable.

“Stop staring at me, Hood!” she shouts tossing him a flirty smile over her shoulder.

“Can’t help it, my girl’s hot!” he shouts back, and she shakes her head.

He stays with their group of friends for another twenty minutes until he heads inside, Duke trotting along with him. He circles his bed three times then lays down sighing heavily. Calum locks the door, Y/N’s leaning over their bed adjusting the pillows and curtains. All she has on is one of Calum’s t-shirts black cotton panties with pink lace along the edges.

She heard him come in but didn’t turn around, her focus is on the task at hand at assembling their bed. Calum’s hot hands are on her waist, his fingertips gracing the front of her thighs, his mouth by her ear makes her gasp in surprise.

“You’re not naked, but I love this view, too,” he whispers, his teeth grazing her ear lobe.

Shivers spike her neck as Calum presses himself against her, his hard on apparent against her ass. She bites her lip to suppress the moan when his tongue licks at her neck, his thumbs kneading her ass. His lips kiss her skin delicately before he sucks on it, the air from his nose tickles her skin.

“That tickles,” she sighs leaning against him to feel some form of stimulation on her covered core.

“Should I put my lips somewhere else?” he asks, his fingers already pulling down her panties. The fabric falls to her feet, she kicks it away and Calum palms her ass a little roughly. He gives her a light smack, she yelps in response.

“Where’d you…have in mind?” she swallows thickly attempting to turn around. His hands press on her waist to keep her leaning face forward against the bed.

“Stay right there.”

He kisses her lips quickly then drops to his knees; he pushes apart her legs.

“Can you bend over for me, baby? Let me see how wet you are…” he nips at her ass as she complies, his thumbs spreading her open. He hums at the sigh. “You’re throbbing for me, hm?”

“Caaaal,” she whines pushing her ass backwards.

He chuckles and bites her other cheek. He kisses down her thigh, pausing over her dripping core and kisses the other thigh. She groans in frustration and Calum chuckles darkly rubbing his stubble on her flesh.

“Please, please, please,” she whispers shifting her feet.

He loves to tease her, but he loves to please her more, so he closes his mouth around her pussy, his tongue pulsing against her clit. She lets out a small shriek from his wet tongue finally making contact where she’s been needing him. He laps at her furiously as if he’s in a race with himself to make her cum in record time.

His speed does the job because she’s grasping at the bedspread, breathing heavily, her body warming up as her orgasm takes over. She moans his name, her ears ringing as he keeps going, his tongue and lips slurping and suctioning away.

“You sound so hot,” he pants but continues working her over into another orgasm.

All too quickly, he removes his mouth while her orgasm ebbs away. She hears him shuck off his pants then feels his tip nudge between her folds. She lets out a loud moan from more teasing, her fingers clutching at the bedspread. He teases her entrance more and she can’t take it any longer.

“Fuck, Calum…please, no more teasing.”

“You want me that badly, baby?” he leans over her, pressing his weight against her ass with his tip inching in further.

“Yes,” she groans.

“Will you two be quiet?! For fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t listen, then!” Calum shouts back to Ashton and she looks up to see the window by their bed is still open. The curtains lifting lightly from the breeze.

“Cal!” she squeals and pushes the button for the light. They’re flooded in darkness, but she still desperately needs him.

“Kind of hard when Y/N’s so loud!”

“Plug your ears!” Calum calls and presses himself into her more then teases himself back out.

“Cal?” she lifts her head from the bed craning her neck to look at him.

“Yeah baby?”

“Screaming at Ashton is kind of killing the mood. I can be quiet.”

“I like you loud,” he sighs inserting himself once more, this time further than before. She gasps at the stretch.

“We can wait. I—ohh.”

Calum buries himself inside her, filling her completely and silencing whatever she was going to say. He thrusts gently then pulls out until he finds a good pace, the shirt of his that she’s wearing rides up her back. She closes her eyes from the glorious sensation of his pulls and pushes, biting her lip to try and stay quiet. When he hits a certain spot one spills out so she shoves her knuckles in her mouth.

“No, no, give me your hands,” he pants.

He pulls her hand from her mouth, twisting her arms behind her back and holds them in place on her back. He leans over, the angle causing him to push deeper inside her, he thrusts in tiny pulses.

“Want you to be as loud as you can for me, yeah? You like when I take you from behind?” he pulls back slowly and pauses waiting for an answer.

“Feels so good,” she whines into the bedspread. Having her wrists bound by his hand adds to the excitement and her pleasure, the restraint is enticing.

He grins, stands up straight then plunges inside her with force. It makes her cry out in pleasure and he picks up a quick pace, her body pushes against the bed. He squeezes her wrists then smacks her ass every once in a while. She clenches around him sporadically, small orgasms building to the big one that he knows she’s never silent for. Her breathing picks up and so does his.

“There, there, there, yes, yes, yes!” she cries out and he picks up the pace, tightening his hold on her wrists.

She squeezes his cock, a long-pleasured screech breaking through the surface of the bedspread. It’s animalistic and so sexy that he doesn’t even have time to pull out because he’s coming as well. His stomach tightens and untightens, her rapid clenching dragging his orgasm further.

He breathes evenly through his nose once he relaxes, her own body going lax beneath him and he loosens his hold on her wrists. They fall slack beside her as she tries to catch her own breath.

“Don’t move,” murmurs and pulls out of her slowly. She lets out a soft cry from the loss of him inside her, his arousal leaking out a little. He reaches for a washcloth hanging on the towel bar and wets it in the small bathroom sink. “I got you, baby, hold on.”

She gives a non-committal groan as he cleans her up, his teeth marks and a small red shape from his hand stare back at him. He kisses the marks softly, making sure to be careful at her sensitivity. He grabs a towel and dries her off then helps her back into her panties.

“C’mon, into bed,” he says lifting her gently onto the mattress. She falls into a heap, rolling over sluggishly and stares at him through blissful eyes. She reaches for him. “I’m going to brush my teeth quick, then I’m yours, love.”

He’s true to his word and brushes his teeth quickly. When he climbs into bed she latches herself onto him quickly, dragging his mouth to hers in a lazy kiss.

“I’d say I’m mad that all of our friends just heard us have sex, but I’m too fucked out to really mean it,” she murmurs. He laughs against her lips.

“It’s payback for all the times I’ve heard them. They really don’t care, baby,” he slips his hand under her shirt to tickle her back.

“You know what?”

“Hm?”

“Next time can we actually tie my hands together?”

He perks up at that suggestion. “Really?”

“Yeah, I liked it,” she giggles.

“I liked it, too,” he smiles brushing his lips over her hair. “You want to know something?”

“Hm?”

“I just thought of a dozen poems. Your body’s like poetry.”

The rest of the night is spent in lazy kisses until they eventually fall asleep, words and prose circulating in his dreams.

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[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Whumptober 2021

Prompt #5: Broken nose

“Aramis, the Musketeer?”

“Yes?”

Aramis, on his way to the garrison with Porthos, turned around to see who was addressing him - and his head snapped back when a fist landed square in his face. He heard and felt a nasty crack. His vision burst into stars. He stumbled backwards, clutching his nose. Blood gushed through his fingers.

Somewhere, in the haze of pain, Porthos was yelling.

“Oi! What in the Queen’s name-“

A scuffle ensued. Aramis more heard than saw it - he was perilously close to fainting from shock and pain. Next to him, fists hit flesh, cloth tore and yelps and gasps from a voice that wasn’t Porthos’ told him that his friend had the upper hand on whoever had attacked him. When his vision cleared, it was already over: hunched over in the middle of the street, Aramis stood dripping blood into the dirt, circled by aghast Parisians, with Porthos standing over an unconscious man.

The big Musketeer snorted angrily, fists still clenched, shoulders squared. Then he turned to Aramis, his fierce expression melting into worry.

“Y’alright, Aramis?”

“Yeah,” Aramis croaked nasally, gingerly fingering his nose. To his dismay, it felt crooked and hurt like hell. “Or no, that is. He broke my nose.”

“Are you serious?”

Porthos stepped closer and put his hand under Aramis’ chin, carefully tilting his head back to inspect the damage. Aramis sniffed, immediately regretting it. Pain stabbed up his nose, and his mouth filled with a copper taste so thick, it made him nauseous.

“Hell’s bells,” Porthos muttered. “It is broken.”

Aramis blinked tears from his eyes.

“That bad?” he asked nervously.

“It’s kind of bent to one side.” Porthos looked at him with a curious expression, as if he was looking at an interesting insect he’d never seen before. “And it’s swelling up really fast.”

“Wonderful.”

Aramis moaned and spit a mouthful of blood into the street. Around them, a few people were still standing and staring, whispering, while the rest of onlookers had gone back to their business. This was Paris. Street brawls happened and were of little interest unless someone died.

“What are ye starin’ at?!” Porthos waved a big hand. “Move! There’s nothin’ to see here!”

While their audience dispersed, Aramis had fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and tried to staunch the blood. His beard was sticky with it, the front of his leather doublet splattered. Porthos, meanwhile, walked over to the unconscious attacker and shoved him with the tip of his boot. The man moaned a little, starting to come around.

“I s’ppose you know this man?”

Aramis squinted at the tall and overweight figure dressed in the practical but fashionable clothes of the Parisian middle class. The reddish beard and the golden signet ring on one of his hands left no doubt.

“Yes,” he said uncomfortably. “Yes, I know him.”

Porthos lowered his head to glower at Aramis. “And?”

Bleeding into his handkerchief, Aramis looked away. “I know his wife, too.”

Porthos threw his head back in exasperation. His accompanying eye roll was so pronounced, Aramis could practically hear it.

“Unbelievable,” Porthos muttered. And then, louder: “You’re unbelievable! One day, yer gonna get yourself killed! Haven’t you learned anything?!”

Embarrassed and fighting a headache, Aramis said nothing. Michèle was a sweet girl. Milky breasts, black curls, amber eyes and with a love for poetry and soldiers. Why did God put such beautiful, smart women in front of him when he didn’t want Aramis to be with them?

“Well, maybe this will teach you,” Porthos added darkly. “‘M not sure a lot of Paris women have a taste for a man with a smashed potato for a nose.”

Apprehensively, Aramis palpated his injured face. It didn’t feel like his anymore, his skin stretching as the swelling escalated, the tip of his nose off-center, his moustache caked in coagulating blood. Even if Aramis claimed he wasn’t vain, he knew it wasn’t the truth. He’d accepted his prettiness as a convenient gift from God, and he liked what he saw in the mirror when he trimmed his beard or adjusted his hat. It was an advantage he would not like to lose. Frankly, it scared him.

On the ground, Michèle’s husband groaned and began to make an effort at sitting up. One of his eyes was blackening.

“We should get outta here,” Porthos warned.

“Yes. Let’s go.”

XXX

They arrived at the garrison right after morning muster. The regiment had largely dispersed, turning to their daily duties. A few stragglers were still in the yard, casting curious glances when Porthos and Aramis passed through the arch. Against Aramis’ hopes, Captain Treville was among them. Face turning thunderous, he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Let me guess,” he said, taking in Aramis’ appearance. “It’s a little early for gambling, and Porthos looks unharmed, so it cannot have been a bar brawl. Since it’s morning, and it’s you,” - he pointed at Aramis and sniffed - “with the nosebleed and smelling of perfume, I’ll assume you ran into an admirer? As in: head first?”

His eyes were blazing and Aramis could swear he saw a wisp of the Captain’s thinning hair turn white.

“He got ‘im pretty bad, Cap’n,” Porthos came to Aramis’ defense. “Bashed ‘is nose right in.”

Some of the fury drained from Treville’s face.

“Let me see,” he said, eyebrows knitting to a frown.

Aramis took his hand with the balled-up handkerchief away from his face and revealed the whole extent of the damage.

Treville’s eyebrows rose.

“By God, it is broken.”

Aramis whimpered miserably.

“But you’re lucky, son,” Treville added. “A visitor arrived last night. Just in time to help you out, it seems.”

“Who?” Porthos asked.

“Go see for yourselves,” Treville said. “She’s in the infirmary.”

XXX

When they entered the garrison’s small infirmary, a woman was busy sorting through the medicine cabinet. She was wearing a coarse brown nun’s habit and turned around when she heard them, hazel eyes shining brightly out of a freckled, middle-aged face.

“Sister Marie!” Porthos’ joyful bellow turned into laughter. He crossed the room in four strides and enveloped the petite woman in a hug.

“What are you doing here?”

“Returning some of Athos’ books and bringing some medicines Aramis requested,” she answered cheerfully. Spotting Aramis, she added: “And it seems our Lord knew just when to send me.”

“You are, indeed, a gift sent from Heaven,” Aramis said, relieved. He’d been fearing he would have to attempt to set his nose himself.

“What happened?”

Sister Marie, pragmatic as ever, took Aramis by the shoulders and led him to a chair close to a window where the light was better.

Porthos scoffed. “I don’t think you want to know, Sister.”

The nun looked back and forth between the two Musketeers, her intelligent eyes boring into them. All of a sudden, Aramis felt very stupid.

“You don’t want to know,” he said guiltily.

She cocked her head. “Then I won’t ask. But this,” she pointed at Aramis’ nose,”needs to be set before the swelling gets any worse.”

“Do you think you can fix it?” Aramis asked with new hope.

Sister Marie gently probed his injured face, feeling for the break, and Aramis bit his lip while his eyes began to water again.

“Yes,” she finally stated. “Feels like a clean break. But we have to do it now and you must follow my instructions. Diligently.”

Aramis nodded. Of course he would if she saved him from looking like a monstrosity for the rest of his life. He hadn’t looked in a proper mirror yet, but on the way here, he’d seen his reflection in a window, and it was horrendous.

Sister Marie looked around the infirmary.

“We need cold water, a bowl, a towel, some wool and horsetail tincture. And my comfrey poultice from the cabinet. Thank the Lord I brought a large jar!“

Porthos nodded and fetched what was needed. Often enough, he’d helped Aramis take care of wounded comrades, and he knew his way around the infirmary. If Aramis hadn‘t been so anxious, dreading what was to come, he‘d be proud of him now.

Everything laid out within reach, Sister Marie pushed a bowl into Aramis‘ lap.

“Here,“ she said matter-of-factly. “Hold this. No need to ruin the floorboards, and it’ll keep your hands out of your face.”

Aramis grimaced.

“Are you ready?”

Taking a deep breath through his mouth, Aramis steeled himself. This would not be pretty.

“Yes. Do it.”

Porthos stepped behind him, holding his shoulders. Without hesitation, sister Marie clasped Aramis’ nose between her fingers and gave it a quick, hard wrench. Aramis, eyes widening in shock, felt the bone snap back into place. The pain was monumental. The middle of his face seemed to explode. Briefly, his vision blackened, and he bent low over the bowl in his hands, blood dripping into it, waiting to either throw up or pass out.

“Oh God..” he moaned.

Tears streamed down his cheeks, and waves of nausea washed over him. He felt a cold cloth on his forehead and then at the back of his neck.

“Deep breaths through your mouth, Aramis,” he heard Sister Marie say. “Deep and slow..”

A hand - Porthos’ or hers - was rubbing circles across his back. It helped. Or maybe the pain simply lessened as he sat there and breathed.

Finally, he was able to lift his head and let Sister Marie inspect her work.

“Is it straight?” he asked, trepidation and the swelling making his voice sound strange.

Sister Marie smiled triumphantly.

“Good as new! Once the swelling goes down, that is. And you’ll have to be very careful!”

Porthos slapped Aramis’ shoulder - gently..

“You lucky bastard!

Aramis sighed in relief.

He still had a few unpleasant minutes to suffer through: Sister Marie stuffed both his nostrils with wool dipped into horsetail tincture, and Aramis didn’t know what was worse - the stink or the pain. Afterwards, she had him sit in his chair for an eternity, carefully cooling his swollen face with cold cloths. When his nose at least stopped swelling and the bleeding had stopped, she moved him to one of the beds and applied a thick layer of comfrey poultice to the bridge of his nose that dried out into a hard, itchy crust.

“It’ll peel off, and we will have to reapply it once or twice a day, depending on how good you are at lying still.”

Porthos frowned at her.

“He’ll have to stay in bed?”

“For a few days, yes. I want the bone to start growing back together before you move around again,” the nun explained, giving Aramis an encouraging pat on the leg. “And you’ll have to be extremely careful afterwards. No musketeering for you for a few weeks, I’m afraid.”

Aramis didn’t care. In bed, his head aching and his nose feeling twice its normal size, he was tired and grateful. He knew he was in for a lecture from Treville, and once Athos found out- Aramis swallowed. Athos was going to kill him. And he’d be the target of endless teasing from d’Artagnan.

None of that mattered now. Thanks to Sister Marie, he would not have to live with a disfigured face, although he knew he would probably deserve it. He’d learned his lesson this time. The next time a married woman - any woman - turned her head to smile at him, he would look the other way.

“I can’t thank you enough,” he said to Sister Marie, meaning it with all his heart. “You are a godsend!”

The nun nodded, rolling her eyes in playful reprimand.

“And you are a sinner, Aramis of the King’s Musketeers.” She chuckled. “But it seems even God is a little in love with your handsome face.”

(You can also read and comment on this story on AO3:)

[artificialqueens]

Gimme Love, 6/9 (Miz Cracker/Blair St Clair) - Grinder

AN: Welp, I'm back from travelling! For anyone interested to know how it went; it was great (if you love stress). Liverpool is a lovely place but I've destroyed my bank account :D

Anyway! We got 4 more chapters of this fic! This is where the conflict begins. I hope yall enjoy.

TW for this chapter: Homophobia, homophobic slurs

2020

The cake was in the fridge. We'd be seeing him later. For now, we settled for some spaghetti. It had become a sort of tradition for Jujubee and me for moments that needed celebrating. But we hadn't done it in so long, what with the stress of work.

"So, Juju, as you can see, I've labelled the pages you're allowed to read, so don't go looking at other shit, OK?" I asked, chopping up a red bell pepper.

"Why? If I do, am I gonna find some porn-y shit?" She quipped, running a hand along with the butterfly print book.

"Honestly, you know all of those details anyway." I gave her a smirk, taking a piece of pepper and throwing it over to her.

I almost expected it to fly past her head, but she caught it in her mouth. Skill.

"OK, but what's in the box, though?"

I almost forgot what she was even referring to. But following her gaze, I saw it, sitting on the kitchen counter beside the fridge. "Oh, that?" I scraped the peppers into the saucepan, "That is my memory box."

"Ooh, that's even more exciting." She beamed.

"No. We're not opening it." I moved on to an onion.

"Aw, why not?" Jujubee whined.

"Because I made my Mom promise me she wouldn't give it to me until I turned 50. But I was weak and begged her to give it back. So now, I've promised myself to not look inside until I turn 50." The air was no longer clean, poisoned with the acid from the onion. My eyes were beginning to sting.

"Aw, Brie, you don't need to get all emotional about it." She had to go and joke about the tear now trickling down my cheek.

"Girl, this is torture," I wipe my eye along my wrist, pretty sure my eyeshadow has been fucked up. "Did I fuck up the smokey eye?"

"Nope." I knew she was lying to me, but she couldn't take her eyes away, "You look absolutely gorgeous as usual."

"Not as hot as you, though." I sniffed. I needed her to focus on reading so I could finish chopping the onion as soon as possible. "Anyway, you wanna read something in there?"

Jujubee opened the book and immediately laughed, "Jesus Christ, Brie, bit dark."

She showed me the first page, childlike scribblings read 'Brianna's Diary. DO NOT TOUCH! Or this will happen to you!' An arrow led to a picture of a grave.

"I never even noticed that before," I chuckled.

"With a warning like that, I better find some crazy shit in here." she cleared her throat, "So starting in 1994, 'Diary Diary, Today, I had a fight with Jujubee. She really upset me, but I upset her too. I should say sorry. That's all. Bye.'" Jujubee lowered the diary, "you bitch, why did you upset me?"

"I have no idea, girl. I mean, didn't we do that a lot back then?" I shrugged.

"I bet you started it though," She lifted the book again, a coy smile on her face. "OK, moving on to 1995," she cleared her throat, "'Dear Diary, today Mommy and Juju's Mommy took us to see Pocahontas at the movies. It was very good. Goodnight.'" Jujubee paused to giggle, "God, I love how detailed this is. You could have added so much more."

"Girl, I was 8 years old. Writing more than 4 sentences was like writing the bible to me." I countered, finally scraping the onions into the pan with the peppers.

"Yeah, but we did so much more that day. We went to McDonald's after, we found that little frog pond in the woods." She pointed out.

I hadn't even remembered that. Now I kind of wished my younger self would have pushed herself to write more.

I was too busy rifling through my messy cabinet for oregano to notice Jujubee just flicking through page by page.

"But, you wrote 3 pages worth of poetry to Blair St Clair?"

Once I found the spice, I spun around to look at her, "Juju, I told you to only look at the pages that were labelled."

She held a hand up, "OK, I'm sorry." She closed the book.

I felt bad, thinking maybe my harsh tone brought the fun to a grinding halt. Squeezing my eyes shut, releasing a sigh, I said, "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

She took a sip of her water while I added the oregano to the saucepan.

"So, did you text her back?" She played with the glass in her hands.

I pursed my lips and shook my head. "Why? Do you think I should?" I asked quietly.

"Nah, not really."

"Well, why not?"

Jujubee shrugged her shoulders and went to look at her nails. "Don't know."

I clicked my heel, my tongue running along the top row of teeth behind my closed mouth. "Well, I've been thinking about it. I mean, maybe that's the problem. Maybe I could be a bit more responsive."

She made a humming sound. I was unsure what it was supposed to mean.

"OK, what's going on?" I put both hands on the counter.

"I don't know. I just think…" she paused, trying to find her words, "I don't see the point because the same shit will just happen again."

"The same shit?" I repeated, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, her speaking all but 10 words to you and then completely ignoring your existence." She put a hand under her chin.

"Well, maybe that wouldn't happen if I actually spoke to her like I wasn't terrified for once," I suggested.

She squeezed her eyes together, "Oh no, Brie. I knew this was going to happen."

"What was going to happen?"

"The whole Blair thing. I thought you were over it. Well, until she messaged you recently, I had a creeping feeling that it was all gonna come back."

"Juju, listen to yourself. You're talking like this is an actual problem."

"I hate to say it, but it is. Do you remember the time she hung out with you in the library? You were so excited the next day. I hadn't seen you so happy in so long. You wouldn't stop talking about how she would probably be there again." She paused, "But she wasn't. And you were so disappointed."

"Yeah, but things could be different now."

"And how's that?"

"Well, I'm a different fucking person now, that's one thing. I'm successful, I'm smart, I'm hot as fuck, rich as fuck - -"

"And you think that's gonna be the game-changer for her? That she's gonna come running into your arms? Because if that's the case, that says a lot about her." Jujubee rolled her eyes.

"Well, I'm a big girl, now. If it happens again, I'll just get on with things. I'll move on.

"That's a lie."

I squinted my eyes. "Why are you being like this right now? You're so salty just because I fucked wrote a private letter to her as a child."

"This isn't about the letter, Brie. You know why I'm being like this. You shouldn't need to ask." But she continued, "You've never dealt with never having parents. You think that if Blair was to suddenly be truly interested in you, you'd get over the feeling of being unwanted. Yet you're surrounded by people who love and support you, who'd stick with you to the end. But right now, you don't give two fucks about them because you're too busy panicking about some girl from high school."

I lift my head again, putting one hand on the desk and the other on my hip, "Well, congratulations, Juju. Sounds like you got me all figured out. Hey, you wanna talk about my Grandpa next?"

She only reacted to that with a scowl. And she spoke again.

"You remember the prom? Do you remember what happened? Do you remember how she didn't do anything to stop Trevor?"

My eyes shifted away, just for a second. "She told him to stop."

"Which did nothing."

I wanted to argue how she was unfair. How it was so wrong to blame Blair for the prom incident. But I was distracted by a burning smell. Only now did I notice the onions and peppers blackening.

I quickly moved the saucepan off the heat, feeling it only radiating in my own face. I put a hand on the counter, the other on my hip. "OK, Juju, maybe you should leave."

It was safe to say Jujubee was taken aback. She remained still for a second before pushing her stool out. "So that's how it is? Kicking me out when you're faced with the truth?"

"Juju, just leave, please." I felt my hands clench around the edge of the counter, my nails digging into my hip.

"I am!" She grabbed her coat and stormed from the kitchen. I flinched upon hearing the door slam shut, and only then did it sink in - the dread, the feeling of regret.

I looked at the hob, the burnt vegetables unsavable. So they went in the trash. My stomach grumbled. But I couldn't bring myself to start over again.

Opening my fridge, my eyes were immediately on the cake. And I glanced over my shoulder, looking where she had sat, now feeling a sense of emptiness. Not in me, but the room. Like I was alone.

I was alone.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I repeated as my hand clenched on the door. The cool air from the fridge felt nice but not enough to stop my panic.

I looked at the cake again, feeling the urge to throw it out the window. Or maybe just send it back to her.

Bitchy, I know. But I couldn't help it. I wouldn't be feeling like this if she hadn't acted the way she did.

I slammed the door shut, kicking it for extra measure. And in my heels, I almost tripped.

Filled with more anger, I paced around for a few minutes, aggressively cussing to myself.

Don't get me wrong, one part of me said she was right about Blair.

No. She isn't. I was going to prove Jujubee wrong.

I picked up my phone from the counter, found the message and began to type with trembling fingers.

"Blair…" I panted, "So sorry...for getting back to you so late... I'm a busy woman, as you...probably already know...Look... I'm just gonna say it...I really like you...I always have...You make me feel so confused...yet so happy at the same time...I feel a connection between us...I always have...I don't know whether you ever felt it or not...but I do hope so...I would love to meet up with you sometime soon...and maybe have a coffee...I don't know...maybe even some wine, if you want. I look forward to hearing back. Brie x"

My thumb hovered over the send button. The only sound I could hear was the ticking of the clock. Not even my own breathing.

I pulled my thumb away, closed my eyes and breathed out. "Brie. You sound fucking crazy. You sound insane. You can't just send shit like that." I repeated words of the same nature to myself, trying to usher myself off the edge before I could do something idiotic.

"Jesus Christ." I opened my eyes again, which were now glossy with tears. I wouldn't blink. I wouldn't let them fall.

Big mistake.

I thought I tapped the chat bar, going to delete the message. But my blurred vision said, "haha, no."

I tapped the button next to the chat bar. The send button.

The little noise my phone made as it was sent may as well have been the same as a gun clicking.

"Oh, God." My eyes couldn't tear away from the small screen. My heart rate increased. "No, no, no, you fucking idiot!" I pressed my thumb down on the message.

There was a delete option.

I clicked it.

'Are you sure? The recipient may have already seen the message.'

I backspaced to check.

There it was, the tiny version of her profile picture falling to the bottom of the screen. She was reading it.

"Fuck!!" I blurted.

I put the phone down on the counter, began pacing for a moment, and looked back at the phone. This went on for a few minutes. I wanted to be as far from my phone as possible. But also needed to know if she had replied.

This was it.

Blair was going to know how I was weirdly obsessed with her.

She was going to know I was checking her out in the library that one time.

She was going to know that I had fingered myself so many times at the thought of her.

What were my options?

Suicide - Not gonna happen.

Running away - But the project.

Reply with 'Hey, sorry! My friend took my phone, haha' - did anyone ever believe that excuse?

Block her before she could reply - then she'd think I was even more crazy.

Call up her place of work and somehow get her phone confiscated - why, though? That would involve Facebook stalking her again, trying to think of an excuse. Even if I did so successfully, she still saw the message.

All of the options just lead to cons. It was hopeless.

With shaky fingers, I switched my phone off and practically threw it onto the counter.

My body sank to the ground, now holding my head in my hands.

What do I do? What do I fucking do?

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

2004

I was shaking. Only slightly.

There was something about the prom that made me feel so on edge.

Maybe it was all the people, all together in one room.

Perhaps it was the fact the chess boys asked to make out.

Or perhaps it was the fear of missed opportunities. Opportunities that involved a certain someone.

I watched from the side of the room as Blair took pictures with her friends on her pink digital camera. There was a feeling of regret causing my stomach to twist, my fists clenching onto my purple dress.

That could have been me.

I felt a hand moving a curled lock of hair from my shoulder.

"Just think, girl; we're almost there," Jujubee appeared in front of my vision, "College is just around the corner."

"I can't wait to be out of here," I spoke quietly.

Everyone turned their attention to the stage as Rosé appeared, announcing it was time to crown Prom King and Queen.

"Well, it's pretty obvious who our queen is." Jujubee crossed her arms.

I knew who she was thinking of. To be fair, it was pretty obvious. But I wasn't complaining.

Trevor was our Prom King, not my King anyway. I scoffed as he cheered, being pushed up to the stage by his team.

"Jesus Christ, who would have thought." Jujubee took a sip of her punch, spilling a drop on her lilac puffy-sleeved dress.

"And your Prom Queen is…" Rosé paused, pulling the result from the envelope.

3...2...1…

"Blair St Clair!"

I smiled for the first time since walking into the place. I applauded her victory as she walked up onto the stage.

Blair hugged Rosé and whispered something in her ear. I had no idea what it was, but I was too distracted as Trevor just stared.

"You wanna make a speech, girl?" Rosé joked into the mic.

Blair laughed, covering her face with embarrassment. She turned down the offer.

"OK. Everybody," Rosé held a hand to Blair and Trevor, "You're King and Queen of 2004."

Blair looked slightly uncomfortable as Trevor put an arm around her waist. Why couldn't he get the hint she was done with him?

The two got down from the stage, Trevor's gaze following her in confusion as she moved far away from him.

"Aren't they supposed to do a dance now?" Jujubee asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know, Juju. I've only seen proms in movies, and they're quite obviously exaggerated."

My eyes landed on Blair once more. Trevor was whispering something in her ear, and she shook her head, rolled her eyes and walked away. Yikes, he was desperate.

"Jesus, I'm fucking nervous." Rosé was approaching us now, well, the punch table we stood beside. "Getting up on stage gets my body shaking, you know?"

"Wish I could do that." Jujubee replied.

"Yeah, well, sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do." Rosé replied.

I eyed her suspiciously. This was odd; she'd never really spoken to us before.

"But of course," she looked left, then right, before pulling a flask from her bra and pouring it into a cup, "this helps. You ladies want one?"

"Nah, I'm good," Jujubee made a stank face.

Me, on the other hand, having never drank alcohol in my life, piped up, "Actually, yeah. Could you just pour me a shot of whatever that is?"

"Yeah, of course," and she didn't lie. She poured me a shot of vodka. No spitting in the cup, no adding anything sneakily, no hostility.

She passed the cup to me, giving a mischievous wink.

Tossing it back, I was totally shocked by the burning sensation it caused to my throat. I began to cough and splutter.

"Girl, chill out, or you're gonna draw attention to yourself." Rosé looked around.

I placed the cup down on the table, the plastic practically crumbling in my hand.

"This is it. The beginning," Jujubee joked, dabbing the corner of my mouth with her pinky. I didn't even know there was a drop of liquid there.

And I didn't know there was a hair out of place either. Because she was stroking a soft hand down my temple to my cheek.

"Brie, do - -"

"Juju, I'm gonna ask her to dance with me," I said all too loud.

The hand dropped instantaneously, her smile falling in a matter of seconds. Of course, I expected this shocked reaction. Even Rosé had nearly choked on her drink.

"For real?" Jujubee asked after a silent moment.

"Yep," I answered proudly, putting my hands on my hips.

"I guess you've never touched a drop of alcohol in your life, loser." Rosé leaned close to me.

"Something like that." I felt slightly uncomfortable now that she was dangerously close to me.

She snorted a laugh, holding up her hands as she walked away, "I'm not responsible for this."

So this was what they called liquid courage. Yeah, it was one shot, but it was my very first. And I was already feeling it. The buzz.

I turned to make my way to the girl I loved when Jujubee grabbed my hand, "Brie, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Yes," I replied too quickly, tugging to pull away.

"Are you sure?" Her brows knit, "You're not gonna be upset if she says no, right?"

One final strong tug was enough to release her grip on me, "No, Juju. I'll be fine, just...stop questioning me, OK?"

She was silent, her arms dropping by her side.

But I continued on in my mission, vision slightly blurred, insides warmed.

Everyone around us was gone like they had just stepped into another world, leaving Blair and me in this reality. Or maybe it was the two of us who disappeared, somehow falling into the wormhole and ending up in the other world.

Or maybe it was just liquid courage.

There were only a few metres between us now. "Blair?"

She had been taking a sip of her coke when she looked up and noticed me. Wiping the corners of her mouth, she put the can down.

"Brianna!" She beamed. Her eyes looked me up and down, causing a brief moment of panic, "wow, look at you. You look great."

"Yeah, right, compared to you." I stifled a laugh.

"Oh, shut up." She smirked.

"So, um…" I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, looking away and to the ground, "I was just...wondering...if you'd wanna dance with me?"

I didn't lift my gaze. Only now did I understand what Jujubee meant. The girl hadn't even said no yet, and my heart was already sinking.

"It's just...this song is so good, and it's the end of the year, and we may not - -"

Before I could continue rambling, she cut me off.

"Sure. Yeah, I'll dance with you."

I lift my gaze to see her glittering smile. Like in the library, time didn't feel real anymore, and I needed to remind myself to breathe. "Really?"

"Yeah, of course." She briefly knit her brows like it shouldn't have been questioned. She took my hand in her perfect french manicured one, "Come on."

As we made our way to the dance floor, I was only now reminded that there were people here. So, we didn't slip through a wormhole. This was real. This was reality.

Blair found a spot on the floor, turned to me and wrapped her arms around the back of my neck.

For a moment, I was unsure of where to put my hands. I glanced over her shoulder, noting the couple also slow dancing. She has her arms around his neck. He had his arms around her waist.

I was hesitant at first but eventually gave in. Blair didn't mind. And I felt myself relax.

She just stared at me, the sweet smile still on her face. The music echoed around us. The lights were low. Pink tinted.

"So, how does it feel winning Prom Queen?" I asked. Of course, it felt amazing for her, but I needed to find an excuse to speak. Anything to avoid the somersaults my stomach was doing.

"I mean, it's nice, I guess. But, it's all bullshit anyway?" Her smile faltered, "Not something anyone in the future will give a fuck about, right?"

I disagreed. If I were to win prom queen, I would feel validated. And I would make sure I'd bring it up to everyone I ever met. Pathetic, I know.

"Well, I can't think of anybody better," I admitted. "Maybe they could have chosen a better King."

"Agreed." She nodded. "You know, literally just now, he tried to use this whole King and Queen thing to 'try again'. Not even that long before you came up to me. Brianna, I've already given him another chance. And he blew it."

"During the Summer?" I recalled.

"Yep." She pursed her lips.

"What did he do, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, he just had some major anger problems," her eyes widened for a moment, "He never hurt me, though. He just...got so angry over the dumbest shit. It was just too much."

She puffed out a breath, the frown on her face appearing.

"You don't have to tell me any more," I said quickly.

"Sorry, I don't wanna get emotional." She looked back at me. "It's just... it's hard not to. You're a good listener."

How should I have felt knowing that was her analysis of me from very little time spent together? She really trusted me. "Blair... I'm sorry about that time in the library. When you mentioned my Grandpa. I feel terrible now."

"Please, don't. You were grieving."

'Was I really though?' I held back from saying.

"I never really had a Dad," I smiled, seeing his stupid smile in my head, "But he was the closest equivalent to that."

"I know what you mean." She began, "My Dad…" she trailed off for a moment, "He wasn't the best. You probably remember that one time I ran away as a kid. When you walked me to my Grandma's."

I wasn't even tense in the first place, but my body felt like it relaxed. "You remember that?"

"Of course I do. It really meant a lot, Brie." Her thumb stroked the back of my neck. I don't know if she did this intentionally or subconsciously. Was she even thinking about it? "That day, I never went back. Ever. My Grandparents took full custody of me, and they became my second parents. The ones I always deserved."

I felt my body relax even more like this was normal. "Blair, I wanna carry on something my Grandpa started."

"What's that?"

"It sounds crazy," I pause, "But he wants me to find a parallel universe."

I paused to take in her reaction. She did look taken aback for a moment. Could you blame her? "Is it even possible?"

"I mean, at first I thought he was a bit out there asking me something like that, on his deathbed and all. But I've been studying really hard, and I think it's achievable."

"That's interesting." She nodded. "So, what are you gonna do at college?"

"Drugs." I giggled before the smile dropped, "OK, not funny. Bad joke."

"I'm laughing, though." She was.

"Um, no. I'm gonna do Astronomy and Space science."

"I didn't know that was a major you could do," Blair replied.

"Me neither. What about you, though? Something in theatre?"

Blair lowered her gaze for a brief moment, "I dunno, Brie. I honestly don't see college as a me-thing. I'm constantly torn between theatre, fashion merchandising, cosmetology, politics..."

"Politics?" I laughed and instantly hoped she didn't take offence to that.

"What?" She smirked. "What's funny?"

"I just…" I paused, feeling my heart skip a beat as a particular memory came back. "This is crazy. I can't believe I remember this. All I can think about right now is the day we met. Remember the first day of elementary? On the bus? I told you I wanted to be a politician when I was older, just 'cause they liked to shout a lot. And you couldn't say the word right."

"Oh fuck, now that you mention it, I do remember." Blair laughed, "That was such a long time ago. We were so little." She looked away as if her mind had transported her to that moment. Did she remember it like I did? Did she remember how she held my hand and told me she was my friend?

And then never sat with me ever again?

My eyes had drifted away, looking over her shoulder at nothing in particular. The bad thoughts were taking over. I didn't want them to. I wanted to enjoy this moment forever. Just swaying back and forth with Blair in the middle of the dance floor.

She stroked her thumb on the back of my neck again, causing a spark to course through me.

Blair's looking at me again. "Brianna, how come we never talked more?"

I don't know if it was just me fantasising again, but her face was moving closer to mine, ever so slowly.

I had the answer to her question. But it couldn't ruin this moment. "I don't know," I whispered.

She was closer now, head tilted to the left.

And I found myself doing the same.

This was another fantasy. This isn't real.

I felt her breath on the corner of my mouth.

It felt real.

It was.

There was a frustrated roar.

A tight fist clenched around my arm.

I was pulled back forcefully.

My feet gave way.

I was on the ground.

"Are you kidding me??" Trevor stood in front of Blair, his face red with anger, "You won't fucking dance with me, but you'll dance with her??"

Everyone around us was just standing there, too shocked to do something.

"Trevor, what the fuck??" Blair went to move around him, trying to get to me. He only pushed her back.

"Of all the people, why her??" He grilled Blair with more questions. She looked afraid now.

Why the fuck wasn't anyone doing anything??

I felt a hand on my shoulder, but looking around, I saw it was actually Rosé. "Trevor, what the fuck??"

He turned to look as if offended that anyone else got involved. How could they not? Seeing her helping me stand must hit a nerve. Because he's snatched a cup of punch from a bystander, "Why are you defending the dyke??" And he threw the cup forward, the liquid drenching my hair and splattering my dress.

That was the final straw. I could feel my chest heaving.

I ran to the nearest exit. Running from the school. As soon as I felt the cool air on my skin, I wrapped my arms around my stomach. I was bent over, throwing up all the panic. Sparks of the bile dotted the bottom of my dress and shoes. I didn't care. My dress was already ruined.

I heard the door open behind me and immediately began to move again.

I tried to run, but the heels made it hard.

The person was in front of me now, hands on my face, tears streaking her face.

I expected it to be Blair.

But it was Jujubee.

"Brie, it's alright. I punched him for you." She whimpered, her hands on either side of my face, holding me tenderly.

My breathing was rugged, trying so hard to listen to her reassuring whispers. But in my head was the sound of the crowd gasping and Trevor shouting.

No one was going to forget about this. I'd be reminded by the stares in the corridors, how they'd whisper to each other.

"Let's go to my house. You can stay over if you want." Jujubee's sweet voice brought me out of my thoughts.

Words still failing to surface, I nodded.

As soon as we got in, she ran me a hot bath. Whilst I cleaned myself of the sticky punch that covered my hair and face, she made chocolate mug cakes with ice cream.

Sitting there in her room, dressed in her fluffy pyjamas, eating her food, I should have felt better. I should have been happy. But I just stared at the mug in my hand, still thinking of Trevor's anger and Blair's distressed face.

Jujubee took the mug from me, set it aside along with her own, and enveloped me in a hug. "Don't cry, Bri. Please, don't cry."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I was crying." I wept.

"Don't apologise." She shushed me, "It's OK. You're OK."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

2020

And even now, I didn't realise I was crying again. And as it was too late to stop myself, I remembered sobbing into Jujubee's shoulder, holding her tightly, like she was the only one who could get me through it. She was the only one who could get me through it.

The events of the prom left me scared, always so on edge when walking those school corridors. Just terrified that Trevor would round the corner and do something worse.

But Jujubee was there for me every time. She'd hold my hand, not giving a fuck about who looked at us weird.

I know I should have grown a backbone and defended myself, and what had actually happened shouldn't have been as damaging as it was. But, hey, I was only human.

Jujubee got in a lot of trouble for punching Trevor in the face. But she didn't mind. "Just as long as he got what was coming to him," she had said.

Hearing her retell the event, I wish I had been there. She had jumped on him, tackling him to the ground and punched him over and over again.

But as exciting as that all was, I didn't speak to Blair again. I didn't think about her. I didn't talk about her. I didn't even look at her. Blair wasn't the one to come after me that night. She never even approached me to talk about it. She didn't give a fuck.

So I kept my distance.

And just as life went on without her, she just had to go and message me. After years of silence, she couldn't have left well enough alone.

I finally lifted my head. I reached up and grabbed my phone. Turning it back on, I immediately deleted Messenger, hoping to never see Blair's response.

This would be the beginning of my journey toward happiness.

Yeah. That was it. That's what I would do.

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 9- Burnt Parchment

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

A brief respite for the hermits, they all take the time to rest, train, and learn more. While Xisuma digs through the libraries for information on dark magic, Stress discovers an unnerving note far from home.

____________________________________

Xisuma hums to himself, fingers running along the books. Old leather soft and emblazoned with gilded letters, sharp parchment of scrolls cutting into his skin with new vigor. All kinds of books and tomes and tablets, collected among Joe’s library. It’s a well cared for collection, and Joe prides himself on all the knowledge stowed in his home. 

The only problem is how he sorts his books. Most librarians would use one of many systems developed by scholars, perhaps by genre or author’s last name. But no, Joe used his own strange system, a madness to his method. No matter what the other hermits do to fix his insanity among the stacks, he only shuffles it back. And Xisuma is stuck reading through the strange collection their resident poet has amassed. He blinks away as he reads something he’d rather not, and pulls free an aged scroll, adding it to the collection in his hands. 

Xisuma steps back, turning. His eyes fall across the large black lacquered cabinet settled in the corner of the poet’s home. Distant from everything else, even the azure blue bed that’s covered in half-written poems and spells. Cold metal brushes against X’s fingers as he unconsciously touches the wrought iron key. “Dark magic has to be somewhere in there.” 

He reluctantly opens the banned book cabinet. Joe isn’t a person to ban books just for being controversial. In fact, the poet loves to bring books other libraries wouldn’t dare hold. Knowledge that should be spoken, kept safe. Illegal works against the Council, exposes on guilds, lost history no longer taught in schools. If their island in the Ashioll sea was a sanctuary to the illegal guild, this library was a sanctuary to illegal words. 

But even some knowledge is dangerous in the wrong hands. And if there’s anything X could call dark magic, it’s dangerous in any hand. Only one book among the darkened oak shelves gives him any hint to it’s contents including dark magic. A book about ancient magic. Why is this with the taboo tomes? Xisuma stands, tucking his armful of books close to his chest and donning his mask back on to face the sunlight.

Xisuma is a void wizard. He spends his days staring into the darkness of space, learning from the motions of dark matter and the void between stars. When others look to the light to discover truth, he can see everything beyond space and time, warped by the light others seek. X’s fingers run across a fractured part of his helmet. Where an insignia of a sun surrounded by spiraling void was dented out of existence. He can just barely feel the sharp triangular points of his brother’s symbol nowadays. 

He pulls the mask over his head, and braves the sunshine of his island home. In the distance, he can hear yelling, followed by the sharp clang of metal. The ground rumbles, and out of the corner of X’s vision he sees pillars of stone spire free from the grass. False and Scar are dueling, and Xisuma notices silver coins being passed between TFC and Cub. An easy smile appears beneath X’s mask. TFC was never one to stay holed up in the infirmary long. He’s still pale and weak from the crystal attack, but nothing would stop the guildmaster from being with his family. So long as he’s not using his magic, Xisuma won’t stop him. 

The fading black veins up TFC’s arm reminds Xisuma why he’s researching dark magic. After what happened to their guildmaster, their leader and father figure, Xisuma needs to know why it happened. And how to stop it from hurting any of his family. Ever again. Dirt crunches under his boots as Xisuma walks to the stone tower he calls home. The oldest structure, the first part of the island built up. When him and his brother fled into the mysterious sea, setting up the Order of Hermits. Fitting name, seeing as they’re the only ones brave enough- or stupid enough- to call the odd archapelago home. 

“Sheshwammy!” Keralis’s voice runs across the air like honey, but the magnitude of his voice causes Xisuma to jolt in his boots. A scroll drops, falling open and rolling across the dirt. Xisuma groans, tucking his chin to chase after the runaway parchment. Keralis aids him, scooping up the scroll and tightening the paper around the wooden rod. “Whatcha got there? A little bit of light reading?” 

“I wouldn’t call dark magic ‘light reading’.” Xisuma chuckles, plucking the scroll handed across from him. Keralis’s expression is quite alarmed. 

“Dark magic? Like spooky scary attacking crystal dark magic?” Keralis peers at the books in Xisuma’s hand. “Why are you trying to learn dark magic?”

“I’m not trying to learn it- I’m trying to learn about it. So...so things that happened in Gildara don’t ever happen here. Don’t ever happen to our island.” Keralis nods, nudging Xisuma’s shoulder to show it was all in jest. And the void mage feels like he can breathe. 

“Are you going to hole up in that tower of yours then?” Keralis watches X’s eyes through his visor, the crossed scars over his left eye. “Sheshwammy, come, let’s have some tea in my house! Soak in the sun, it’s good for you!” 

Keralis waves Xisuma to the glass hemisphere, tall grass and undergrowth flourishing in the massive terrarium. A single tree props up the glass from within, and a beehive thick with honey sits like fruit hung low from the tree. Black flecks buzz around among the terrarium, denizens of bugs flying in their habitat. To and from their food and wherever they make home within Keralis’s terrarium. When Keralis first showcased his magic to Xisuma, he admits he was freaked out. To gain magic by consuming bugs seemed...strange. But over time, it was no different than Joe’s poetry magic or Tango’s hellbound spells.

“Hello Suzy. How’s the hive today?” Keralis giggles, giving the fuzzy bee a pat. X stops at the door, watching Keralis file away some of his magical treats for later. “I was just coming to grab some more beetles before fighting Cleo, but this gives me an excuse to not face her now.” 

Xisuma sits down among the grass, the tall blades bending outward like a nest. Green and grey robes spread out, and Xisuma sets his pile of books on Keralis’s green bed. Keralis places a cup of tea in his hand, his friend remembering exactly how much sugar, honey, and milk he likes in his tea. Xisuma’s shoulders untense, remembering why he wanted a guild in the first place.

They weren’t just a team. They were family. They have each other. He’s not the only one worrying about TFC, others are taking good care of him. And they take good care of each other, including X. Xisuma swirls the spoon in his tea, blowing on the steaming drink and raising his head to feel the sun filter through the glass dome. His brother always wanted a family like this, but sometimes the sun shines too bright even for those who rely on it’s light. Every time Xisuma feels the warm rays on his brown hair, he thinks of his brother. 

But he always chases the thoughts out. That wimp left, ran away when things finally started to become real. Xisuma pulls the book on the top of the stack and forces it open. He flips to the page about magic law and illegal magic. 

Keralis peeks over Xisuma’s shoulder, trying to follow the insane speed the void wizard reads at. He doesn’t catch everything he sees, or understands most of what he reads, but the pages do reference the words he fears to be true. “Do you really think someone is practicing dark magic?” 

“I’m sure it’s dark magic. You saw how those husk people acted.” Xisuma picks up a book discarded to the side, pointing to a single paragraph. Hardly more than a line references the process of magic. “Dark magic is illegal for a reason- it steals power, killing the person who it’s stolen from. But none of these books talk about how it happens. There’s no mention of crystals, or the entire land devoid of life. A grey wasteland.” 

“What about this book?” Keralis sits in the grass, pulling up a massive, ancient leather book. “Plirus Mageia.” The bug mage opens the book, dust spouting free of the yellow, torn pages and causing Keralis to cough. 

“Well, it says it’s complete, but does that really mean…” Keralis grins as he discovers dark magic listed in the index, flipping to the page. It’s Xisuma’s turn to peer over Keralis’s shoulder, watching the ancient pages flipping forward, deft fingers searching for the page number listed.  Until they go past it. Keralis frowns, and flips back. And misses again. One by one, they look through the book. All that remains of the chapter on dark magic is ash, pouring into Keralis’s lap when he tips the book forward. “Someone doesn’t want dark magic to get out.” 

“Or someone doesn’t want anyone to know their secret.” Keralis whispers. 

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

Stress packs the snow tight, pressing rosy pink lips onto the forehead of the snowman. One hand has her icy magic circle pressing against the torso. A little kiss like that sends magic surging through the white snow, each crystal and snowflake imbued with her power. The stone eyes blink and bluster against it’s cold body, and stick arms wiggle to life. “There you go lovely! Go explore! Watch out fer the edge!” 

Stress giggles as the snowman wanders across her icy island home. Just offshore of Eremita, she built her igloo under the cooling respite of an eternal snowcloud. She sits back, closing her eyes and feeling the chill touch of snowflakes falling on her pale cheeks. The cold water tickles her skin, clinging to the warm, fluffy grey fuzz that keeps her comfortable. She loves the cold, because it means she can cozy up in her warm robes, fluffy boots, and thick pants. She doesn’t have to worry about her hair being too long at her neck, or if she has too many blankets- which is never enough in her opinion. She’s known as a blanket thief, and it takes bribery to get them back. 

Snow crunches, the fresh layer depressing onto the white powder beneath it. Stress peeks open her eyes, and notices her new snow friend is waving for her attention, rock mouth mute to call for her. Rigid sticks flap back and forth, until the snowman knows it has her attention. It points a wooden finger down to the icy waters around her island. 

“What is that doin’ here?” Stress questions, standing up. She brushes the snow from her rear, watching the tiny boat rock against the ice chunks. She can only imagine if these enchanted sailboats had little itty bitty sailors, they’d look like massive icebergs, just before a frozen continent at the bow. “I thought these didn’t leave the cities.” 

Stress scoops up the wooden boat, fingers running along the smoldering fabric sail. The edges turn to ash upon her touch, embers eating further into the sail and smoking the wooden ship. It’s in bad shape, and Stress can’t figure out how such a little ship meant for messaging within a city made its way out here. Why is it burned?

She remembers the contents of the boat, pulling off a glove to squeeze her finger into the thin deck. Sure enough, a scroll was being carried by the scorched ship. The snowman at her side reaches for the boat, like a child desiring a toy. It’s wish is granted, Stress ignoring the boat in lieu of opening the parchment. 

It’s burned as well, and whatever edges aren’t black and charred are torn and tattered. On the backside, Stress can see printed letters torn through. It reminds her of when she went to school in Milliara, among the other noble children learning how to be good heirs, passing notes on torn sheets of their notebooks. The twine falls apart in her hand, allowing the burnt parchment to open. 

Stress gasps, letting the letter fall to the snow. She runs to the icy edge of her snowstorm, but the ice rises to meet her feet. Walking across frozen water beneath her shoes, until she’s on solid ground again. She doesn’t slow, doesn’t hesitate. She needs to tell the others what was on the paper. 

The parchment, burnt and soaked with snow, flutters in the warm Ashioll sea air. Blood for ink scrawls out two words. 

HELP DANES

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: DramioneFanfictionWriters (Part 3)

Never Apologising For Our Wild 2019:

Fractured by MrsRen - M, 3 chapters - She's writhing on the floor, spitting in a Bellatrix Lestrange's face, when it happens. Hermione Granger's mind fractures amidst the torture, and when she wakes, friends and family find that she is not who she used to be. In the middle of a war, Hermione thinks she's exactly who she needs to be.

Ninety-Three Percent Stardust by otterlyardent - G, one-shot -  Often, when a person falls for someone, they can’t remember the exact moment it all changed. But that wasn’t the case for Draco Malfoy. The moment had forever been emblazoned in his memory.

Dear Shakespeare by msmerlin - M, 3 chapters - When the fates bring together two opposites, will the love they have be able to overcome the years of obstacles that follow? Seventeen years of relationships ups and downs told through a series of vignettes.

Coiled, Falling by bionically - not rated, one-shot - She's locked in a tower when he finds her, bewitched and imprisoned.

Absinthe by TheMourningMadam - E, one-shot - Hermione becomes ensnared by Draco Malfoy, despite the fact that he is a taken man.

Magical To You by fandomfairytales - T, one-shot - based on the Nikita Gill poem/prompt: she would rather be magical to you, than belong to you.Follows Draco coming to understand such a concept and how it applies to one Hermione Granger."Hermione was in his kitchen, her cheeks rosy, the heat of the ovens toasting the air, humming along with the house elves as they worked; Completely out of her element and making herself at home at the breakfast bar, she was an utter paradox, all Draco could do was stare. It would have been less surprising to find a unicorn or some other rare magical creature there… Later, he would wonder if perhaps she was one, in a class all her own."

My Poetry by mcal - T, one-shot -  Draco has been looking forward to this quiet moment with Hermione all week. A short stand alone written for the DFW Nikita Poem Challenge. Dramione. EWE  

The Way They Leave by tofadeawayagain - T, one-shot - After leaving an emotionally abusive long-term relationship with Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger struggles to remember how to be herself once again. An experiment/sketch of the state of mind caused by emotional abuse and the healing process.

Show Me Your Soul by Disenchantedglow - T, one-shot - Show me The most damaged Parts of your soul, And I will show you How it still shines like gold -Nikita Gill

Demons by sweetmusings - T, one-shot - Hermione is far from okay. Can she be saved before she slips under? Furthermore, does she want to be? Inspired by Nikita Gill's 'Monsters'.

Fixing Damaged Souls by LissaDream - G, one-shot - Response to the Never Apologizing For Our Wild challenge held by Dramione Fanfiction Writer's FB group.

Wildfire by In_Dreams - M, one-shot - They said she was fire incarnate. And the smallest sliver of hope was kept alive by the spark of a borrowed ember she had implanted in his soul. A Dramione one-shot inspired by "Wild Embers" by Nikita Gill.

Tough Love by BiscuitsForPotter - M, 4 chapters - Three bad relationships. Two times her heart is broken. One time it grows stronger. Hermione Granger always seems to choose the wrong men to date.

The Devourer by ravenslight - M, one-shot - Darkness breeds darkness. In the aftermath of the war and amidst Voldemort’s reign, two depraved souls find solace in the dance of their demons.

Burning Skies by PartyLines - T, one-shot -  Sometimes a change of heart comes just a little too late. Or: Hermione's late night letters to someone.

When You Are Ashes Remember This by perilous_circumstance - M, one-shot - The Ministry has decreed therapy for the returning 8th years & it’s going just about as well as one would expect.

Under and of the Stars by Lilian_Silver - T, one-shot - Hermione is in her 8th Year, attending a party in the Ravenclaw common room. It would be a lovely night of letting loose for once in her life, if not for the presence of a certain Slytherin for whom she has been harboring some very confused feelings.

Majestic Lionesses, Vibrant Birds, and Eight Billion Human Beings by Felgia_Starr - M, one-shot - Draco tries to prove to Hermione that soulmates are real but ends up showing her the world instead.

Broken by CourtingInsanity - M, one-shot - She is a broken thing under the psychopathic torture of his crazy aunt. As he watches, Draco reflects on the things he has fixed in his young life, and wonders at the possibility of mending Granger.

Spark Hearts by Abroma - E, one-shot - He doesn't ask her to stay; he never does. She wouldn't, anyway.    

Scars by LadyKenz347 - not rated, one-shot - For DFW'S: Never Apologizing For Our Wild ChallengeInspired by Nikita Gills "Scars

Pretty in White by MrsMast - G, one-shot - Today is Hermione and Draco’s wedding day. Will love bloom?

DFW Birthday GOGO Fest 2020:

A House in the Country by BoredRavenvlaw620 - T, WIP -“That’s it, just no. I’ve done my duty to the Wizarding world. I gave up my childhood, I gave up my dreams, and for what… a tiny cubicle in which I put the Ministry stamp on endless permits. No more. I quit. Effective immediately. I think you’ll find I have ample vacation saved up. I’ll owl human resources on where they can send my check.”She spent her childhood fighting a war she didn't start. Now life is passing her by. What will she find when she makes choices not based off expectation?

Love of My Life by MykEsprit - T, one-shot - A surprising revelation at their anniversary party sends Hermione reeling.

Opposites Attract by HollyBrianne - G, one-shot - Draco and Hermione share a hotel room and take turns having issues with the other's sleepwear.

Caught Red-Handed by ruthy4vrsmoaked - E, one-shot - During a special kind of school reunion, Draco Malfoy catches Hermione Granger while she's reading an erotic romance novel.

Between the Trees by NuclearNik - M, WIP - When the tides of war change quickly, Draco makes a split-second decision and steals the freedom of the only person he still cares about, desperate to protect them.Hermione Granger becomes prisoner to a reluctant captor, locked away in the ruins of the one place she'd ever truly felt at home.Trust does not come easy for either of them.

Better Late Than Never by niffizzle - M, one-shot - As if the anxiety leading up to his mother's trial wasn't already bad enough, it deepens once the Wizengamot denies Draco's request to temporarily leave Hogwarts to attend. His life only gets more frustrating when the aftermath of a Quidditch accident forces him to interact with the one witch he's been ignoring all year — stirring the question of why she was present at the match in the first place. 

Simple Words by dreamsofdramione (Bugggghead) - M, one-shot - It was easy to figure him out all over again.

oh god, i think i'm falling in love with you again by Felgia_Starr - E, one-shot - Hermione and Draco are forced to share a bed when there's miscommunication within the hotel staff and the hotel is fully-booked. This is a terrible idea because they both blame each other for their breakup and have been throwing passive aggressive remarks towards the other ever since they arrived in the hotel. Not to mention, they're still kind of madly in love with each other.

To Return by Charlie9646 - T, one-shot - Returning to Hogwarts was the hardest thing that Hermione had ever done, but the only person it was harder for is Draco. Friendship or more can bloom in the darkest of hours. Forgiveness is not one action, but many.

Future Imperfect by LightofEvolution - T, one-shot -  Weird things can happen in the Department of Mysteries. And Hermione and her partner are about to find out how weird exactly. Or maybe not weird - but foreshadowing?

Ten Months by grace_lou_freebush - T, one-shot -   While Dumbledore may have appeared completely busy managing the Order of the Phoenix and hunting down Horcruxes with Harry, he managed to keep a sharp, concerned eye on Draco. When Draco was on the verge of fixing the Vanishing Cabinet before Dumbledore was prepared, the headmaster assigned Hermione a task. She was to go back in time and stall Draco, any means necessary."She was seriously considering doing something categorically insane. She wanted to reveal herself to him.Christmas break was upcoming, and she'd been essentially alone for three months. Knowing the holiday was near made her yearn for companionship. She felt like she knew a side of Draco that he kept hidden away while outside the Room. He was clever and noble and steadfast and scared and handsome and – and she wanted to reveal herself to him."

Fowl Games by Pureblood_Muggle - T, one-shot - Hermione never believed in Divination - and she wasn't going to start now, just because Luna *saw* something.

Journal Entries by TriDogMom - E, one-shot -  Draco is in a meeting and gets a naughty message from Hermione.

Ocean Views by MrsMast - G, one-shot -  Hermione had some time off work, and Draco so happened to be at the same beach. When they run into each other, will things go how they expect?

Research, Destruction, and Love by highlyintelligentblonde - G, one-shot - How Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger finally got together after knowing each other for 10 years, being friends for five, and being coworkers for 3. Told from an insider perspective ;)

The Orphan by rennaissance_woman - not rated, one-shot - A couple torn apart. A soldier at war. A lost child.

Revelations by LuxLouise - not rated, one-shot - Hermione makes a startling discovery.

20 Questions by savedprincess85 - T, one-shot - Hermione rescues Draco from a bad date. What happens during a game of 20 questions?

A Walk in the Park by IRisEaGLeS - G, one-shot -  Hermione Granger is stressed, but then she meets a cute little cherub at her favorite park. And like every cherub in history, this little one decides to play matchmaker.

Stake Me Out Tonight, I Don't Want To Let You Go 'Til We Catch This Guy by fandomfairytales - E, WIP - Written for the DFW Birthday GOGO Fest 2020Based on the following prompt tags from HighlyIntelligentBlonde: Co-Workers to Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Fluff, HEATitle courtesy of Charles Boyle (NINE-NINE!!) because I accidentally gave this a slight B99 vibeoOoPartners for more than a few years, Draco and Hermione have captured more than just their fair share of criminals on behalf of the Auror Department, they've captured each other's hearts: taking each other down is another matter entirely...However, Hermione Granger never met a problem she couldn't solve; armed with a plan and a three-day stakeout, what's the best that could happen? Strap yourself in, I'm back for more; with plenty of fluff, soft smut, silliness, Dramione being idiots in love and giving the DMLE betting pool a constant source of fresh romance gossip and entertainment... Oh and a case/perp that has literally no bearing on the plot

Starling by floorcoaster - T, one-shot - Someone's been helping Hermione with her work and she's not sure what to think.

DFW Tropes Fest: Double Trouble 2020:

Felix Mal Felicis by Lostinthenightrain - T, one-shot - Hermione Granger came back to Hogwarts as Head Girl. Unfortunately, her counterpart - Head Boy - was Draco Malfoy. To make the year even more difficult, they've been partnered together to brew a rather difficult potion. Felix Mal Felicis - Bad Luck Potion. It's difficulty lies in the brewing process - bad lucks seems to always happens while it's being brewed. Hence why it's not often made. Hermione discovers just how much bad luck she can handle.

Finishing Lessons by Seakays - T, WIP - When Hermione Granger finds out she is the illegitimate pureblood daughter of two members of the Sacred Twenty Eight, she needs a tutor to help her navigate the old customs and expectations thrust upon her.Enter Draco Malfoy.

Somebody I used to Know by Charlie9646 - T, one-shot - Hermione didn’t know why she was even here. Why did Ginny always suggested things like this? But it was worth a shot, if the worst happened she could simply forget about and move on. She had a fairly happy life, but her love life left a lot to be desired.If Pansy could find someone for Harry why couldn’t she do the same for her?

Worth It by crochetaway - M, one-shot - Hermione is sent up to Hogwarts to investigate instances of Dark Magic. But digging to the bottom of this mystery isn't the only thing she finds up there.

riddle me this by megamegaturtle - G, one-shot - Their fingers touch when Draco hands her the paper and Hermione's heart almost jumps out of her chest.The note reads: How do you spell ‘cute boy’ with only two letters? -Riddle Me ThisHermione finds herself grinning. “Cutie. Q-T. That’s the answer to the riddle. You’re a cutie, Malfoy.”[the one where someone leaves Draco Malfoy riddles to solve from the local coffee shop's community board and he enlists Hermione Granger for help.](Written for 2020 DFW Trope Fest: Double Trouble) 

The Holly and The Ivy by dirtymudblood - M, 3 chapters - “Actually,” Hermione interrupted, “I’m so glad because… because I’ve been seeing someone too and I was going to ask how you’d feel about me bringing them to the Burrow.” Ron’s jaw dropped and Hermione’s fingers tingled. Take that, Ron. “Who?” He shouted, bewildered. She hadn’t thought that far ahead.

The Soulmate Test by ThebeMoon - M, one-shot - Draco Malfoy’s life after the War has lapsed into a steamy round of indulgence between the Manor and Knockturn Alley. A highly eligible bachelor despite his dark past, Draco is used to scheming witches glamouring “DLM” on their arms and claiming to be his soulmate in accordance with ancient magic. But he never expected Hermione Granger to be one of them.

The Muggle's Wise Daughter by Mariana_Monteverde - G, 2 chapters - A Dramione Fairytale AU.Draco is a young King, one of his ministers has betrayed him, and the man's only salvation is the ability of his daughter solving the King's Riddle...

Reverse by kifiyathewriter - T, one-shot - When a number of his patients begin to die from a mysterious ailment, Draco Malfoy goes on a mission to seek out the source and unwittingly uncovers a dark truth.

You, Me, and all my other Figments by Shamione - T, one-shot - Hermione sighed dejectedly, glancing over a stone facade that had once plagued her nightmares: Malfoy Manor. A home that, at one point, had been her sole source of anguish. It was now a place that bore a new level of melancholy, though. A place that reminded Hermione Granger that Draco Malfoy was gone.He'd vanished and left no clues toward his whereabouts. Nothing, that is, until the Manor's wards were dropped. A rusty amulet is the single shred of evidence that could shed light on Hermione's once boyfriend.A new scar, an awful date, and an image of the man she'd desperately missed are the only clues to help her find her missing love.

How the Omega Was Won by Amebb42 - M, one-shot - When Hermione presents as an Omega, she is appalled to discover that the Alphas usually fight amongst themselves and whoever is strongest takes the Omega. The Weasley twins help her come up with a way to "try out" the local Alphas and choose for herself. They might have left out a few details of where she will find herself within this new product of theirs.

RX by Starryar - M, one-shot -  STOP! Did you know this one shot was expanded into a multi-chap? Check out 'RX - The Full Story' for additional content! ------ Written for the Double Trouble Fest. Thank you Dramione Fanfiction Writers for hosting this! Assigned Tropes: Meet Ugly & Prison AU. Please mind the tags. ------ Draco Lucius Malfoy was stuck in-between enjoy life and rebuilding it. Should he throw his life away on the drugs, or should he create an honorable legacy for the Malfoy name? Perhaps he already knew the answer, but was putting off responsibility as long as he could. Hermione Jean Granger had been hit hard after the war. She didn't qualify for the order of Merlin and she had no family due to her memory charms being too great. The war veteran decided that Healer School was her best bet at undoing her own charms, but the price for education was never cheap. Two days in one cell and the two once enemies may find unexpected help in each other - if they don't get charged with murder first.

This fest is ongoing.

[winchester-fantasies]

Backtrack - Summer of ‘98: Chapter 4

Backtrack Masterlist

Series Summary:  What if you were the one Dean came to instead of Lisa? Rewrite of ��Swan Song” and some of S6.

Word Count: 3520

Warnings: fluff, light sexual tension, some swearing

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

A/N: Chapter 4′s Song: Montreal Rock Band Somewhere by Happyness.

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

You groaned as a loud and incessant ringing broke through your sleep. You rolled over and covered your head with your blanket, hoping someone would answer the phone and stop the intrusive noise. But after another three rings you’d had enough.

“Leah!” you shouted, your voice ringing throughout the room. 

“Shut up,” Andrea groaned in annoyance, rolling over and turning her back to you.

The phone continued to ring so you threw off the covers and jumped out of bed with a huff. You stomped downstairs, your heavy footsteps reverberating through the the stairs. “Leah!” you clipped again, only to be met with silence. “Mom? Dad?” 

You grumbled at having to get up so early in the morning to answer the damn phone as you marched into the kitchen and over to the landline, ripping the receiver from its cradle. “What?” you barked.

“(Y/N)?” Dean’s voice came through the phone.

Your eyes widened and your cheeks flushed at the realization of what you must have sounded like. “Dean?” you asked.

“Uh, hi,” he said almost timidly. “Is...is this a bad time?”

“Oh, uh, no,” you huffed out. “Um, I...I just…” you trailed off, unable to think of a plausible answer. “What do you want?”

“Maybe I should call back later…” Dean said, his voice uncertain.

“No!” you snapped, your words coming out harsher than you’d intended. You closed your eyes and berated yourself before taking a deep breath and plastering on a grin, even though he obviously couldn’t see you. “No,” you repeated, this time softer and adding a light chuckle for good measure. “Tell me what you called about.”

Dean was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “I just…. Well, I saw there was a band playing at Smitty’s tomorrow night, and I was wondering…. You wanna go?”

You stomach flipped at the thought of seeing him again, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling. “Uh, yeah. Sure,” you said nonchalantly. 

“Okay, awesome,” Dean said, his tone significantly lighter. “It starts at 7:00, but I thought we could grab some tacos from that food truck you were telling me about first. So...5 o’clock a good time to pick you up?”

“Yeah, sounds great!” you said.

“Okay, awesome!” Dean said again. An awkward silence fell between you both as you sought to figure out what else to say. Finally Dean broke the silence, clearing his throat. “Okay, well…. See you tomorrow night.”

“Yep!” you said, holding the receiver to your ear until you’d heard the click of him hanging up on his end. 

You stood at the kitchen counter even after you’d put the phone back on the wall. Your stomach was doing somersaults at the thought of getting to see him so soon, and the fact that it was going to be your second date just added nerves to your already nervous state. 

You couldn’t help but squeal as you finally rushed out of the kitchen and sprinted up the stairs to your bedroom. You burst through the door, jumping on the bed and essentially tackling Andrea. 

“(Y/N)!” she shrieked, scurrying out from under the covers, her puffy eyes wide with alarm. “What the hell?” 

“Dean asked me out again!” you exclaimed, getting to your feet and jumping up and down on your bed, the springs of your mattress creaking under your weight. 

Andrea rubbed her eyes and yawned before she looked up at you. “Look I’m happy for you and all, and I really wanna hear every juicy detail, but not until I’m awake and have coffee coursing through my veins.”

You giggled as you dropped to the mattress, your chest heaving and cheeks flushed from excitement and exertion. “Let’s go downstairs then! I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

Andrea sighed, but she was smiling as she got out of bed and threw her hair up into a ponytail. “Okay, fine.”

You grinned as you jumped out of bed and  grabbed her hand, practically dragging her down the stairs to the kitchen. “Mom made coffee cake this morning,” you said, gesturing to the cake still sitting out on the stovetop. 

“Cool,” Andrea said, voice still coated with sleep. You tried not to laugh as Andrea went to the coffee pot, feet dragging before taking the biggest mug in the cabinet and pouring herself a cup of the dark liquid. Your best friend was not a morning person by any means and although you felt bad for waking her the way you had, your excitement and need to tell her was too great.

You took two plates from the cabinet next to the sink, cutting and scooping out two large chunks of the cinnamony goodness. You carried them over to the high top where Andrea was already seated, sipping her coffee. You sat one of the plates in front of her before going to pour yourself a mug before joining your friend.

You ate in silence for a bit until Andrea seemed a little more awake. When she glanced at you, you took that as your cue. With bubbling excitement you relayed everything that happened. By the time you were done talking, your cheeks were rosy. 

Andrea’s blue eyes were sparkling as she grinned. “That’s so exciting, (Y/N)!” she exclaimed, pulling you into a quick hug. “Any idea what band it is?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “Guess I’ll just have to find out.” 

After breakfast, you and Andrea decided to walk downtown and browse some of the shops. You had heard some of the girls around town ooing and aahing over the new clothing boutique that had just opened up and you wanted to check it out. 

Two hours later, you and Andrea were strolling down Main Street, arm in arm. You felt Andrea tense as she spied the guy she’d had her eyes set on and even dated for a few months during senior year. Tim was planning on going to Texas State, and even though Andrea had initially thought about trying to get in, too, she finally decided to stay at home and work on her associates degree at the local community college. They had split on good terms, but you knew that didn’t make seeing him any easier for her.

“Let’s go in here,” you said, tugging her inside one of the thrift stores that lined the street. She was reluctant, gazing behind her at Tim before you gently prodded her to follow after you.

You both browsed for awhile before heading out again. “You hungry?” you asked as you stepped out into the sidewalk once more.

“I know I am,” a deep voice answered. You spun around to find Dean, standing not three feet away.

Your stomach flipped and smiled shyly. “Oh, hey, Dean,” you said quietly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

Dean tore his eyes away from you long enough to look at Andrea beside you. “Don’t believe we’ve met,” Dean said. 

“Oh, sorry,” you chuckled sheepishly. “This is my best friend, Andrea. And Andrea...this is Dean.”

“Hey, good to meet you,” Dean said with a wide grin, reaching out and shaking her hand.

She smiled in return before turning to you. “Hey, uh, listen. I just remembered I had an errand my mom wanted me to run. I hate to leave, but….” She bit her lip and you almost laughed at the over-exaggerated and innocent look she sent your way. You gave her a silent look letting her know you knew exactly what she was doing before you nodded your head.

“No, it’s okay!” you reassured. “I’ll meet up with you later.”

Andrea agreed before saying goodbye to both you and Dean and walking back towards her house. You turned back to Dean, butterflies filling your stomach when you found him watching you. 

“So you still hungry?” he asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“I’m starving!” you said with a laugh.

Dean grinned. “Pizza okay?” 

“Heck yeah! I love pizza!” you said a little more enthusiastically than you probably should have.

“Awesome,” Dean commented with a wide grin. He jerked his head for you to follow him, surprising you when he reached out and laced his fingers with yours. 

A few minutes later you arrived at the pizza parlor down the street. Dean held the door open for you before following you and the waitress to a table by the window. 

“So what’re you in the mood for?” Dean asked, scanning the menu. “Cheese, pepperoni, meat lover’s?”

“Actually my go-to is their green olive and banana pepper pizza,” you said with a half-smile.

“What?” Dean asked, his eyes widening. “That sounds disgusting.”

“It’s not!” you laughed. “You order what you want, but when my pizza comes, I’ll prove you wrong.”

Dean sent you a skeptical look just as the waitress came back to take your orders. Once she had given your orders to the cook and brought your drinks, you leaned back in the booth and admired the way the sun filtered through the window, making Dean’s eyes almost look like two jade orbs. 

You cleared your throat when you felt your stomach clench in desire. “So,” you said. “Any more...assignments?” you asked, picking up your Pepsi and taking a sip.

“Uh, yeah, a few,” Dean said vaguely, picking up his own drink.

“Oh, that’s good. I guess?” you said with a chuckle.

Dean smiled. “Yeah….”

You could tell Dean was feeling a little uncomfortable with where the conversation was headed, so you decided to change the subject. “So have you or Sam made any friends yet?”

Dean’s shoulders physically relaxed and he grinned. “A few. Especially Sammy. Me...well, I have you.”

You blushed at his words, but found yourself smiling. “I’m glad you have me,” you said. “You know, you can always come hang out at my house if you’re bored. And if you ever wanna tag along with me to see my friends you can, too. We usually hang out at the library once or twice a week.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” Dean said with a soft smirk. “What do you usually do at the library?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Discuss books we’re currently reading, share poetry we’ve written...talk about boys,” you added with a playfully coy smile.

Dean laughed. “Boys, huh? Anyone I should be worried about?” he asked with a cock of his eyebrow.

It was your turn to laugh. But the next second you sobered as you shook your head. And before you could censor yourself, you spoke. “No, your competition left a long time ago,” you said quietly, sweeping your eyes around the parlor and hoping Dean would go on and change the subject. You should’ve known you’d have no such luck.

Dean frowned, studying you for a moment before responding. “Wh...what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked cautiously.

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head and staring at your hands folded on the tabletop.

“(Y/N),” Dean said gently, causing you to meet his gaze. “You know you can tell me anything.”

You sighed as you questioned if you really wanted to tell him or not. Finally, your shoulders slumped and you shook your head again. “I...I had this boyfriend - Caleb. We met in middle school and dated from sophomore to just the beginning of senior year. I...well, I fell in love with him,” you said, fighting back the tears that still rose up when you thought about it. “But he...he didn’t, I guess. I caught him in a...compromising position under the bleachers with the most popular girl in school - one of the cheerleaders. We broke up after that.”

Dean’s eyes were serious as he listened intently as you finished up your story. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” he said softly. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his and rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. “It was his loss. He was a dumbass that couldn’t see what was in front of him. He didn’t deserve you…. But that just means I get the treasure he threw away.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you stared into his sincere and tender gaze. You’d never had someone look at you or talk to you the way Dean was. And you couldn’t help but wonder what it all meant.

**********

The rest of the day flew by and before you knew it Friday evening rolled around. You fixed your oversized t-shirt, tucking the front into your mom jeans before throwing your hair up into a ponytail and adding a scrunchy to your wrist. You pulled on a pair of your Converse and then you were ready to go.

It was a quarter to 5:00; Dean would be there any minute. You hurried downstairs, finding Leah lounging on the couch, bubble gum popping in her mouth. “Hey, sis,” she greeted lazily, looking up at you, her eyes sweeping over your outfit. “Where’re you going?” she asked.

“To a concert,” you said, picking up your change purse from the coffee table. 

“Alone?” she asked incredulously.

“No…” you said. “With Dean.”

Leah’s expression grew hard at the mention of you and Dean going out, but nevertheless she sent you a tight-lipped smile. “Have fun,” she said, sounding less than happy for you.

“Oh, we will,” you said, sending her your best shit eating grin. 

Just then the doorbell rang and you hurried to the door, flinging it open to find Dean standing on the other side. His eyes lit up when he saw you and he grinned widely as he stepped inside. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, surprising you once again by wrapping his arm around your waist and placing a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“Hey, Deano,” Leah purred, smirking and twirling a piece of her hair around her finger and popping another bubble.

“Oh, hey,” Dean said, his eyes subconsciously falling to where the tops of her breasts peeked out from the neckline of her shirt. 

Your heart sank at his reaction and you found yourself placing your hand on his shoulder possessively. Dean tore his gaze away from Leah, glancing down at you, his eyes softening and his arm around your waist tightening a bit. “Well, see ya,” Dean said to Leah with a thin-lipped smile. “Ready, sweetheart?” he asked you.

You nodded before letting him lead you out the door. You glanced behind you, seeing Leah’s gaze sweep over him, eyes stopping at his backside and biting her lip. Nausea twisted your stomach and you couldn’t help but wonder if your days as the girl who had caught Dean’s eye were numbered.

**********

“So who’s playing?” you asked as you settled back into Baby’s front seat. You and Dean had just gotten done eating at the food truck. Dean had loved the place, claiming it had the best tacos he’d ever eaten. You had just chuckled, your heart filling with contentment as you watched him devour his food with fervor.

“I’m not sure actually,” Dean said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Some garage band I think.”

“Oh, okay,” you said with a slight nod. You turned to look out the window, the events from earlier still weighing heavily on your mind.

You jumped when you felt Dean’s hand touch yours, linking your fingers together and holding your hand in his lap. “Hey, you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, taking his eyes off the road long enough to look over at you.

You sent him a thin-lipped smile and nodded. “Yeah,” you said vaguely.

“Did...did I do or say something wrong?” Dean asked sincerely.

Your heart seized up at his concern and you squeezed his hand as you shook your head. “No, no you didn’t. I promise,” you said. “It’s just me.”

Dean’s face was serious as he studied you carefully as if trying to solve the mysteries of the universe. “Okay,” he finally said, although he sounded less than convinced. “It’s really nice being able to do this - going out on dates and everything. And I’m really glad I get to do it with you…. You know that, right?”

You smiled, bringing his hand to your lips and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “I know. And I’m really happy I get to do it with you, too.” 

You and Dean pulled up in front of the small venue, Dean coming around and opening your door. You smiled your thanks before alighting. He closed the door behind you before taking your hand and led you up to the door. 

The place was already bustling with activity and the band was starting to set up. Dean led you over to a table situated in a secluded corner, pulling out your seat for you before settling down beside you. 

“I’ve never been here before,” you commented, looking around at the neon lights, old 70’s records lining the walls, and jukebox sitting on the other side of the building.

“Really?” Dean asked, surprised. 

“Nope, never,” you said with a shake of your head.

“I thought you grew up here,” Dean said.

“I did,” you said with a soft chuckle. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve been to every single place. My parents never liked this place much anyway. Always said it was ‘shady’.”

“Fair enough,” Dean said good-naturedly, glancing around. 

After awhile, Dean ordered both of you a couple of sodas and some appetizers. You had just started to dig into the nachos when the band began playing. It wasn’t exactly what you had expected from a garage band, and you found yourself actually enjoying the music.

Dean scooted in closer to you, his arm coming to rest on the back of your chair. His action surprised you, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it, and you found yourself leaning into him a little more, the inside of his shoulder pressing into yours.

“You enjoying it?” Dean asked, his warm breath fanning across your ear and sending shivers running down your spine.

You nodded, turning to look at him, startled to find his face mere inches from your own. You looked at one another carefully before his gaze broke away from yours, his eyes searching your face before darting to your lips.

Your heartbeat picked up as the tension grew thicker, the sounds of the music fading into the background. Dean leaned forward, his eyes flashing back and forth between yours and your lips. He parted his full lips slightly, his breath rushing across your mouth. You closed your eyes, waiting for the press of his lips against your own. 

Hand clapping suddenly echoed throughout the building and you and Dean both jerked away. The band had just finished their final song, but you had both been so wrapped up in one another neither of you had kept track.

Your face was hot, Dean’s own cheeks flushed as you sat back. Dean removed his arm from around your chair and cleared his throat awkwardly. After a few minutes, you and Dean got up, settling the bill and making your way back to the Impala. 

The ride back to your house was silent, the obvious sexual tension from earlier still permeating the air. You dared a glance over at Dean, his eyes focused on the road, one hand gripped tightly around the steering wheel, the other clasped in his lap.

You swallowed and looked out the window, but the next second you gasped as Dean suddenly veered to the right onto a side road, the pavement soon transitioning into dirt. 

“Where are we going?” you asked nervously, looking back to Dean. He met your gaze for a moment before looking back to the road, not answering your question.

You settled back into your seat, a mixture of curiosity and nerves filling your stomach. A few moments later Dean pulled off the road before stopping at the edge of a field.

“What are we doing here?” you asked, looking around at the thick grass blanketed in darkness.

“You’ll see,” Dean smirked, sending you a wink before climbing out and opening your door. He took your hand before leading you to the front of the vehicle, leaning back against Baby’s hood. 

You looked up at the star-speckled sky, the tiny balls of light twinkling like a million diamonds. “It’s beautiful,” you breathed.

“Yeah. It is,” Dean murmured beside you. You turned your head, finding him staring at you. Your stomach flipped and your breath hitched as he moved closer, his arm coming around you securely.

He raised his hand to your face, cupping your cheek in his rough and calloused palm. “I’m not very good with words,” he whispered. “But I’d like to show you...how I feel. If you’ll let me.”

You paused, your eyes darting between his. You nodded slightly, licking your lips nervously. Something shifted in his eyes then, a look you couldn’t quite place radiating from their mossy depths. His arm tightened around your waist and your heart skipped a beat as he slowly leaned towards you.

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

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[harlot-of-oblivion]

When Roses Cease to Bloom (Part 5)

Vergil recommended your shop and now you have a reputation to uphold as you meet Nero and Kyrie for the first time, helping them with all their flowery needs for their wedding.

Hope you like my offering of good fluffy content, with a dash of sweet flirtation and silly shenanigans! 💕

Here’s the link to the list of all the flowers featured in this part and here’s the list of wedding flowers if any of you are curious. 🌹🥰🌹

Your garden has always been your personal place of peace and joy. As you walk among the flowers you have helped flourish and thrive the lively sounds of the city seem nonexistent. The buzzing of hard-working bees, the chirping of early morning birds, and the soft babbling of the garden fountain block out all outside noise as you enter a world of your own. Despite all the tranquility of the surrounding blooms, anxiety bubbles through your body as you set up a garden table and three chairs. Normally, an appointment with a customer does not make you so nervous, but this is different. You are about to meet the son of Vergil Sparda, the man who has lately been the subject of many daydreams.

The power of Sparda must also include smooth seduction, you thought wryly as you wipe down the garden furniture, making sure they are clean before heading back to the house. You open the backdoor and walk through the kitchen towards your office to grab your leather-bound notebook and a pen. You open the door and walk to your desk, trying to focus your mind on the task at hand. When you grab the notebook, you go check on the refreshments in the kitchen, mentally reminding yourself to not let your blunt mouth get you in trouble again during this important meeting.

I am rather fond of the delightful sounds that come from your mouth.

The memory of Vergil’s words send chills down your spine as you cover your face with the notebook, hiding the blush that appears even though there is no one there to witness it. It has only been a couple of days since that devilish man was in your garden, completely charming the petals off of you. The freshly picked daises he brought you, his sensuous voice as he recited poetry, and his intense gaze as he kissed your hand…every detail keeps running through your mind, causing you to zone out a lot as you think about other places you want to feel his touch. You are glad that he is reciprocating your advances, but you were not prepared for just how good he is at flirting!

You shake your head of these romantic thoughts as you finally enter the kitchen. I have a job to do and I will not get distracted any longer, you reprimand yourself. The iced lemon tea is still cold and the mini muffins have cooled off enough for you to plate them. As you take a platter and begin to remove the muffins you wonder if his son also likes blueberries just as much as his father does. You laugh a little as you recall that his son, Nero, is only a few years younger than you. Finding out that Vergil has a son was a little surprising...you still cannot believe he did not tell you sooner! But after he told you all about his family you understand why he waited. You are no stranger to complicated family dynamics, as you shared your own family history with him, and you are honestly very curious and excited to meet Nero and his fiancée.

I just hope they like me, you internally fret as you finish getting the refreshments ready. You grin as you remember Vergil’s reassurance about how you have the best flowers in the city. He really does know how to compliment you just as well as he knows how to make you blush. You check yourself in a mirror just down the hall, making sure your hair was sufficiently braided and your modest amount of makeup is still looking good. When you are satisfied with your appearance you head out back to the garden to double check the furniture. You start to hum as you make sure everything is perfect, setting your notebook and pen on the table. After you are satisfied with everything you turn around and the man that has been haunting your thoughts is standing just a couple of steps away.

“Jumping juniper!” you gasp, clutching your chest at his sudden appearance. Vergil is wearing his usual blue attire, tailcoats swaying in the light breeze as amused silver eyes stare at you. You sigh in relief before shooting him an irritated glare as you put your hands on your hips. “Does the power of Sparda also include scaring your local gardener to death?!” you huff breathlessly.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a pleased smirk. “Perhaps.” You eye him in anticipation since you notice that one of his hands is behind his back, which you know can only mean one thing…and he proves you right as he reveals a small bouquet of yellow and white lilies. “It may also include a proclivity for giving lovely flowers as recompense to my local gardener.”

You give him a bright smile as you reach for the elegant lilies. “You know me too well, Vergil.” Your hand clasps just above his and let your pinky finger caress the inside of his wrist. And without fail you feel his warm thumb gently graze the inside of your palm. You have long accepted the fact that you will never be able to hide the blush that always appears when he touches you this way. Plus, you like seeing the knowing smirk that graces his lips when he sees just how much this subtle intimacy affects you. You take the lilies and bring them in for a sniff, wondering if these will have a scent or not. A light honey fragrance wafts from them and you hum in delight, smiling at the handsome man who gifted you a bouquet of sweet gratitude.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon,” you remark as you hold the precious lilies close to your heart. “What brings you to my garden today?”

“Would you allow me to read here? Dante is being even more insufferable than usual and I can’t find peace and quiet at the shop.”

“Is the café too crowded today?”

“Possibly. I didn’t stop by to check. I remembered your invitation and came here first,” he informs matter-of-factly.

“Oh.” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you tilt your head. You did tell him that he is welcome to visit you any time, but you did not realize he would just pop in without calling you at least. If he had done so then you could have informed him that you have a meeting with…Your eyes widen as you come the realization that he must know you have an appointment this morning. His surprise visit just so happens to be on the same day as your meeting with Nero and Kyrie. What a coincidence, you muse as a cheeky grin appears on your face.

Vergil quirks an eyebrow. “What madness have you got rattling in your head now?”

“Oh nothing,” you reply nonchalantly. “Just hoping that you don’t mind if I join you after my appointment with Nero and Kyrie today.”

“That’s today?” he asks, having the audacity to pretend that he is not aware of that little piece of information.

“Yep.”

“Hmm.”

Your cheeky grin drops as you give him a deadpan stare. He just simply returns your stare with his own intense gaze, reminding you of the last time he challenged you to a staring contest. You refuse to look away though, even when small shivers begin to run through your body as that memory plays in your mind. There is no way he doesn’t know, you ponder. Unless this is how he shows his support? You know by now that Vergil’s actions speak volumes despite his silence. And your intuition tells you that even though he claims to be here to read in your garden…he chose to visit while you meet his son for the first time.

Aww…he’s so sweet, you thought as you finally break your stare, giggling as you nod your head. “Okay. There’s a nice shady spot under the apple trees,” you point as you begin to walk by him. “Would you like some tea? I can bring you some. I can also spare some mini blueberry muffins if you want.”

Vergil nods. “I would not mind tea while I read. Thank you, Y/N,” he says softly with a thankful grin.

You show him to a comfy seat and side table under your apple trees before heading to the back door of your house. As you step in the kitchen you notice the time on your oven, noting that you only have a few more minutes until your expected guests arrive. You glance at your newly acquired lilies in your hand and quickly open a cabinet where numerous vases are stored. You grab a nice crystal one, set it in the sink, and turn on the faucet. As it fills with fresh water you reach for a glass and a small plate, cutting the water off when the vase is sufficiently full and setting it on the island in the middle of your kitchen.

As you pour some iced lemon tea into the glass you inspect the lilies laying on the counter, trying to determine which lucky bloom should go in your hair. By the time you place a handful of mini muffins on the plate you narrow down your choice between a pure white lily and a bright yellow lily. Not wanting to let your indecision keep Vergil waiting you swiftly clip the stems off the contenders down to size and put the rest of the lilies in the vase. You gather his refreshments and the two lilies before heading back out to the garden.

When you arrive back at the apple trees you notice that Vergil has already got his nose in a book, that little crinkle you are so fond of in between his brow scrunched up in concentration. Your soft giggle brings him out his thoughts as you approach, those striking silver eyes watching as you set his glass of tea and muffins on the table next to him. He softly thanks you and you smile sweetly before presenting him with the white and yellow lily.

“I can’t decide which lily to put in my hair. What do you think? This one?” You hold the white lily up to your head, modeling it up above your ear before doing the same to the yellow lily. “Or this one?���

His eyes soften as they regard you, a radiant blue hue blooming in molten silver. “Both look equally beautiful in your hair.”

Your lips curve into a coy smirk. “Hmm…” You look down at your white embroidered summer dress, taking note of the faint floral pattern in the fabric. The yellow lily would add some color, but the white lily just looks so pretty and graceful. “I do remember that the lily white shall in love delight,” you say playfully as you put the winning lily in your hair. When you feel that the flower is secure you turn your attention back to Vergil. “How do I look?” you ask, giving him a little spin in your excitement.

“Nor a thorn nor a threat stains her beauty bright,” he murmurs as his eyes roam over your body, showing no restraint as he takes his time appraising you. His blatant gaze gives you pleasant goosebumps. When his eyes finally meet yours a gentle grin tugs at one corner of his mouth. “You’re absolutely breathtaking.”

Your mind fizzles out as warm tingles surge through your body, his words making you blush harder than ever before. All you could find yourself able to do at the moment is just stand there while Vergil smiles smugly in victory. If you knew he would be this good you would have raised your game a while ago! It is like a switch has been flipped…perhaps your sly suggestion of Catullus really did work. You did hope that some of his more erotic poems would inspire him to be more open with his advances, but you were clearly not prepared for what Vergil has in store for you!

A high-pitched deafening squeal breaks through the air, knocking you out of your romantic stupor. Vergil’s head snaps toward the direction of the sound. He scowls as an annoyed growl escapes his lips and relaxes back in his seat. “It seems they have arrived,” he explains as he goes back to reading his book.

“You can tell it’s them just by that?!” you exclaim as you point in the direction of what is surely a car speeding way past safe limits. Another ear-splitting screech sounds off, this time with a little bit more grit, which must mean they are breaking.

“I would know the sound of that vehicle anywhere,” he says in total confidence. In the distance you hear car doors slamming shut and some really angry yelling. Vergil shakes his head as he reaches for his tea. Your stomach starts to churn a little as your anxiety from earlier returns. You check over your dress one last time before turning back to Vergil.

“Well, I better go greet them. Wish me luck!” you say, twirling the yellow lily in your hand nervously. Vergil looks up from his book and gives you a warm smile, making your heart flutter despite your worry. You return his smile with your own appreciative grin before making your way to the front of your house. When you get to your front porch you see an RV with a neon blue sign that reads Devil May Cry on the side. A black-haired woman yawns in the driver’s seat as she waves to the couple approaching your home.

When you bring your attention to the couple it takes all of your willpower to keep your jaw from dropping in shock. The young man strikingly resembles his father, from the white hair to the blue and silver eyes. But the similarities end when it comes to their sense of style. His hair is cut short and his attire is very punkish. You do not see any swords on him so you assume he must have left his weapons behind. The power of Sparda must include the good-looking gene, you quietly quip to yourself as you softly giggle. The young man takes notice of you and his eyes narrow in curiosity as he offers his arm to a very beautiful woman. Her auburn hair shines brilliantly in the sunlight and her hazel eyes glow warmly. She links arms with the young man and adjusts her golden yellow dress as they make their way towards you. Her gentle smile puts you at ease and you put on your own welcoming smile as they finally reach your porch.

“Hello! Welcome to my garden!” you cheerfully greet them with a wave.

The beautiful woman smiles as she bows her head slightly. “Thank you for taking the time to see us,” she says sweetly, her voice so full of joy and you almost believe you are hearing an angel.

“It’s no problem! You must by Kyrie, yes?”

“Yes!” she nods before turning to the young man. “And this is my fiancé, Nero.”

“Nice to meet you,” he greets with a slight head nod.

You smile invitingly. “Well, if you come this way, I have a table ready in the garden.” You lead them through your luxuriant garden, feeling proud of yourself when the cute couple look around in wonder. When you show them their seats you ask if they would like some iced lemon tea and muffins. They both accept your offer and you rush off to get the refreshments, doing your best to stay professional and not walk to briskly on the way to your kitchen. When you arrive back at the table you serve them, take your seat, and ready your notebook as you begin to question the happy couple about what they want for their special day.

Kyrie is the one who mostly talks about the details with you, Nero nodding his head every now and then during the conversation. You find out that you only have a couple of months to pull this off, which is a little stressful considering that it is just you doing all the arrangements. But when you see Kyrie’s hopeful eyes as she goes on about her ideal flowers you decide that no bride should be left flowerless on her wedding day. You assure her that you will work tirelessly to make sure every bloom is perfect for her big day. The most heavenly smile you have ever seen breaks out on her face as she takes your hand and thanks you with utmost sincerity. Nero also smiles and gives you an appreciative nod, probably glad his bride-to-be has one less thing to stress about.

Their colors are yellow and blue, and Kyrie tells you what she ordered with the previous florist before it suddenly closed. You find that you can provide most of the flowers, some you have to suggest alternatives for because of the short notice. In the end the flowers you have listed are sunflowers, blue dahlias, yellow peonies, blue delphiniums, and blue periwinkle petals. You take really detailed notes about her bouquet and the arch they will be married under on the beach. And lastly, you list how many other bouquets, displays, and boutonnieres they will need. By the time you have everything written down you feel a bit overwhelmed but mostly excited to get started.

During your energetic conversation you find yourself growing quite fond of Kyrie. She is just so kind and shows a sense of sophisticated grace. Throughout your talks you come to truly believe that she really is some sort of heavenly being. She thanks you for your patience and understanding and you in turn tell her it is no inconvenience to you and that you are happy to oblige all her flowery needs.

You feel that you have won her approval, but you are still not sure about Nero. He has mostly been quiet so far, observing you and his surroundings closely and chiming in when Kyrie asks his opinion on something. He does not look like he dislikes you, but he has not gone out of his way to be friendly and courteous towards you like the absolute angel next to him. You do not let this discourage you though. If he is anything like his father you know that it will take a little time before he warms up to you.

After your initial discussion about their wedding flowers Nero asks to speak to his fiancée privately. Kyrie looks over at him in surprise and asks if everything is okay. Before he can answer you nod and get up from your seat, knowing from past experience that this is when the husband tries to talk his lovely wife into ordering less flowers. You tell them that you will be just taking a walk on the other side of the garden when they are finished. Nero nods and Kyrie looks a little concerned as you walk away and take a small break.

As you stroll through your garden you come across your tulips. The sight of their stiff buds swaying in the late morning breeze inspires you to pick one for Vergil, already knowing the perfect tulip for him. With careful footing you step through the vibrant blooms and search for a variegated tulip that has the best colors to bring out that lovely shade of blue in his silver eyes. Just as you spot the lucky winner of your search you spot Vergil walking towards you. You put on a face of pure innocence, but it is obvious he is not to be fooled since his eyes narrow cautiously as he stops just outside the tulips.

“What mischief are you up to this time?” he questions warily.

Your drop the innocent act as you bring your hands up to your hips. “I can’t have you out doing me in my own flower game! Now…would you kindly turn around so I can properly surprise you, please?” you implore impatiently.

Vergil arches an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize I was winning.”

“Hmph!” You cross your arms and turn your head away from him, playfully sticking your nose up in the air.

His cocky laugh rings out, which makes you squint your eyes and glare at him. “Perhaps I’ll turn around,” he relents. His smug face softens as he gazes back into your irritated glare. “Recite more poetry for me while I wait,” he requests, though it almost comes out as a challenge.

You roll your eyes. “Alright, alright.” You look at him expectantly, but he is still as a statue while he continues to stare at you, clearly entertained by this whole situation. You let out an exasperated sigh. “You can turn around now!” You move towards the flower, but pause for a second. “And no peeking!” you add in a serious tone. Vergil keeps his smug smile plastered on his face as he swiftly turns his back. You pick your brain for any poems you have memorized as you go over to the chosen bloom, a white and purple variegated tulip. I know more Catullus...but I don’t know if I can recite any his love poems with straight face! You can feel your face heat up at the very thought of repeating steamy prose to the handsome devil standing close by.

As you bend down to pick the lucky flower your mind suddenly sparks with a more sweet and subtle poem. You look over at Vergil’s back, making sure he is not looking as you bring the flower to your chest. Your eyes roam over his strong and regal physique, biting your lower lip as you especially appreciate his long legs and other…prominent aspects of his body. You shake your head, casting out your desirous thoughts as you focus on his request. You clear your throat to signify that you are ready and slowly make your way out of the tulips as you recite Emily Dickinson.

When Roses cease to bloom, Sir, And Violets are done— When Bumblebees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the Sun— The hand that paused to gather Upon this Summer's day Will idle lie—in Auburn— Then take my flowers—pray!

Vergil turns around to face you just as both of your hands hold out the variegated tulip to him. He tilts his head as he scrutinizes the striking purple strips on the stiff white petals. Your heart begins to thump rapidly when he suddenly steps up closer to you, causing you to crane your head up. He cups your hands and his warm calloused fingers caress your skin as he peers down at you tenderly.

“Thank you for the riveting recitation,” he murmurs. His low and sensuous voice sends shivers down your spine as you find yourself enraptured by his presence and touch. He takes one of your hands in his and brings it gently up to his lips, achingly gracing your skin with a lingering kiss as his molten silver eyes stare straight into your soul. “And for the compliment,” he tacks on with a genuine smirk.

Oh yeah…it most definitely includes smooth seduction. Soft warmth flushes through your body as the scent of bergamot drowns your senses. You are captivated by the beautiful eyes that have been object of your daydreams for the last couple of days. He lowers your hand, but does not release his grip as you just stand there, lost in whatever force has a hold over you. Your eyes linger all over his face, taking in the perfectly sculpted jawline, the ever-present crinkle between his brows, and the soft laugh lines that have blessed you with their presence. This brings your attention to his mouth, and you cannot help but wonder how those velvety lips would feel pressed against your lips instead of your hand.

The sound of footsteps breaks you both out of the intimate moment. Vergil glances over your shoulder as he relinquishes your hands and puts his flower inside his coat. You look over as well and see a dumbfounded Nero and a jovial Kyrie walking towards you. You immediately feel self-conscious about your very obvious flustered appearance, trying desperate to cool your heated cheeks by fanning yourself with your hand. Meanwhile, Vergil is somehow the epitome of cool, calm, and collected…which is totally unfair!

You do not let that discourage you as you put on a friendly face and ask if they are ready to continue. Kyrie nods and informs you that they talked it over and decided to do a more modest arch, so they will not need as much flowers as they originally thought. Nero gives his father a questioning look that seems to ask “what the hell are you doing here?” Vergil just stares back stoically in response to his son’s quiet query. As you all walk back to the garden table Nero breaks the silence and talks to you directly for the first time since meeting him.

“So, uh…how do you two know each other?” he asks hesitantly, his inquisitive eyes darting between you and his father.

“We met at the book café. Your father took my spot,” you answer, a reminiscent smile spreading across your face.

“I don’t recall seeing your name on it,” Vergil curtly adds with a huff.

You promptly ignore his commentary and go on with how you remember the events of that serendipitous day, doing your best to hold in your laughter. “And I, being a kind and gentle soul, allowed him to stay.”

“I beg your pardon?” Vergil glares at you incredulously. His response makes you do a whimsical twirl as a lighthearted giggle escapes your lips, your dress flaring out delicately in the breeze. Vergil sighs as the corners of his mouth twitch a bit, shaking his head at your jest. Kyrie giggles along with you while Nero looks at his father totally stunned.

“Needless to say,” you continue as soon as the giggle fit subsides, “after that misunderstanding was cleared, we chatted about more pleasant things and voila! Book nook buddies for life!”

“So…you’re friends then?” Nero prods, earning a hard stare from his father.

“Yeah!” you exclaim as your hand surreptitious reaches for a fistful of the marjoram flowers hidden in your dress pocket. “Friends that remind each other to lose the glower and smell the flowers!” You raise your hand and let the flowers scatter in the air, showering everyone with a healthy sprinkling of light pink petals. Kyrie laughs in delight while Nero looks around at the falling petals in confusion.

A low grumbling growl brings your attention to Vergil, who does not look very amused as a few stray petals cling to his perfectly slicked back hair. His irritable stare makes your smile drop as your eyes widen in surprise, putting a hand over your mouth to control the giggle that is bubbling just behind your lips. “Oops!” you mutter softly behind your hand, earning you a severe sideways glance from the grumpy Son of Sparda. Kyrie has her hand over her mouth as well to hide her smile, but Nero’s lips break into boyish grin as he fails to hold it back any longer.

“It’s a good look for you, Dad,” he compliments while giving his father a mocking nod of respect. Vergil snarls in response to his son’s sassy compliment.

“I can fix it!” you blurt out as you put yourself in between them, trying to defuse the situation you accidently created. Vergil peers down at your pleading face, and he must see that you honestly did not mean to embarrass him because his harsh expression softens a little. You hear Kyrie behind you ask Nero to accompany her to the nearby garden fountain and they both walk off, leaving you alone with a pretty prickly devil.

“I’m too short to reach you…could you kneel down for me?” you ask sheepishly. Vergil takes a deep breath and complies, bending a knee down to the ground so his head is level with your shoulders. You thank him with a smile as you pick tiny petals from his hair, being careful not pull the silky white strands too much. As you circle around to expect the back of his head you cannot help but to enjoy his soft and shiny hair, letting your fingers linger just a bit longer than they should as they remove pesky petals. Vergil is motionless and silent, which gives you a good opportunity to apologize.

“I’m sorry…I didn’t think these flowers would be so clingy.”

Vergil quickly turns his head to look over his shoulder at you, startling you as your fingers rip away from his gorgeous hair. His keen eyes stare at you for a moment before he speaks in a calm and even tone. “There’s no need to apologize. I should’ve known you would pull one of your whimsical antics, but somehow you always manage to take me by surprise.”

You laugh softly as you move to face him again, his gaze following your form as you spot more petals nestling by his temple. “And I should know by now that you don’t like surprises,” you note as you gently dig out the tiny petals. Vergil has grown quiet again and you glance down to see if he really is not angry anymore. That is when you realize that his face is level with your chest as you bend down. Vergil is a gentleman though, averting his gaze as you proceed with your task…although, you do catch him sneaking peeks from the corner of his eye a couple of times.

This makes your stomach flutter with butterflies and your heart beat faster as a devious ploy pops into your head. If he can make me blush with his hand kisses…then I can raise the stakes and make him blush too! Before you can even ask yourself is this is a good idea your body instantly steps closer to examine the top of Vergil’s head for petals. This brings your chest so close to his face you can feel his breath brush against your skin, which sends pleasant tingles all over your body. You pretend to pick a petal out of his hair, savoring the smooth texture of his white locks between your fingertips and the subtle scent of bergamot once more before withdrawing just as quickly as you approached.

“There,” you declare with an impish grin. “Perfect as always.”

It seems your spur of the moment tease has flipped another switch inside of Vergil. His brow is completely relaxed, his cheeks show the barest amount of pink, and his eyes are gleaming as they stare up at you in awe. He seems so ethereal as he slowly rises back to his full height and his silver eyes pierce you to the spot, adding more fuel for your constant daydreams. The intensity of his gaze fills you with triumph as it stirs your heart and sets your soul aflame. That mysterious force is back, stronger and headier than before as it pulls him closer to you…

A violent rustling from some nearby shrubbery startles you. Vergil puts himself in front of you, shielding you from whatever threat lies beyond the bush. They shake again and you hear a string of curses coming from the leaves. You peer around Vergil’s body, wondering what strange creature is creeping and cursing in your garden. Suddenly, the black-haired woman from the van comes careening out of the shrubbery, jumping around and fidgeting as she swats various spots on her body with her free hand. She has a phone in the other hand and when she finally notices you and Vergil, she quickly hides it in what looks to be a tool belt as she gives you both a casual wave and a grin.

“Hey, uh…fancy meeting you here.”

“Nico?!” Nero exclaims as he and Kyrie rush over, no doubt hearing the commotion and coming to investigate. “What the hell are you doing?”

Nico rolls her eyes behind her red glasses. “I got bored waitin’ on ya’ll! So…I decided to go explorin’.”

“In the bushes?” Vergil questions blankly.

“Y-yeah!” Nico stutters a bit, but quickly recovers. “Never know what’s lying beneath something so pretty.”

“Aww, thank you!” you beam, giving the nice strange lady a big happy smile. In return, Nico nods as she gestures around the garden and wiggles her eyebrows. Kyrie smiles along with you and Vergil relaxes as he continues to stare at Nico suspiciously. Nero just looks at her in utter disbelief. You know that her explanation is odd, her appearance and attire screaming mechanic instead of explorer, but it is clear that whatever she is up to she meant no harm. There has been enough excitement for today and the appointment is almost over anyway, so you let her explore to her heart’s content as long as she does not harm the plants and flowers.

When it is clear that you have no problem with Nico rummaging through your bushes you get back to business with the happy couple. You go over the final order, happily adding a couple of flower crowns and few other minor details to the list. By the end of the appointment Kyrie is positively gleeful. Her jubilant attitude is contagious as Nero’s smile widens and your mind is already buzzing with exhilaration. Kyrie gives you her number and insists that if you ever need help all you need to do is call. You feel touched by her generosity, but you explain that you are going to try your hardest to make sure that they do not have to lift a finger.

“Well, we better be off,” Nero says after checking the time on his phone.

“Thank you so much for doing our flowers on such short notice!” Kyrie happily smiles as she takes both your hands in gratitude.

“Oh no, it’s no trouble at all!” you say graciously as you squeeze her hands back in understanding. “It will be a little tight, but I promise I’ll do my best to give you the wedding flowers of your dreams!”

You escort them through your garden to the front of your house. Nico has already made her way back to van, waving at you as she smokes a cigarette. Kyrie surprises you by giving you a friendly farewell hug. Nero thanks you with a grateful smile. He warmed up to you after the spontaneous flower shower…you get the feeling that he is a little impressed for some reason. Whatever it is that made him open up you are glad that you got to know him better. As you wave goodbye and watch them leave Vergil appears next to you just as the RV backs up and shoots down the road. The tires squeal as they speed away, leaving behind a big puff of white smoke.

“I think they like me!” you exclaim in delight.

Vergil chuckles. “How could they not? You are a marvelous woman after all,” he compliments as he stares at the lily adorning your hair.

You do not even try to hide the blush breaking out over your cheeks. “I guess those sweet words mean you’re not still mad about the flower shower?”

“I wasn’t mad.”

“Hmm, you looked pretty mad.”

“I wasn’t-” he scoffs, but stops short when he sees your cheeky grin. His scowl softens as he shakes his head. “Sometime I wonder if you drive me mad on purpose.”

“And what if I am?” you ask, playfully tilting your head to the side.

Vergil’s lips curve into a fond smile as his eyes glitter wickedly, staring deeply into your eyes. “Then by all means,” he mutters as he raises his hand and gently brushes a stray strand of hair away from your face. “Don’t ever stop.”

No matter how many times he makes you blush and tingle with his charming words you know that you will never tire of it. You will gladly give him all of your crimson blushes, your mirthful smiles, and your vibrant blooms in return. Even though you have only known him for a short time you feel deep down that you would anything for the eldest Son of Sparda…anything to see his handsome face smile and his eyes gleam with passion. Even when roses cease to bloom, you will always be there with a fresh bouquet in hand, ready for him to take your heart along with your flowers, pray!

Read Part 6 (Ch. 1) here

Read on my Ao3

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Tagging: @drusoona @thedyingmoon @veenus-ow @bettybattaglia @meowykittenn @fandomhell97 @vergilsangel @venomous-lawyer

[buckeverlasting]

Wine and Dine Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem librarian!Reader

Summary: You don’t normally date library patrons, but Bucky has been a very special regular lately. You finally go out on a long-awaited date.

A/N: This is my entry for @stanclub’s writing challenge! My prompt was “Where are your manners?” Prompt is in bold.

Warnings: a little fluff but mostly a great deal of smut; it’s really, truly filthy

Word count: 2.6k

It was a gray day in the beginning of February. James Barnes strode into the library with a blast of cold air. He stopped at the Black History Month wedding cake display by the doorway and picked a biography of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. off a stand. His eyes flitted over the cover, his brow knitted in concentration. He flipped the book over and scanned the writing on the back. He nodded his head in appreciation. Then he looked up and caught you watching him. A grin creeped across his face, and he approached the reference desk with the book in hand.

Patron James Barnes had been such a regular visitor to your reference desk over the last couple weeks that you had his library card number memorized: 2276141405. God only knows how many times you’ve scanned it to reserve or check out books for the man. Actually, you know how many books he’s checked out. You pulled up his account on your computer by searching the system for his library card number. Since he started visiting your branch, he’s checked out over one hundred books and movies. He’d been coming here for a while, but it was only recently that he started specifically asking to see you on his visits.

“Good morning,” you said. “That’s a good book you have there.”

“Oh, really?” he asked. “I actually want to know more about this man. I was hoping you could help me find more books about him.”

“I can certainly help with that.” You took a seat behind your computer. “Let me check and see what we have on the shelves right now.” You accessed the library’s catalog. You performed a search, typing in commands to limit the search to what was available only at your branch.

“I’m surprised you don’t know of a few off the top of your head,” he said.

“I think it’s a common misconception that all librarians do is read.” You laughed lightly.

“You mean you don’t sit around and read all day with your cats?” he asked.

“Don’t get smart, Mr. Barnes.” You smiled at him.

“You can call me Bucky.” He returned your smile.

“You can call me Y/N, Bucky. It looks like there are ten biographies on the shelf right.” You turned the computer screen to show him the titles. “Do you want me to to take you over to see them?”

“Sure. Please, lead the way.”

You got up and waited for him to circle around your desk so you could walk through the stacks together. When you had passed the 300s (social sciences), Bucky asked, “So what do you do when you’re not reading with your cats?”

You gave him side-eye with a smirk. “I actually don’t have cats. I like to dance, go hiking, and I paint a little. I have to admit, though, I do like reading. I also like going on dates with handsome men who come into the library regularly to research history.”

He stopped in front of the 500s (natural sciences). “Are you asking me out on a date, Y/N?”

You looked up at the ceiling and rocked on the soles of your feet. “I’m just saying what I like to do, since you asked.”

You kept walking along, with Bucky trailing a little behind.

“Hold on,” he said, stopping in front of a display of poetry and plays next to the 800s *(literature). “Are you saying you’d go out with me on a date if I asked you?”

You turned on your heel. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to ask me out. I’ve had a crush on you since my freshman history class. I know what you’ve been up to on your visits to the library. You’re trying to catch up. I admire that.”

“I guess you also picked up on my stalking you.” He grinned. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Finally, going out with you.” You brushed his arm with your hand.

“Of those things you mentioned liking to do, would kissing strange men in the stacks be one of them?” he asked.

You gave him a little shove. “Are you out of your mind? Do you know how hard it was to get this job? I have benefits and a retirement plan. There’s no way I’m giving that up for anyone, no matter how good he looks right now.”

“I’m a decorated war vet, too.” He shrugged.

“I still have student loans to pay off.” You crossed our arms. “Plus, call me old fashioned, but I’d like to be wined and dined a little first.”

“Fine, fine. Fair enough,” he said. “Just show me where the biographies I’m looking for are.”

“Can you pick me up at eight tonight?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“Then follow me.”

- - -

This was going to be the most important date of your life. James “Bucky” Barnes was going to pick you up in a matter of minutes. You checked your eyes for smudges and your teeth for lipstick. You patted down stray hairs and tested your breath against your palm. You smiled at yourself. You looked great.

The doorbell rang. You looked out the peephole. Bucky stood there with a bouquet of flowers. You opened the door for him.

“I hope this isn’t too old fashioned.” He handed you a bouquet of pink roses.

You breathed in their scent. “These are beautiful. I’ll have to put them in water. Do you want to come in for a second?”

“That’s fine.” He stepped into your home and looked around. “You have a lovely place.”

“Thank you.” You rushed into the kitchen and began opening cabinets looking for your vase.

Bucky appeared in the kitchen. “Need help?”

“No.” You popped up with the vase in hand. “Found it!”

“Do you mind if I just sit for a moment?” “Go right ahead.”

Bucky pulled his arms out of his jacket and draped it over a chair. He took a seat.

“You don’t need to take your coat off. I’m just going to be a second.”

He patted his knee. “Why don’t you sit for a second?”

“Okay.” You left the flowers and vase on the counter, walked over to him, and lowered yourself onto his lap. You could feel how warm he was through both your clothes. You looped an arm around his neck to help balance yourself. He bounced his knee, and you fell into his chest, which was solid as a wall.

“Can I kiss you now?” Bucky asked. His ocean blue eyes were soft. “I’ve waited for so long.”

“It’s only been a couple hours.”

“No,” he said. “It’s taken me a lifetime to find someone like you.”

“Like me?”

“Yes. Someone so smart and beautiful and kind.” He brushed the hair from your eyes and held he side of your face. “Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t bother answering his question. You went for it and captured his mouth in a deep kiss.

You broke the kiss. “How’s that for an answer?”

“I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

You kissed him again, and while your slid your tongue against his, he scooped you up bridal-style, and stood.

It was his turn to break the kiss. “Where’s your bedroom?” He pressed his forehead to yours as you caught your breath.

You pointed down the hall. “Second door on the left.”

You held onto his neck as he carried you into your bedroom. You flipped on the light. He threw you onto the bed. He began unbuttoning his shirt while kicking off his shoes. You pulled your dress over your head and tossed it on the floor. You rolled down your tights until you were in just a bra and panties. Bucky’s eyes lingered on you as he fumbled with the buttons on his pants. You got up to help him, but he pushed you back on the bed, not roughly or in a mean way. Just a gentle little shove to the shoulder, and you tumbled back to the bed.

Now Bucky was naked. You scooted on your butt to the head of the bed. Bucky crawled toward you, his erection bobbing between his legs. You took in a sharp breath when you saw how hard he was already and how large he was.

He slipped his hands down the front of your panties. “Let’s get you really wet for me. Take those panties off.”

You slipped them over your hips and kicked them down your legs and tossed them over the side of the bed. You also unclasped your bra and pitched it after your panties.

“Lay back for me, babe,” Bucky said. “Let me see that pussy.”

You did as you were told, and gently taking your knees, he parted your legs.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

In an instant, you could feel his warm, wet tongue on your clit. You closed your eyes. He was lapping and moaning, and the combination had you balling the sheets up in your fists. You rolled your hips to press yourself against him harder. He slipped in a cold metal finger, and you gasped.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

“It’s fucking amazing,” you wheezed. “Don’t stop!”

“Where are your manners?” He grinned.

“I’m sorry. Please, continue.”

This time he slipped in two metal fingers, scissoring them as he pumped them in and out of you. You were writhing against his hand. He flicked the bud of your clit with his tongue as he continued to torment you with his fingers, curling one against your G-spot.

You cried out. “Oh god, I’m gonna cum!” The pressure had been mounting, and you felt like you were going to erupt.

“Cum for me, babe.” He began lapping at your folds again, as you felt the white hot heat blazing out of your core. You could feel yourself flooding his mouth as you came hard. He lapped and sucked hungrily.

“Wow, you’re really skilled,” you said, lying flushed and limp on the bed.

“Are you ready for me?” He sat back on his heels, lazily stroking himself.

You bit your lip, reached between your legs, swiped at your wetness, and tasted yourself. “I think I’m very ready.”

“Goddamn, that was hot,” he said.

You reached for his flesh hand and stuck two fingers in your mouth, gently sucking and swirling your tongue around them.

“I’d like to know what else that tongue can do,” he said.

“Why don’t you lie down and find out?” You got up on your knees.

Bucky rested his head on your pillows.

You knelt between his legs, grasped the shaft with both hands, and lowered your head. You licked his length in long, slow swipes before plunging it in your mouth. You sucked and bobbed your head, dragging your tongue around the head. Bucky moaned and placed his hands on either side of your head. He began thrusting up into your mouth as he held your head still. You moaned and the vibrations caused him to grunt. You could taste precum. He released your head, and you sat upright, gasping.

“Do you have a condom?” you said.

Bucky got off the bed and searched his clothes for his wallet. He held up a little square. “Found it.”

“Well, you were pretty sure you were going to get lucky,” you said. “I don’t know what that says about me.”

“Nothing, babe.” He kissed your cheek. “I just like to be prepared. Get on your hands and knees, please.”

Without a word, you obeyed, turning your back to him and bending over, putting yourself fully on display.

He smacked your ass with his flesh hand. “Gorgeous.”

You gasped when you felt him rubbing the tip of his cock along your folds. He teased your clit for a moment before lining himself up and pressing into you. You yelped a little as he stretched you.

“Are you okay, babe?” he asked.

“Yup.” You turned and gave him a thumbs up. “You’re just enormous. That’s all.”

He smiled at you. “You’re fucking tight.” He thrusted and almost knocked you down. He gripped you by the hips and pulled you to him, spearing you on his cock. You fell into the bed, cheek on the sheets, ass in the air. You reached back and spread your ass.

Bucky groaned. “That is a beautiful sight.” He placed a cold, metal thumb on your asshole, and you cried out. He applied a little more pressure, and your eyes rolled back into your head, as he continued to fuck you into the mattress.

“Fuckmefuckmefuckme,” you muttered.

He smacked your ass again and, grabbing you by the hair, he pulled you up off the mattress. He reached around and played with your clit with a metal finger. You were going to lose it soon. You could feel the ball of pressure within you expanding, the heat spreading from your core. You began to shake.

“That’s it,” he said. “Cum for me again, babe. I want to feel you dripping down my balls.”

His words made you shudder, and you let yourself go with a moan you were sure your neighbors probably heard. Once again, you fell face first onto the sheets, and all you could do was shake with the tremors of your orgasm as Bucky continued to fuck you as your wells clenched around his cock.

With a few last thrusts, he reached his own climax, and you could feel his cock pulse inside you as he emptied himself into the condom. When he pulled out and released your hips, you completely collapsed to the bed and shut your eyes.

“Mmm, that was fantastic.” You opened your eyes, sat up, and turning around, saw Bucky holding up the condom, which sagged with his huge load.

“Want to taste?” He gently held your jaw and tipped your head back. You opened your mouth, and he emptied the condom into your mouth. His cum was thick, salty, and still warm. You swallowed quickly and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

He stroked your hair. “Good girl.”

You smiled and blinked sleepily. Bucky pulled back the sheets for you, and you slipped under them, nestling your head on the pillow. He got in behind you, pulling you close to him, your back to his chest.

“That was amazing,” he whispered.

“That was fucking amazing.” That was the last thing you remember saying before you drifted off to sleep in Bucky’s arms.

- - -

Morning sun and bird song woke you in the morning. The room came into focus slowly, and you realized you were alone. Bucky’s side of the bed was cold. Perhaps he left a note somewhere, you thought, as you got up and put on your bathrobe. You wandered throughout your house, calling his name. He was really gone.

A knock on your front door. You dashed to the peephole. Bucky was standing on your stoop with a grocery bag in his arms. You let him in.

“Where the heck did you go?” you asked.

He leaned down and kissed our cheek. “I had to pick up a few things. Some fixings for omelettes and some champagne for mimosas.”

“What’s all this for?”

“Well, you said you wanted to be wined and dined a little before you would kiss me, and I guess we never really got a chance to do that. So, I’m going to wine and dine you a little belatedly.”

“That’s really sweet.” You got up on your toes to kiss him on the lips.

“Oh, it’s the least I could do to thank you for the night of my life.” He put the bag down on a chair and pulled you close. “So, what’ll it cost me for a rendezvous in the stacks?”

“Keep on dreaming, pal.” You rested your cheek against his chest. “I’m nothing if not professional.”

Thank you so much for reading. I’d love to hear your feedback! Also, if you’d like to jump on a tag list, just send an ask.

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[boogiewrites]

Mae Flowers Ch. 2

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Mae LeBlanc (OFC)

Word Count:  6600+

Summary: A modern, magical Alfie Solomons AU. After a soul awakening of her own, Mae LeBlanc, a natural born witch, as well as a sensitive and kind woman from New Orleans soul finally starts to bloom and calls out to Alfie’s, unbeknownst to her. Not believing in supernatural powers, she finds herself thrown into a new existence that is full of things she never thought possible, including magical powers of her own. Alfie takes her under his wing to teach her about her powers. As she grows and learns, so does he. They navigate her lessons together, come to terms with how lonely their lives have been without the other and face these very human emotions together. With a newfound friendship formed out of necessity, will the idea of a soul mate translate from a mere magical meaning to a romantic one?

Warnings/Tags: Language. Spooky Imagery. Mentions of violence, poor self image. Magic/Supernatural. Soul mates. Lots of environmental descriptors but bare with me. 

Positive feedback is MUCH appreciated! Reblogs, likes, asks and comments feed me to write more! Let me know if you’d like tagged in my work.

Click on my screenname then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

Alfie drives over to the Westbank into the residential parts of town. Old and new houses, apartment complexes and shotgun homes. He follows the GPS to Mae's house and it looks how he thought it might.

 A small colorful front, with a tall wooden fence around the sides and backyard. The door was a deep teal set against a faded yellow exterior. An awning over the front door, with a small porch, a stoop that was painted and worn. Flower pots of all sizes and in the color of gemstones and varied conditions sat on the stairs and around it. Wildflower boxes sat underneath windows with shutters of the same teal color as the door and fencing. It was quaint, comfortable and colorful just like she was, he thought it suited her well. He pulls into the small driveway, in the residential area with houses that look much the same as hers. It homed older houses with older owners that had fallen into a less than pristine condition, newer family homes with landscaped front lawns. But Mae's had a small patch of grass, closer to the road as he suspected the backyard would be where most of the bulk of the grass would be for a garden.

He carries Mae into her house, unlocking her door with a nod of his head. Finding the interior to be as warm and comfortable as she felt in his arms. He walks directly into the far corner of the living room. The large bay window seen from the front of the house is bleeding bright light into the room from behind a large and plush couch. The room is decorated in deep jewel tones, a teal sectional sits against navy walls, with a collection of warmer color throw pillows in bohemian and southwestern styles. A shaggy faux fur blanket was thrown haphazardly over the extended lounge end of the couch. Large potted palms sit in the corners, succulents in tiny decorative pots on the window sills. They carried onto the mantle of the brick painted black fireplace that sat like a huge room divider, sitting in a huge square column in the center of the large space of the living room and kitchen. A flat-screen tv rests on the opposite wall of the couch above the fireplace. A driftwood coffee table containing a large fern in a bright yellow pot, books on plants and herbs stacked with various remotes and cat toys.

He places her gently on the extended section of the couch, careful to place her head on a pillow and make sure none of her limbs are twisted.

He hears and feels his darkness rev and purr and push around inside him. "Yeah I know, me too." he sighs.

-"Been waiting so long."- it moans. "So soft. So much life. She glows like the sun. The companion to our moon."- It starts reciting its own strange poetry for its mate it's waited millennia for. It hadn't been with its light since the dawn of time he assumes, as he knows his darkness is so old that time isn't even relevant to it for the most part.

He recalls the dark horrors of primordial ooze and black endless voids and abyss when it had come upon him. He was impressed it was behaving itself. For so long he'd had to fight so hard to control it, making him do evil, terrible things. Deeds so bad he'd exiled himself for years away from civilization. But in her presence it was calmed, it rippled like water, it was happy and he'd never known his darkness to feel happy about anything. Except when he was digging through the insides of innocents. He shakes the old thoughts from his head, still feeling guilty even almost a century later and trying to make amends ever since.

He traces his fingers over her face and whispers calming words to help ease her anxious nature he sensed. He stands and takes in the room. Her house is very quiet. He moves soundlessly around the fireplace and sees a quaint little kitchen. Driftwood light fixtures, colorfully painted window and door frames in the same jewel tones that carry throughout the house. The kitchen is white-walled, sunlight from a window over the sink pouring in against the far wall. But the majority of light came from the two patio doors that led to her garden. A closed-door sits off to the left next to an open archway that goes down into a sunroom. He looks over the open shelves on the kitchen walls and is very excited to find tins of various teas lining them.  Old jars of pantry staples sit across the wooden countertops, some he'd say were from his time possibly, he wonders if she inherited them or if she simply had classic taste. He finds a small, dinky metal kettle and starts on making her some tea. He figured he needed something to calm her, finding her windowsill full of herbs he could easily use to make something to soothe her.

He senses something alive in the house, something besides the plants. He turns, seeing a large white long haired cat staring at him from a short hallway between two doorways to his right.  It swishes its tail and they both narrow their eyes at each other.

"Who are you, lad?" Alfie asks as the cat continues to sit and stare at him. "You must be with Mae." he says with a nod, going back to searching through the cabinets. "Not much for talkin' to strangers, eh?" he chuckles. "Must mean there's a little more to ya than being a common house cat."

Percival lets out a noisy huff of air, taking offense to the term common house cat. He lets out a low growl at Alfie. He could sense his dark energy and he didn't trust him. Although why he had brought Mae home and was now making her tea was a bit confusing if he wished her ill.

"I'm not here to hurt your girl." Alfie says, still not looking back to him. "I'm here to help her. You know she has powers, yeah? I'm here to teach her how to use them. I have similar powers, although I'm not a witch like her." he shakes his head, his fingers digging into a small tea tin.  

Percy knew he wasn't a witch, he didn't feel like a witch, didn't have the aura. He lets out a typical meow.

"You can say somefin' better 'an at mate." Alfie grins.

He lets out another meow of the same tone.

"Fine, fine. You're protective, I understand. She seems like a sweet, soft girl I can understand your concern." he remarks as he looks at him with a sympathetic expression.

Percy moves to jump up on the kitchen island to get a better look at this new person that'd come into their lives.

"'Ello." he says, leaning back against the counter while the kettle fills.

Percy says nothing and continues to sit and stare as he had been.

"I'm Alfie Solomons. You're probably sensing my darkness. But I've had it for a very, very long time, yeah? We're in control, we're not gonna hurt Mae." he states again. "We're here because of her lightness. She's our mate, right? We've been lookin' for her since me 'n this darkness got together. So the last fing I wanna do is cause her harm, 'right?"

Percy tilts his head, content for now with his explanation. But he wasn't so sure what Mae, who had no knowledge of anything of their world was going to think about this.

Mae's eyes blink open and then widen as she finds herself at her home, which is not where she remembered last being. She sits up slowly, her head feeling a bit swimmy but she's quickly aware of that strange feeling in her stomach acting up again. This time it felt different, it was what she imagined a jolt of electricity might feel like. A humming in her ears she hadn't heard before, a warm tingling in her limbs. She wonders if she has a concussion. Her attention is drawn towards the kitchen. She hears the clang of something metal and the sounds of someone clearing their throat. Her eyes are the size of saucers again.

"Oh, shit." she whispers, eyes darting around the room, hearing movement and now humming and in a distinctly male tone coming from the kitchen. She moves slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible, feeling that vibration inside her intensifying and she reads it as anxiety. She sees her shoes have been taken off as they rest by the couch, which makes her brow furrowed in question. She peeks around the corner of the fireplace, see's the same man from her dreams in the kitchen, now recalling the man walking into her shop. Then she recalls fainting and rubs her head where she's guessing she hit the ground as if it might give her some answers. Why was he in her dreams? Was she having prophetic dreams now? Great, that's just what a weirdo like her needed, more weirdness stacked on top of everything else strange about her. Was she being kidnapped? Why was she at home is she was being kidnapped? Is this a hostage situation perhaps? Holding her for ransom in her own home. She recalls reading about Stockholm syndrome and makes a quick pact with herself not to fall into that sort of mess in her manic rush of thoughts.

She eyes the large cast iron skillet on the counter in front of her, and if Saturday morning cartoons had taught her anything, is that when you needed to knock someone out, that's the way to go. So she grasps the grainy handle in both hands, holding it to her chest because of its heavy weight as she tries to sneak up on him. Little does she know he knew she was awake the moment her eyes popped open. But as is in his nature, he wants to learn about how she reacts to the unknown, taking this as a learning experience about her. He can sense she's scared and he understands that much. But her reaction with violence surprises him. Perhaps it was his darkness being near that made her so bold and go for that method first. Maybe it was trying to mingle with her to even her out, make her less passive and more reactive.

So as he hears her deep inhale as she's about the bring the pan across the back of his head, he turns and stops it, putting his hand over hers as she's about to swing on him.

"Fuckin' 'ell girl." he frowns down at her short frame.

Her bottom lip juts up, her brow going low in surprise for his hearing her and being so calm about her attempt at murdering him.

"I ain't here to hurt ya." he says with that thick accent she heard in her dreams. "If I was would I be makin' bloody tea and layin' ya down all nice and comfy while you'd passed out?" he asks, his gingery beard jutting towards her as he spoke to drive his point forward.

Her large hazel eyes blink rapidly, taking in the new information, still wild and large and full of questions he could sense. Her mouth opens and her lips twitch but no words come out. He had a point.

"Now let's put this down, eh?" he says, taking the large black pan and setting it on the counter behind her. "I know you got a lot of questions, yeah?" he nods, his lips pouted out as he moves closer to her. "I know you've been dreamin' 'bout me 'cause I've been dreamin' 'bout you." his voice dips lower, but not in a threatening way. "Do you think there might be a reason for that?" he tilts his head and their eyes connect fully for a few seconds, that flame inside her makes her take a sharp inhale. What was this feeling?  He reached out with tentative hands, putting them on her shoulders to ground her, depart a bit of calm energy into her. She feels it immediately, not understanding the source. Her muscles loosen, her heart rate slows and it's like the best anxiety medication she's ever taken. "Let's just breathe... calm down..." he says nodding slowly and she mirrors the gesture without thinking much about it, their eyes still fixated together.

She gives a quick but still unsure nod.

"We don't want ya gettin' all excited and burnin' down the place now do we?" he says with a smile that tugs back the corner of his mouth. Her eyes go wide again and he feels that spark of fear come back. She recalls being angry a few weeks ago. The flames in the fireplace lapping out wildly for a moment, catching one of the plants on the rug on fire, the singed piece of rug still black despite her scrubbing it. "Yeah, I know all about that sweetie, come now." he says, putting a hand on her back, moving her towards the round kitchen table that sat in the space between the bar top and the sunroom. "Try some proper tea made by a real Englishmen and have a sit down with me, hmmm?" he suggests with a kind smile and a nod of his shaggy head.

She still doesn't speak but another series of quick nods as she places her hands flat on the table top and stares with those big enticing eyes as he moves about her kitchen. He pours the tea from the kettle in such a delicate way it takes her by surprise. He'd chosen her favorite mug somehow, an old one of Bessie's, textured like tree bark and cream, a funky green and orange mushroom on the side that she liked to run her fingers over as she drank. He sits next to her, pulling the chair closer to her, taking a sip and motioning with the steaming mug for her to do the same. She was taught not to take drinks from strangers but what is proper etiquette for a stranger, but not really a stranger, who brings you home after passing out then tells you secrets you've not told anyone else? Where was the after-school special on that when she was a kid?

"It ain't poison." he says with a chuckle into his mug. "See? I'm drinkin' it too. No worries, love." he says in a soothing even tone.

Once again she responds in a nod, taking the mug into her hands and taking a sip. It was nice, she had to give him that.

"Best start with the basics, yeah?" he says with a quirked brow, taking a deep breath and setting the mug back own. "My name is Alfie Solomons," he says with an authoritative tone. "I've been tryin' to find ya for weeks but I think you know that." his eyes narrow almost playfully at her. "I know Cordelia and Fiona-"

"I'm not going to that stupid academy." Are the first words out of her mouth to him and he smirks at her stubbornness. She was going to need that.

"Now sit on back, darlin' I ain't here to try to get ya to go." he dismisses the thought with a sweep of his hand. "I just know 'em and they know you eh? I'm tryin' to create some familiarity here understand?" She nods and keeps her face harder than it had been. "I'm not a Salem witch, I'm not a voodoo priest or nuffin' of the sort like Maria who does your hair."

"What are ya then?" she blurts out, her brow lower and her eyes more curious than frightened now.

"Someone that has been lookin' for you for a very long time, love." he says with a softer expression, his hand resting out of the table. "There are some things I'm gonna tell you about yourself, yeah? And I need you to believe I ain't here to lie to you because you're not gonna believe it. I know enough about you just by how you've reacted to me bein' here to know you aren't naive."

Her lips purse at the compliment, her eyes finally leaving him and watching Percy jump up onto the table and join them. He seemed calmed as their eyes met, a slow lazy blink as he laid down. She took this a sign to proceed. "I'll listen." she says softly.

"You are a very powerful woman Mae." he begins, a finger tapping the space on the table between them.

Her face scrunches and he can tell she's already not believing him.

"I'm not on about no modern feminist rant here, love, just hear me out, please," he adds. "You're very powerful and you need to be guided by someone who knows what it's like. You and I are very similar, contrary to what our appearances might indicate. I'm here to help you understand that power." he pauses, watching her face and she's still listening, even if shes' taking everything with a grain of salt. "You are a natural born witch. But beyond that, you were born with a very special soul. A very rare and powerful thing, yeah? I happen to have the same sort of soul. You might understand it best as a...yin and yang situation. Your soul balances out mine you see. Your powers are complementary to mine."

His face is very serious, she can tell at least he doesn't think he's lying. But crazy people believed their own lies so of course, he would.

"I ain't crazy, sweetheart." he gruffs out, furrowing his brow and taking a sip of tea.

Her eyes shoot over to him and she stiffens. Can you read my mind? She thinks with a tilted head.

"Yes." he nods. "But only to prove a point." he shakes his head and looks up at her from under a heavy brow. She gulps noisily. "You can do it too. But you've not had any discipline, no one to explain the strange things that happen to...and that's why I'm here." he says with a sweet soft voice as his hand touches her knee for just a moment, trying to show her he meant her no harm. He wishes she could read his mind so she would understand how entirely the opposite was his intention.

"To help me with my..." her face frowns. "Powers?" she says with a solid nod of her head.

"Precisely," he says with a large nod. "You see, every so often there is a soul created that takes a bit of ancient power with them into creation, into this world, this...plane of existence if you will." he begins speaking with his hands. "You are one of these souls. I think the term white witch might be easiest for you to relate it to. You've been denying these power and they keep manifesting in inconvenient ways, yeah?"

He sees the realization come over her face as she hides her uncertainty with a long sip of tea.

"Things explodin' when you're angry, your wonderful gift with plants. How you speak to them and they flourish. How every full moon you find yourself almost uncontrollably amourous." he says with a cheeky tone and looking away with a quirk of his brow.

She lowers the mug and frowns at him, giving him a warning glance. There's no way he could've known that.

"I'm not tryin' to start trouble, love, I'm simply trying to ease your mind that I'm insane." he explains with another low swing of his voice, back to seriousness. "I'm here to mentor you. It's how this system works. Our souls need each other to balance the other out. And that normal, part of how the universe keeps it's balance, yeah?" he nods and looks to see her processing the information.

Something fluttering inside her tells her to trust him, even though anything she'd ever been taught should be telling her otherwise. She studies him, thinking he looks perfectly human, but so did she, and if she, in fact, did have these powers then he wouldn't look any abnormal than she did. "I...I don't know why but... against my better judgment I'm inclined to believe ya." she says with a sigh that slumps her shoulders. As her nerves ease, her southern accent comes out a bit more, her throat not feeling so tight and it causes a little smirk to come across his face. "But I ain't really sold on it." she adds with a furrowed brow.

"Right." he drags out the word, looking around the room for a moment, trying to think of how to prove it to her. "Ah." he says, grabbing a tiny succulent that sat in a homemade planter that resembled Percy, he waves his hand over and it withers and died immediately.

"NO!" she cries out, taking it in her hands as her breathing picks up and she stares at the plant. "Poor little thing..." she whines, her face entirely distraught, her mouth hanging open.  She glares at him while stroking the plant and without her noticing, it starts to plump back up again. As she looks back down she drops it against the table, but only by a few inches and it thuds as a tiny flower that hadn't existed before starts to bud on it as it goes back to how it had been.  "Oh," she says with a straight face, only her eyes moving over to him. "I...I've never done that before." she states quietly, her face still in shock.

"You need to start believin' in yourself before you believe in me, love, see? Ya powers work. They're charged with your emotions right now because they're not trained. I can help you with that. You might be hesitant to my being here, but clearly, your powers aren't, eh? We can feed off each other in that way." he explains, taking the plant and studying her handiwork before placing it back where it had been.

He sees her eyes going cross before they squeeze shut and she lets out a little moan, reaching up to touch her head.

"Right," he says with a wrinkling of his face in concern. "That'll happen at first." he says in an unintentionally condescending way. It'd been so long since he'd thought about what it was like to only be learning of powers that he'd forgotten how draining it could be.

She moans and he holds her shoulders as she slumps forward. "So tired." she rasps out, her eyes looking a bit sunken, as they look up at him like a little, injured kitten.

"You're learnin' but you're weak, love." he nods, rubbing her shoulder. "We can make ya stronger, but now let's get some food in ya and get ya to bed, eh?" he says with a caring tone again, patting her head before pushing her back in the chair as she rests her weight on the table.

He rises and moves to the fridge, angling himself so she isn't out of his sight. His darkness is already impatient to get back to touching her, letting Alfie know of its greed to connect with her. But Alfie feels the sadness that's coming from her that it's choosing to ignore in its selfishness.

As her head spins, the frown on her face is not only from the uncomfortable feeling she has. She'd never thought she could be special. Only Bessie and Charles had even told her she could be but she'd never believed it. So it turns out she actually was special and that felt like it should feel better than it did. If she was different, then that explained a lot but it also meant she could never fully blend in and disappear like she'd always tried to. So she had to form a new approach to how she lived, which felt incredibly daunting and made her head throb. Percy senses her pain and walks over and purrs, rubbing against her face.

Alfie leans against the counter with his hips as he mindlessly put together a sandwich for her. He sees the deep blues around her, can feel the confusion and sadness and he wishes he could take it away but it's all part of the process. It physically hurts him to feel her pain, he hopes he can show her what a gift these powers can be. How it can make her life easier and all the perks that come along with it. She had so much love to give inside her and no suitable outlets for all that life to escape and flourish. She must be so unhappy with all that confusion and pain from a source of love and life only needing to be properly expelled, used and focused. He takes solace in knowing he can help her. They've found each other now and the wait was over. His darkness does it's equivalent of wiggling in excitement at the thought. She seemed so very sweet and kind, a real ray of sunshine in human form and he supposes she very well could be. He swears to himself no matter how this goes he'll do everything within his own enormous powers to help her figure herself out, learn how to flourish on her own. Only that would lead to a better life for them both.

Her favorite comfort sandwich, bologna and cheese with lots of mustard and pickles appears before her. He refills her tea and sits next to her wordlessly.

"So..." she begins, forcing her eyes open and taking a bite. "Ya gonna be teachin' he, huh?" her face winces as she turns it towards his.

"That is the plan, yes." he nods.

"You said you were lookin' for me. That means you're not from here, right?"

"Right. I'm not from anywhere really, just got into town last week."

"Where are you stayin'"? she asks

"I've been at the Academy while I've been lookin' for you."

"Ah." she nods, taking a bigger bite, her strength starting to come back. She weighs the next thought that pops into her head before she expresses it out loud. "I can..." she tilts her head back and forth in uncertainty, "I can trust you right?" she asks with a weaker voice than she intends to.

"Of course, love. I said I'd never hurt you and I mean that. Hurting you is hurting myself and that'd be rather daft of me seein' as I've waited so long for ya and my soul has waited even longer than either of us could fathom." he says with an expressive face.

She nods and looks at the table as she chews another bite. "So you would like.. protect me basically? Teach me how to use this and keep me from hurting myself?"

"Yes, of course," he says earnestly again. "I know you can be a little clumsy." he chuckles and she smirks because he's right. "Not gonna let ya hurt yourself." he gives her a smile that feels genuine, the hesitation and instructional tone in his voice now gone and only that charm of his handsome face and accent remain as she feels an unfamiliar warmness spread through her body. She wondered if it was the light she was told about. Should I ask him to stay here? She asks herself, her eyes studying his. And as if she was hearing a voice that was carried downwind by a breeze, the faintest lightest 'yes' she hears.

"I have a spare room," she says, her head motioning to the closed door by the sunroom. "If ya... wanted to stay." she says blinking and looking away from him. "I mean... would that help? Make things easier for..." she motions her hand back and forth between them. "Whatever this is." she lets out a huff of a laugh with raised brows, her face no longer looking sad and he's thankful.

"It would make it immeasurably easier." he says with a grateful nod and another dashing smile that she's not used to receiving from men that look like him.

"I don't want you to have to stay with those witches anyway." she shakes her head and looks away again, taking another bite. "And it's not like I live that close to them," she adds. "Would hate for you to have to do that every day." she shrugs. "Plus this way when I blow up a cauldron or whatever you'll be here to help." she smiles and takes another bite.

He knows she's making excuses now but he doesn't mind. Her capacity for kindness is showing already, inviting to share her home with him. He wasn't going to ask to stay with her but this was the ideal situation. "I can help with that, yeah." he nods and lets out a little chuckle, much like the one she'd heard in her dream, she feels that warm feeling again, like walking into the sunlight after being inside in the air conditioning. It felt good and something was telling her this was right and it certainly wasn't her common sense.

She finishes her sandwich, still feeling extremely drained but no longer dizzy or in pain. She shows him to the room, switching the light on and revealing yet another cozy space. The walls were white, it was filled with plants. A shelf full of ivy rests the length of the wall over a soft looking bed with dark colored and mismatched pillowcases, blankets and sheets. A southwestern style rug in pinks, yellows and burnt orange rests across the floor at an angle, a blanket of the same color scheme but different pattern rest across the lower half of the bed. A worn wooden dresser rests under the window, plants in pots, an old metal fan, and an incense holder sit atop it.  A nightstand with a lamp sits against the wall next to the bed. He sees a fireplace on the wall opposite the bed, giving a thankful nod as it would make his spellwork much easier to have it so close and with such privacy. Boxes with the names of her foster parents sit stacked in the corner.  

"I can move some of the plants if you need me to." she offers. "This room gets really good light during the day so I put a bunch in here." she moves towards the window. "I'm sure I've got some darker curtains if you need them. This doesn't shield you at all from the sun." she shakes her head as her fingers tug on the sheer fabric. "I'll get the boxes out of your way tomorrow." she says with a kind but tired smile as she turns back around to look at him surveying the room.

"You can leave them, love, no problem at all. I get some curtains if it turns out I need them," he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "No rush on the boxes either." he adds with a smile that reads as thankful. "It's a very cozy room." he nods with pouted lips.

"The bathroom is on the other side of house." she says walking out of the room and he follows. He sees the rectangular space. His eyes are first drawn to the old and large claw foot tub that had been painted yellow and hooked up to also function as a shower. The same navy paint on the walls as the living room, with white tile on the floor. A sink with a cabinet underneath, various toiletries rest on top of the small counter space. A large worn mirror hung above it with a golden frame that showed it's age. As was with the rest of the house, the plants had made their way in here as well. Leaves of eucalyptus hung from the silver hardware shower head, plants rest atop the makeshift wooden stands the fit snug around the tub, some of the leaves and branches falling down into it slightly. The shower curtain was shoved back and out of the tub, he took this to mean she took baths more often. A window with a bright paisley fabric cover keeps the view of the outside blocked. And old work of embroidery of a bouquet of flowers is framed and rests above the toilet. "I'll bring in a basket from my room for you to put your stuff in, there's not much room left under here." she says with her foot tapping the door to the cabinet under the sink.

"Much appreciated, love." he says, eyes still scanning the busy space. There was so much to look at in her home. She turns to open the other door, different from the rest as it was painted lavender.

"And this is my room." she says almost timidly. He feels the magic wafting out of the room as soon as she opens the door. The walls were a deep teal, a paisley purple rug covered the worn hardwood floor. A thick and plush mustard yellow comforter cover the bed, another faux fur, shaggy throw in strewn over the bed like the one on the couch. Her pillows are all mismatched, some with floral prints, some shades of purple. A fireplace rests in this room as well and he can feel the age in the house as he enters the room. The mantle is painted the same shiny black as the other fireplaces and pillar candles of all colors, widths, and sizes rest atop the mantle. Some in tiny silver platters, some melting down onto the wooden surface.

The room smelled deeply of lavender and seeing an incense burner next to a flat screen tv on her purple dresser he knew the source. A closet door of the same lavender color rests in the corner. A large chair next to a bookshelf sat next to it in front of a window with flowing jewel-toned fabrics and sheer panels create a blanket around the chair. A wicker clothes hamper and a stained glass lamp on the nightstand all fall within the same color scheme, the room full of all sorts of energy. A small table pushed into the corner with a runner across it, a worn little pink stool pushed under it with a laptop on top. Framed pictures of all sorts, from all time periods and mediums, cover the far wall, some she'd inherited, some from her weekend trips to the flea market. Of course, the room was not complete without a large palm overgrowing in the corner next to a standing mirror.

He felt his insides quiver. This was her nest, he thought. This was her safe space and her sanctuary and his darkness knew it too. The space wasn't as well lit as he imagined but it was night and he hoped he'd get to see it in the morning light, anxious to know what else it would reveal about her. She felt a bit exposed and vulnerable suddenly, there'd never been a man in this room before with her.  But he took in everything with a look of awe on his face, she watched his thoughts pass over his face, eyes tensing, lips twitching.

She tried to read his thoughts, but of course, she had no real clue as to how to do it, but she still felt no maliciousness in him towards her. There was something under the surface, she could tell. Something about him was timeless in a way. He had said their souls were ancient, perhaps that's where the term old soul came from? Without the new explanation of there actually being souls at all, and now knowing they could, in fact, be old, she thought the descriptor on a more lamen's terms still made sense about him. He had an ease about him, the bohemian sort of casual and comfortable style to him. The messy hair, the beard, and jewelry. It would seem their aesthetics matched well, which she hoped was a good sign.  for

"If you need anything, feel free to knock." she says turning to leave the room before looking back at him. "But knock first." she says with a stern nod of her head and he flashes another smile, happy to see her giving him boundaries. The lightness in her could make her too giving, too compassionate to the point of harm to herself and he was hopeful that this wasn't the case with her as she gave him a look that told him not to push it with her. "I guess we'll get ya a key tomorrow..." she says rubbing the back of her neck. "You have stuff with you or...?" her face contorts in question.

"I got stuff in me car, yeah." he nods looking towards the door. "I'll try to be quiet bringin' it in. You need to get some rest now though," he says with a wag of his finger at her. "Very important you take very good care of yourself while you're learnin', love. You can drain yourself and your health will suffer and we can't have that." he says with a clap of his hands. "So I will get my things, settle in, and we can convene in the mornin', eh?"

"That sounds good. I get up between seven and eight usually." she says, moving back towards her room. "So uh...goodnight?" she asks with a soft laugh for the unique nature of the very unusual situation.

"Goodnight Mae." he says with a nod and smile. "If you need anyfing, you come knock as well, yeah?"

"Yeah, no problem... uh...." he looks at the floor realizing she doesn't even remember his name. She lets out a laugh and rubs her head. "I'm sorry but I don't remember your name." she admits with a bitten lip and an apologetic glance.

"It's Alfie, love." he grins. "Alfie Solomons." he nods again. "You've 'ad a lot coming at you today Mae, I take no offense." he says with a hand to his chest.

"Thanks for that." she nods. "Movin' in and I don't even know your name. What a weird ass day." she shakes her head but she's smiling as her eyes shift around, trying to process everything.

"Things'll start to feel more normal again once we establish a routine, you'll see. It'll be fuckin' weird at first, I won't lie." he laughs and she's hit that warm feeling again, recalling her dream and the same sound she'd heard then as he moves towards her. "But we'll get through it together, yeah?" he responds supportively with a hand on her shoulder.

"I appreciate the honesty." she says sheepishly with a smile that reflects the tone.

"Ain't got no reason to lie to ya, sweetheart. Now you get on in bed. I can tell you're fadin' on me." his eyes almost twinkle at her as he motions to her door.

"Lock the door before you go to bed, please."

"I will. But if anyfing came in here, believe me, it'd regret it as soon as it met me." he chuckles again.

"Also good to know." she nods."Night Alfie." she says with a wave from her doorway.

"Night, Mae. Don't worry 'bout a fing!" he says loudly as he walks towards the door.

She lies in bed wondering what the fuck she was doing. There was a man in her house. Not just that but an attractive magical one that was apparently lethal and her... soul mate? She groans and rolls over to her stomach. Yeah, the term fit didn't it? She had too many questions but she knew she'd get answers as he'd already been very helpful so far. Well, helpful in the sense of turning her life upside down. But at least he was sticking around to help clean up the mess and make sense of it. She couldn't say she'd ever known any man to do that before for her. She decides to go to sleep on that hopeful note, wondering what she would dream about now that he had found her.

@jaegeeeeer @negansdirtygirl22 @brianaisasongbird @hardygal69 @emerald-bijou @captstefanbrandt @coolgh0st @tinastarkandco @stylishmileage 

[savinscripts]

CHAPTER 11:

❝ They've promised that dreams can come true - but forgot to mention that nightmares are dreams, too. ❞

Dinner had come and gone without much excitement, and after having a glass or two of wine in the library together, they said their respective goodnights. Faye had made sure Carrington took his medicine with dinner, earning her a glare and slightly snappish comment that held little to no heat. Which earned him one in return.

Whether the two men had ended up together later in the evening, Faye wasn’t sure. What she was sure of was that she couldn’t sleep. After an hour of tossing and turning, she got up and made her way downstairs for some hot chocolate. Pulling on a sweater, she padded down the hallway, glancing at Carrington’s closed door as she passed. She was halfway down the stairs when she heard a sound.

A scratching sound followed by… music? Oh. Well, maybe one of the others was up after all. There was a record player in the large sitting room on the first floor. Faye almost called out, but raising her voice seemed out of place in the middle of the night. The house was eerily quiet sometimes. Too quiet. So, the soft lilt of jazz was welcome as it floated down the corridor.

Faye made her hot chocolate, taking a few minutes to check on the jars of apple preserves she’d managed to make up during the day. They looked good, so she let them be and turned back towards her room, mug in hand. As she stepped into the hallway, the music stopped with a harsh scratch. Faye turned her head in that direction, but it started up just as quickly. This time though, it wasn’t jazz that was playing. As Faye stood and listened, the music drifted down the way again. When Faye realized what it was, she nearly dropped her mug. The last time she’d heard that song was the night those men had-

Something brushed against her hair, and Faye whipped around, but there was nothing there. Just the darkness leading to the foyer and the front door. Her heart felt like it was about to beat out of her chest. When the music scratched a third time, playing the first song again, too quickly for someone to be changing records, that was enough for Faye. She turned up the stairs as fast as she could, mug falling from her hands and breaking against the wood floor. Without even thinking, she bolted into Carrington’s room - not even knocking or thinking the door would be locked - and slammed it behind her. “Wake up!” she whispered loudly across the room, throwing the bolt before approaching the bed. “Carrington, get up… there’s someone in the house…” She was spooked, that much was evident in her voice.

Fane and Carrington hadn’t ended up tumbling into bed later that night, Fane had visited him for a little while to discuss what had happened earlier in the day with Cari and Faye. Glad to hear that things were better after their trip and thus for now settled simply for accepting that fact. He’d left Carrington to his poetry then, needing some time himself to mull over the things that had been uncovered during the day and his research into the artefacts they were presently chasing down. So, he had returned to his room where he had eventually been forced to put the things away and turn in for the night. Another day of work and research awaited tomorrow.

Carrington was prone to staying up late, but what he wasn’t used to was sudden interruptions. So, when Faye flew in through the door, slamming it and bolting it hastily behind her he looked confused at first, poetry book having fallen down on his chest that is until she said her next sentence. At that, he was swinging himself out of bed, pulling back one of the pillows and pulling the handgun from where he kept it stashed there. Checking the gun and making sure it was loaded he kept it handy in his left hand.

“What happened?” he asked her, voice flat, needing the facts and needing them quickly his eyes and the rest of his features tight with concern for her well-being. “Where were they? Quickly Faye, tell me now.” They would have to get Fane, couldn’t risk leaving him asleep if they had to make a quick exit.

It took her a moment to register than Carrington was, in fact, still wide awake, despite the late hour. It also took her a moment to register that he was already reacting to what she was saying. Faye blinked, mouth working for a few horribly long moments before she finally stammered out an answer.

“Downstairs. Sitting room. They were… playing the records. Somebody… they touched my hair…” She raised a slightly trembling hand to the back of her head. “At the bottom of the stairs. But I didn’t see anyone…” Faye was no coward. But this had unsettled her to the extreme.

Frowning slightly, but taking in everything she told him, Carrington moved towards her. He would have taken her hand, but his other was still bandaged. He could open the door, but that was about it. “Stay close. Move when I say, stop when I say,” he told her after checking that the hallway was clear.

Faye nodded, and Carrington eased out of the room into the now silent house, pistol braced across his bandaged arm, but still pointed at the floor. They made it the distance to Fane’s room without incident, Carrington not bothering to knock before he opened the door and gestured for Faye to enter first. He came next, shutting and bolting it as quietly as possible. “It’s us,” he called out to Fane. “Get up. Faye says someone is in the house.” He moved to the windows, checking out each one but finding nothing amiss on the part of the grounds that he could see. “Downstairs. At least two of them. Sitting room and the main hall.” He looked over to Fane. “None of the alarms are tripped. Even if they deactivated the system, they’d have to do it from inside. How else could they have gotten in?”

When his door was promptly pushed open with little preamble and a voice echoed through the dark Fane grumbled something under his breath. Turning over to bury his face in the pillow. It took Carrington going over to nudge him awake and let him know what was going on for him to shift once more onto his back he sniffed slightly scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair as he sat up squinting at Carrington who was closer and then at Faye though she was far blurrier on the far side of the room. “How’d they get in?” his voice was heavy with sleep, but he moved over to the edge of the bed rubbing his eyes as he blindly felt about in the dark on the side table for his glasses. Finding them he got up, propping them on his face though it did little to aid his sleep-ridden appearance.

“I’m not sure, Faye heard them.”

Fane looked over at Faye who still looked shaken, moving to grab a jumper and tug this on over his tee he glanced over at Carrington. Much like the other man, Fane sought out a handgun from the cabinet, checking the ammo and lock before giving a short nod. “Okay, let’s go check.”

It wasn’t much later that they were moving through the hallways, checking the security system which hadn’t been tripped or fiddled with by all appearances. Next came the main hall, sweeping it thoroughly but finding nothing untoward the pair were frowning a little. Carrington glanced at Faye, asking as they walked through into the sitting room from where she heard the record playing “what did you say you heard?” Looking around the room and moving to check the windows he found nothing untoward there.

Fane reacted far more calmly than Carrington. Though to be fair, Carrington was a soldier. He’d been trained to turn things up to eleven at the drop of a hat. She knew Fane was taking this just as seriously though, even if he wasn’t drawn tight as a bowstring like Carrington. They eventually moved off, only stopping briefly for Faye to grab her own pistol from her room.

The sweep of the house turned up nothing other than the mug of cocoa Faye had dropped. Not a thing out of place. Nothing that even looked like someone had tried to get in. Surely, she couldn’t have dreamed it? Right? The broken mug was right there. Right where someone had touched her.

They moved into the sitting room, Faye moving a bit more slowly than the others. “First it was… jazz. So, I thought it was one of you down here maybe.” The record player looked untouched, the arm resting in its place, needle capped. All the records were as they should be. “The other was… a song that was playing the day those men attacked me,” she told him. Flipping through the records, Faye shook her head. “We don’t even have that record.” Pressing a hand over her eyes, Faye took a deep breath. “I swear to you I didn’t imagine it.” She turned to look at them. “It wasn’t a dream.”

The only reason Fane wasn’t panicking was because he truly was half-asleep still, dragged out while dreaming he blinked hard to try and keep his eyes from slipping closed once more. It was a hard task, but he trailed at the rear behind Faye who followed Carrington in the front. Carrington was on full alert, scanning each room they passed and each hallway but turning up nothing. Seeing the mug, the group frowned, it was no dream for Faye to be here when she heard it. At least not a nightmare in bed it was concluded.

“How can you have heard it if the record isn’t even here?” Carrington wasn’t disputing it, merely questioning how that was possible if there was no copy of the record or no person here with one.

It made no sense.

While Faye moved to the record player, sorting through the small collection beside it Fane stood by the door glancing back at the hall. Nothing moved, the house was still save for the occasional creak of the floorboards underfoot. Otherwise, there was nothing extraordinary about the place. “Maybe it was a waking dream?”

But that didn’t explain how she was able to make a hot chocolate. Fane didn’t really know what to suggest other than that. But a sweep of the room and ground floor proved nothing. No windows tampered or doors jarred open. Eventually Fane cleaned up the mug on the stairs and met up with the others. Carrington still seemed tense, but couldn’t explain any of it. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone here... Don’t know what happened…” he shook his head, “maybe it’s a bit of paranoia about everything going on too?” He didn’t say this unkindly, just trying to figure out what might’ve caused her to report the things she had. “Either way… We should go back to bed… I’ll keep an ear out for anything else.”

“If I knew the answer to that we wouldn’t be standin’ here would we?” Faye rubbed her free hand over her face. “I’m sorry…” she said to Carrington. Her words had been harsher than intended. She was simply spooked out of her skin. “But I don’t know. Except that I heard it. Do either of you have it on your phone? Could it have been an echo if it was playing?” It was a silly question, grasping at straws. Carrington had been reading and Fane had been dead asleep. No one had their phones on.

But they both shook their head anyway, seeing how flustered she was.

Faye was a logical person, despite her belief in the possible existence of things beyond this world. The simplest explanation was that it was a waking dream, or that she’d merely thought she heard music, when in fact it was something else entirely. The old house creaked and groaned as it was, and on a windy night - such as it seemed to be becoming outside - all sorts of things could be heard if one listened hard enough. “Maybe,” Faye relented at the mention of waking dream. But it didn’t take away the uneasiness she felt about what had happened.

The ‘touch’ she could put off on a draft, sure. But she knew she’d heard music. A song from one of the most traumatic moments of her life. A song that only she knew the name of. It was just a detail, insignificant in the grand scheme, but one that Faye would never forget. But arguing would only frustrate everyone. It was late, Fane was asleep on his feet as it was, and Carrington, well… she’d suitably ruined his night.

“We haven’t exactly been taking it easy up here,” Faye said, agreeing with Carrington that perhaps they all had a slight touch of paranoia. Legitimate, all things considered. Going back to bed was really the last thing Faye wanted to do, especially alone, but she’d bothered everyone enough for the night. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Um… sorry. For wakin’ everybody up.”

There was no need to apologize, and Carrington told her as much. They went back upstairs, Carrington making sure both Faye and Fane’s doors were secured before retreating back to his own room. He tried to stay awake, and managed it for a good while, but thunder started to rumble gently in the distance, and with the soft patter of rain on the glass, Carrington’s eyes slipped shut.

Faye fell asleep too, the rain lulling her. She woke up sometime later when the storm was in full tilt. Thunder shook the walls, and rain pounded the windows. Outside, lightning split open the sky, lighting up the moorland like it was the middle of the day. Faye got up, moving to pull the curtains a bit tighter to block out the lightning. As she worked on the last set, the lightning flashed again, and Faye nearly jumped out of her skin. Something moved outside in the rain. She watched, but the figure never came back. Just then, something reached the edge of her hearing. She stopped, trying to hear it again over the frantic beating of her heart.

It came again, and it was the unmistakable sound of crying.

A baby’s cry.

Faye looked back out the window again, but didn’t see anything. “What the fuck…?” she said, but she was already moving out her door, snagging the pistol from the nightstand. She stopped at Carrington’s door, knocking several times but getting no answer. The sound came louder now, like it was on their doorstep. Surely no one had…

Faye was down the stairs and flinging open the door, pistol up and ready in case it was a trap. But there was nothing. Only sheets of freezing rain blowing in on her. No baby on the doorstep. No figure in the storm. She had reached to close the door when the sound came a third time. It was unmistakable. “Hello!?” Faye called into the storm, holding up a hand to block some of the rain as she moved outside. “Is anyone there?” No one answered, but the crying continued, louder now that Faye was moving through the rain. She was soaked to the bone, barefoot, her hair plastered to her head, but the screaming pulled her forwards… she had no choice but to follow it. Find it. Help it.

She didn’t know how long she’d been walking, but eventually she halted, slipping a bit in the mud. She raised her gun at the figure standing in the distance. A woman with long dark hair. Dressed in a white nightgown. “Hello? Are you alright?” Faye called, not lowering her gun as she moved closer. The baby continued to scream, huge, hiccupping wails that only an infant - a brand new one - could make. “Is your baby alright?” The woman didn’t move, didn’t respond, and she couldn’t see the woman’s face. But with the way she swayed, Faye could see the swaddled, writhing form of the infant in her arms. “If you need help, my friend’s a doctor.” A small lie, but one that couldn’t hurt. “Please… he’ll freeze…” she said of the tiny baby.

Faye was almost to her now. Could almost reach out and touch the woman’s shoulder. She should have noticed that there was something… wrong. Something off. The woman’s clothes were older. About twenty years or so out of date. She wasn’t wet. Neither was the infant. But Faye noticed none of this. All there was the screaming and the need to make it better.

She reached for the woman’s shoulder, to touch her and get her attention.

Her hand passed right through, like smoke.

“What the fu-”

Before Faye could even get the startled words out, the woman was turning towards her. A hand was gripping her more tightly than should have been possible. Twisted in the fabric of her shirt. Faye didn’t look down, so she didn’t see long fingers that were nothing more than bone and sinew and ragged nails clutch at her. She also didn’t feel the cold - though she would in a moment - like she’d been dunked in an icy lake. She was transfixed on the woman’s face. She was beautiful. And the infant in her arms, with a shock of dark hair, mewling pitifully, was just as beautiful as she was.

“Your baby… come…” Faye swallowed past the fear rising in her throat. At the feeling of… wrongness. “Come inside. We can help you…”

The woman looked sad, and shook her head slowly at Faye. Her grip tightened, and her mouth moved, but no sound came out.

Faye shook her head frantically. “I don’t understand… please…”

This time the woman looked like she was pleading with Faye, screaming silently at her even as the baby cried louder.

“Please…” Faye screamed, trying to get away now. “I don’t understand!”

The wind whipped violently around her, and Faye felt the piercing pain of the woman’s grip against her flesh. “I don’t-” she started to say again, but it turned to a scream of absolute terror as the figure of the woman exploded in a cloud of thick, red liquid after opening her mouth to silently scream her plea at Faye again.

Blood.

Faye was covered in it.

She fired the pistol into the darkness until the clip was empty, slipping in the mud as she tried to back away. But there was no one there. Nothing. Just Faye, the storm, and the pool of blood she had fallen in.

After returning to his room having checked the doors and windows in Faye and Fane’s rooms respectively, Carrington had settled down in the armchair by the window. Unfortunately, even the best vigils needed sleep and a full day had proved to be more tiring than anticipated. Carrington dozed in the chair, mouth open and breathing shallow as the storm rolled outside. Thunder and lightning clapping through the sky and splitting it open in frightening displays of natural power. But still he slept, head resting against the back of the chair. A lifetime of soldiering and living in places where you had to sleep with one eye open left him a light sleeper. But lately he found himself settling more easily.

But no knocks were heard on his door. Not were Faye’s footfalls off down the hall.

It was the sound of a woman’s scream and bursts of gunfire that startled him awake. Almost rolling out of his chair we he pulled on his shoes, grabbed his pistol, jacket and yelled for Fane to get up and follow him. He was out the door sprinting to where the screams were coming from in a moment not caring for whether or not his splint got waterlogged in the process. Skidding to where Faye had fallen, he stumbled over to her, “Faye! What are you doing out here?! What happened?!” but he could barely hear a word over the goal of the wind. Not had he thought to grab a torch.

Fane thankfully emerged not that much later, jogging towards the sound of Carrington’s calls a hefty torch beaming light ahead of him.

“The fuck---" was all that was said as the white light caught the crimson bouncing off the facade of the small chapel too beside which they were stood by. Moving over to Faye he pulled off his jacket, wrapping it around her. “Help me get her inside!” he yelled over the storm as Carrington came around to the other side to help get her moving.

“Come on love, let's get you in… Slowly yeah?” The trio eventually managed to make it back inside, slamming the door in their wake and Fane was trembling from the cold. Despite that, his concern was for Faye, “let’s get a fire going yeah? Warm you up.”

Faye nearly jumped out of her skin as Carrington slid down next to her in the mud. He called her name over the roaring wind, but she could only stare at him unblinking. Her teeth chattered, and she was white as a sheet. Which only made the blood on her skin all the more apparent.

Carrington snapped his fingers in front of her face, but she barely flinched. Breathing rapidly, she had started to shake. Whether it was the shock or the cold that caused her trembling, Carrington didn’t know, but the moment he saw the flash of Fane’s torch relief shot through him. He’d seen shell-shock before, and Faye was showing all the signs. Either that or she was injured. That sort of shock was an entirely different animal.

Fane didn’t have to tell him twice. They made it inside, and Carrington told Fane there was already a small fire going in his room from earlier. And plenty of wood to stoke it with. As the other man moved ahead, practically sprinting up the stairs, Carrington lifted Faye bodily into his arms. She wrapped her own arms around his neck and held on for dear life. “I’ve got you…” he told her. “You’re safe now.” He made quick but careful work of the path to his room, setting Faye down on the sofa in front of the already freshly popping fire. Fane moved about, pulling out two sets of Carrington’s dry clothes from the dresser. One for Faye and one for Carrington himself. They were all soaked to the bone.

Faye merely stared straight ahead as Carrington sat her down, not wanting to relinquish her hold on him. He glanced at Fane over her shoulder, silently asking him not to leave just yet. They would need warm towels and probably hot tea in a bit, but right now Faye needed to realize she was safe.

“Faye. Faye, darling. It’s Carrington.” He gently wiped the red off her face with the edge of Fane’s jacket. “You’re safe. Fane and I are both here, and we’re not leaving. Understand?” Turning her face so that she was looking right at him, Carrington searched her eyes. When he was confident that she was seeing him, he spoke again. “Are you hurt?”

Faye shook her head slightly.

“Is anyone else hurt?” As in someone who was still outside. The source of the blood.

Another shake of her head.

Carrington frowned. He wanted to glance at Fane, but he dared not look away now that he had her attention. “Why were you outside?”

“Baby,” Faye said between bouts of shivering. “There was… there was a baby. ‘S cryin’. ‘S’cold.”

Another frown, this one more concerned. “Faye, there was no baby outside.”

“There was!” she sobbed quite suddenly. “I heard him, Cari. I heard him… screaming in the rain. He was scared… his mama she… she wouldn’t bring him inside… I told her… told her Fane was a doctor an’ that we could… we could help, but she just… she just stood there in the rain lettin’ him cry… lettin’ him-” Faye couldn’t manage anything else after that. She was so overcome, so distraught, that she slumped forwards into Carrington’s arms and sobbed uncontrollably.

Carrington held Faye tightly, pressing his mouth to her temple and speaking quietly. This was terribly unlike her Because Faye didn’t cry. Not even when she was hurt. If anything, pain of any kind made her angry. And she lashed out. She didn’t lose control like this. But she also didn’t run headfirst into the bloody storming dark after phantom children. Faye was smarter and more seasoned than that. In all honesty, it was unlike him as well. At least when it came to Faye. He had never been affectionate with her, other than on their walk earlier that day. It had tempered him a bit, sharing those few hours with her. Made him hopeful for something more. But this was an extenuating circumstance, and he felt strangely protective of her in this moment. Not from Fane, of course, but from whoever or whatever had frightened her so badly.

But regardless, something was going on. First the spook from earlier, now this. Carrington looked up, meeting Fane’s eyes over the back of the sofa. ‘Sedative?’ he mouthed silently, long fingers stroking Faye’s sodden hair. Fane had much more medical experience than Carrington. He would let him decide what was best for Faye in that regard. But it seemed there would be no calming her after this. Not without help. And they would still need to make sure she wasn’t injured, despite her claims to the contrary, and also get her out of her wet clothes. The last thing either of them wanted to do was make her more upset.

Stocking the fire until it was roaring, Fane glanced at the pair as Carrington carried Faye in seeming to stoically ignore whatever pain he might get from the act. Though Faye was only small, not the heaviest of people to carry up a flight of steps and once she was settled on the sofa Carrington stayed close not moving from her side just yet. With the fire stocked Fane hurried to get a bunch of dry clothes and some large bath towels, moving back over to them draping one of the towels around Faye’s shoulders and softly squeezing her shoulders.

“We’re both here,” Fane echoed Carrington’s statement but didn’t interrupt the other man who seemed surer and more familiar in terms of what to do with this sort of reaction. Fane wasn’t trained for this, but Carrington seemed to have a better idea so the ex-soldier had the lead on this. But listening to what Faye was describing, Fane frowned, lingering by the corner of the fireplace as he silently observed the conversation saying nothing for the time being.

Carrington stayed crouched in front of Faye, using the corner of the towel Fane had found to wipe away the blood from her face before touching her chin to make sure she was hearing him. He looked perplexed and utterly concerned, there had been no baby, he was sure of it, surely, they would have heard it, wouldn’t they? But it wasn’t something to debate in Faye’s state right now. So, when she slumped in his arms, he rubbed her back, hushing her softly. “Hey, hey, I’m here darling. I’m here.”

Fane caught Carrington’s look and gave a small nod of his head, and a look that said wait here. “Faye love,” he waited until he had her attention speaking calm and slow “I’m going to get some drinks okay? Carrington’s going to stay with you. But I’m coming straight back.” Once he knew she understood he gave Carrington a final look before departing.

Carrington for his part, continued to stroke Faye’s hair back out of her face. They would need to get her washed after all this and there was just so much blood. More than anyone could have anticipated from an accident.

What the hell had gone on out there?

Fane returned a little while later, carrying a tray of tea, hot chocolate, biscuits along with a small bottle of pills. Tapping two out and picking up a glass of water he walked round to crouch in front of Faye, taking Carrington’s place. “Faye? I’m going to need your help okay? I need you to drink this water and swallow these… They’re just going to help calm you down, nothing bad, I promise. Then Carrington’s going to run you a bath and I’ll help you get clean.”

They would talk about it once Faye was more settled, for now things were too fresh to be picked apart directly. At least for the moment, and there was a part of Fane that was afraid of just what they might find out.

If there was pain, it could be dealt with later. It was inconsequential at the moment. Faye was the priority. Faye, and whatever she’d encountered in the courtyard. Though the latter would be addressed once Faye was settled and the two men were assured, she was unharmed. Physically at least. They got to work, moving near seamlessly after doing so for so many months.

Faye reached back for Fane’s hand on her shoulder, squeezing it briefly as Carrington spoke to her. She would feel ashamed of her fear later, when daylight came. But right now, there was nothing but the fear. Fear, and the spine-numbing feeling of… wrongness. Of being cold down to her bones. So, she held onto Carrington, taking great heaving gulps of air to try and calm herself as Fane called her name. She managed to hold it together long enough to nod at him, but when he moved off, she clung back to Carrington’s soaking wet shirt. He was drenched to the bone as well, and there was a dull throb in his injured hand, but he’d had worse. He talked to Faye as they waited on Fane, wiping her up as best he could. Of the three of them, none had an aversion to blood or injury-related gore. But seeing her pale skin, and her wide, frightened eyes - such a rare, beautiful color - surrounded by so much vivid crimson… it was enough to unsettle even Carrington’s iron constitution.

When Fane returned, Carrington let the other man take his place after telling Faye what was happening. Faye let go reluctantly, but Fane was right there where Carrington had been. She reached out a hand to grip his shirt, as if making sure he was real, and not… whatever that woman had been. Carrington moved off to the bath, starting the water and making sure it wasn’t too hot. Rewarming someone too quickly could be just as dangerous as letting them get too cold. He perched on the edge of the tub as he waited on the water level to rise, brow furrowed as he thought about all the possible scenarios for the events of evening.

Back in Carrington’s bedroom, Faye held out her hand for the pills Fane offered her. She didn’t question him, merely pressed them into her mouth and swallowed them with the water he held to her lips. Her throat was thick from crying, so she coughed a bit, but otherwise the pills went down without incident.

For the next ten minutes or so - while the bath ran and the medication started to work - Fane coaxed Faye into letting him look her over as best he could. Sodden, muddy clothes and a body covered in towels made it a bit cumbersome, but Faye just sat still. Her hand remained clutching Fane’s sleeve, and only when the sedative started to work did, she loosen her grip.

Carrington had been propped in the doorway, watching both the water and the pair on the sofa. There was nothing he could come up with that would explain what Faye had seen. At least not how she had described it. They would need more information. Carrington was betting on Faye’s photographic memory to hold details that would be useful in their search for an answer. He fully planned on making a full round of the house and the nearby grounds once Faye was calm, bathed, and sleeping (as the sedative continued to work). Though the chances of finding anything like footprints was next to none. Not in this downpour. Fane’s closest neighbor was apparently the vet who had fixed his arm, and she was miles off. What woman in her right mind would be out here - in the honest to Christ middle of nowhere, Scotland - with an infant? And in a monsoon no less?

It just didn’t add up. But neither was Faye a liar or a coward. If she said she saw something, she saw it. Even if it was just her imagination playing tricks. But again, that was for later.

“Fane,” Carrington called softly, motioning to him once the bath was ready. Fane got her up and moving slowly towards the bathroom, settling her onto the same stool that he’d used to shave Carrington’s beard. Carrington crouched down, touching her gently on the knee with his fingertips as Fane stood at her back, holding her up as she had started to become a bit drowsy from the medication she’d taken. “Faye…” Carrington said quietly. “We need to get these wet clothes off and get you into the bath. Is that alright? Do we have your permission? We won’t do anything you don’t want us to do, understand?”

Faye blinked, still pale and shaken, but nodded slowly. “Trust you both… ‘s’okay…” Her hand slid over his where it touched her knee. “‘M safe here… always safe…”

When the sedative started to work, Fane kept a close eye on her, assuring her quietly that they were both here and that neither of them were going to be going anywhere. He eventually sought out her hand, threading his fingers through her own affectionately and gripping her hand in tight assurance of his presence here. They could talk to her after she was calmer and in a more stable state than how she was right now to try and make better sense of whatever had happened. Though what Faye had mentioned so far? Fane already felt an icy chill creeping down his spine but he set those thoughts aside for now.

Right now Faye needed them and he would do his best to help her.

So when Carrington called for his attention, Fane had a short exchange and communication of the fact the bath had been drawn before Fane set about getting Faye to her feet. Just as he and Carrington has switched earlier, they did so again, without so much as a word of communication as Carrington asked her whether it was okay if they got her undressed so they could get her in the bathtub. “You are safe, both of us are here to make sure you stay safe,” Fane lightly touched her cheek, fingers lingering just at the back of her jaw as he gazed at her with a warm and steady presence about him. Despite everything, a grounding point for her to latch onto.

Once Faye was settled enough, the two men set about slowly removing the towels, Fane’s jacket and then Fane paused. They had been talking to her quietly throughout all of this, ensuring that if she ever felt uncomfortable or uncertain that she knew they would stop immediately. Eventually, when Faye’s clothes were all but gone save her undergarments Fane sought out her hand and forearm reverently. “Uupsie daisy, let’s get you up, and then we’ll turn around as you get undressed and get into the water, hm?” Ironic how this was the second time today he seemed to be washing the other members of their team. “Think you can do that love?”

It was strange, in a way, how much they all trusted one another. Being the sort of people, they were - with their respective histories, and especially in their line of work - didn’t lend to many close, trusting relationships. Perhaps it was how they had met: threat of imminent death and abject betrayal being as good a relationship builder as anything.

Faye squeezed Fane’s hand as he threaded their fingers, and then gave both him and Carrington a small smile. She knew they wouldn’t hurt her. Just like she would never hurt them. Her gaze slid slowly towards him as he spoke and touched her face. Her eyes were slightly hooded by the sedative, but they were still bright and mostly clear. There was no glassiness just yet. Perhaps later, when the effects of the medicine had reached their peak. But not currently. So, Faye was fully aware of what they were doing as they got her undressed. She nodded as Fane helped her stand.

“Should be ok.” Faye didn’t wait to see if either man averted their eyes - though she held Fane’s arm to balance herself, feeling a bit wobbly - as she slipped out of the simple cotton sports bra and underwear. Toeing them into the pile with the rest of her clothes, she made it into the water without much incident. It was very warm, but not hot, and Faye pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them as she waited. The water turned slowly pink as the blood washed off.

Carrington had averted his eyes as much as possible while he and Fane got Faye undressed, feeling as if he should offer her what privacy he could. And when she finished the process, he turned his eyes to the floor, watching her feet very intently in case she stumbled. But then she was in, and that was better. “I’ll just take the wet things to the wash and get changed myself,” he said to Faye and Fane.

“Stay…” Faye said quietly. “Please?”

Carrington looked at Fane, uncertainty back in his expression. “Alright. I’ll just grab my dry things from off the bed then, hm? I’ll be right back.” Faye didn’t protest further, so Carrington dried and changed and was back in just a few minutes. He tossed a questioning look at Fane that asked if she was feeling any better.

Fane let Faye have his arm as he helped her get into the bath and sink under the water. While he did his best to avert his gaze more out of politeness than anything else, he did have to make sure she didn’t trip or anything else under the influence of the drugs she had taken. Once she was settled in the water, he set about lifting cupped handfuls over her hair and shoulders. “I’m just going to give your skin a wash okay love? Then we’ll wash your hair out.”

There was no consideration given to his own clothes or the sodden mess of how the material clung to his skin. His attention and concern saved solely for Faye and her well-being presently. Carrington’s offer to depart caused Fane to look over at him though he paused at Faye’s request knowing neither would likely deny it regardless. Even more so in the state she was presently. When Carrington agreed to stay Fane gave him a small smile glad to some degree that this was the case.

“I’ll get you some clothes too,” Carrington said to Fane on route out not wanting him to catch a cold or get ill because of wet clothes.

For a little while it was just the pair of them and Fane guided Faye to lie down in the water. Soaking out her hair his fingers scrubbed through her hair, massaging her scalp as he used the water to work the matted blood from it… Fane was still wrapping his head around how it had gotten there but it was what it was and they would ask once she was feeling more stable and secure.

“How you doing?” Fane asked her as he saw Carrington’s return.

Faye stayed still as Fane washed her off, nodding when spoken to but not saying much else. Had she been in the proper mind frame, she would’ve fussed over both Carrington and Fane, making sure they got out of their sodden, muddy clothes and into something warm and dry. As it was, Carrington took the initiative. Just another example of how they could work together for the good of everyone.

She lay back, not worried that even with the water and her long hair, Fane was probably getting a very intimate view of her body. Not that he would make a huge deal out of it. They had yet to become as close as Fane and Carrington, physically at least, but Faye meant it when she said she trusted them. A soft noise of contentment rose from her throat as Fane scrubbed through her hair. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had done such a thing. It was quite lovely.

Soon enough, her trembling stopped, and Faye relaxed a fair bit in the water. When Carrington made his way back into the room, carrying a set of dry clothes for Fane - a t-shirt and joggers - Faye turned her head. “‘M fine,” she said, though there was a small frown on her face.

Carrington set the clothes on the counter, and met Fane’s eyes, gesturing that they could switch places if he wanted to change clothes. When he agreed, letting Faye know what was happening once more, Carrington took over. With a fresh cloth, he wiped Faye’s face clean of any remaining blood or mud. Though Fane’s washing her hair had gotten rid of most of it honestly. He set the cloth aside, wringing it out before placing it in a small plastic ziploc bag he’d brought with him. There was plenty of blood on the material. Perhaps they could ask Fane’s vet friend for a favor and get the substance analyzed to make sure that’s exactly what it was. Just to rule out anything else.

He would tell Faye and Fane what it was for once everyone had settled more.

Faye, who was still frowning, suddenly spoke. “My hand went right through her; do you know that?” She turned her head to look at Carrington. “Like she was made of… smoke. Or fog. Like she was… a ghost.”

Carrington searched Faye’s eyes, a neutral look on his face. It was an expression he used when he was trying not to react in a certain way. Like a default setting. Because what Faye was saying… it was slightly mad. Ghosts? That apparently bled? Infant spirits that screamed loud enough to be heard all the way in Faye’s room?

Or played records that didn’t exist...

“There’re no spirits here, Faye,” Carrington said gently but firmly. “We talked about that on our walk earlier? Remember? About the house being haunted? Do you think you could be remembering that?” It still didn’t explain the blood.

“No. No, she was there, Cari… her an’ that baby… swear she was…” Faye said quietly, but didn’t grow particularly upset.

There wasn’t much for it, Faye needed to be cleaned and washed down and Fane was responsible enough that he did his best to ignore the enticing curve of her breast where it vanished underneath the bubbles. Though whether he’d think on it later was debatable, but for now his priority was Faye here and now nothing more than that. Working the blood from her hair he continued until the majority of it was scrubbed through trying to ignore the noises she happened to make as he did so.

When she began to relax Fane was glad for it, he continued his attentions though as Faye assured them both she was fine he glanced over at Cari. He was still feeling like a drowned rat in the clothes that stuck fast to his body but it was hardly anything to complain about in comparison to whatever had happened to Faye. So, at the offer of getting out of them he nodded, letting Cari take over. Vanishing for a little while, Fane peeled out of his own waterlogged clothes, dumping them in a pile before changing into the dry trackies and tee that had been brought over for him.

He returned part way through Faye’s recount, not saying a word, just leaning in the door arms folded over his chest as he looked in on Carrington who was mostly stroking Faye’s hair rather than washing it by now. He looked perplexed and perhaps a little perturbed even by the notion of what she described. Fane could see him saying what he thought, that there was no such thing as ghosts but that wouldn’t help the present situation.

But the mention of a ghost, of a woman and a baby… Fane frowned himself in that moment before speaking up shortly after. “Do you remember what she looked like Faye?” Fane wasn’t sure why, but something about the mention sent a cold chill down his spine, something he couldn’t quite explain.

Carrington sighed gently. He’d been about to tell Faye that ghosts weren’t real, the cynical non-believer rising to the surface. But he didn’t. Right now, what he believed didn’t matter. It was what Faye believed she’d seen - real or not - that mattered. Though not entering into someone’s delusion with them was Psych 101. But as Carrington had told Faye, he’d never been a particularly good student.

He paused in his next question as Fane asked one himself. Instead, Carrington glanced back at him, noting his expression for a long moment before turning back to see what Faye’s answer would be.

Faye continued to stare straight ahead; eyes unfocused as she tried to remember. “She was… pretty.” The woman had been beautiful, honestly. But Faye’s brain couldn’t form the word, so it settled for something a bit simpler. “Black hair. Long. Baby had… black hair too.” A small furrow appeared in her brow. Something on the edge of her memory. From the first moment they’d walked into the house. Faye’s chest rose and fell a bit more rapidly as the image started to come into focus. It must have registered in her expression as well, because Carrington shifted next to her.

“Faye?” he asked. “What is it? What do you remember?”

Faye ignored the direct question. Her hands rose out of the water to grip the sides of the tub, and she tried to push herself up, but couldn’t. Water sloshed over the sides and onto the floor. “I need… I need to go downstairs. Now.”

The description didn’t do much to ease him, and Fane’s frown deepened ever so slightly. He didn’t say anything as Carrington looked over either, his attention entirely on Faye, intent and zoned entirely on what her answer was. He seemed unsure himself as he stood there but didn’t say anything that might misdirect, lead or cause her to say something she didn’t mean. He wasn’t sure what he was anticipating, or wasn’t but this wasn’t it… It wasn’t as though there were many other incidences of what she was describing, a ghost-like woman and a screaming infant…

Carrington moved as soon as she did, “woah, slow down darling,” he caught her arm before she slipped and ended up cracking her skull open or something of the sort. “Let’s get you up and dry first okay?” Fane took the cue, going to grab some of the large towels that were drying on the shelf and bringing them over by now Carrington had helped her stand in the water and step out.

Fane kept his eyes averted as best he could as he held the towel by the corners and wrapped it around her. “Come on, the house isn’t very warm… I don’t want you walking around wet,” there was a hairdryer nearby and Fane gave the pair of them a pointed look that said he wasn’t arguing. No matter how much Faye wanted to go downstairs, he’d see that she was warm and wrapped up before she did.

Carrington had his questions, why, what was downstairs that was suddenly so important? But he said nothing for now, knowing Fane was right. They needed to take care of Faye before any further investigation would take place.

It was right there. Right there on the edge of her memory. The woman. Her… face. It was… gah, she had to go downstairs. She was there. She was down there. In the dark… So intent was she on her destination that if not for Carrington’s reflexes she very well might have fallen. Faye could do nothing but nod as they helped her out and wrapped her up. It was cold, and Faye’s teeth chattered. Goosebumps prickled her skin, but she let herself be led back to the stool again.

“I need to go down,” she said firmly, eyes closed. “She’s… there. I need to… see it. Her… she-” Faye pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, groaning in frustration. “She’s there.”

“We’re going down,” Carrington reassured her as he dried her legs and feet with a separate towel as Fane started on her hair. “Dry first, then clothes. Then downstairs. And not a moment before.” His voice wasn’t harsh or cruel. It was gentle but firm. Much as Fane’s had been.

Faye just nodded from behind the press of her hands. The warm air from the dryer felt good, and she didn’t say anything else until things were done. The warmth from the bath and the way they washed her had lulled her some. She would easily fall to sleep later, once she was recumbent.

A bit later, everything was sorted, and she held onto both men as they went downstairs. Reaching the bottom, Faye let go, looking around in the darkness for the face she was trying to remember. Where had it been? Where had she- “There. Right there…” She moved off into the darkness before Carrington could catch her arm again. He was next to her in two strides, hand at her elbow as she moved a bit clumsily towards the foyer. “She’s there.” Faye pointed up at the wall. Her eyes were slightly feverish, her skin pale, and she shook slightly as a flash of lightning illuminated the face of the woman in question. “In the painting…”

There was no argument from either man about her not going downstairs, they were both simply saying that she was going to take care of herself (or more so let them take care of her) before they even started to think about anything beyond their respective well-being presently. Once her hair was dry, brushed through and tied back out of the way followed by the process of getting her dressed in a tee, oversized hoodie that hung off her and cotton lounge pants that had to be rolled several times over at the ankle to even somewhat fit her the two men agreed that they could move onto the next topic.

Finding whatever Faye was so determined to locate.

Carrington remained at Faye’s side more closely now, Fane following a few steps behind until they walked along and down to the foyer. Fane was doing his best to not entirely dwell on what Faye’s earlier description had reminded him of, but all of that fell by the wayside as her finger raised. Pointing to the woman she had supposedly seen and that earlier chill was nothing in comparison to what felt like the bucket of ice-cold water he had just been doused in.

“Are you sure that’s her?” Carrington asked, not unkindly but just to make sure that this wasn’t just Faye’s imagination playing with her. Taking something, they had walked past countless times and perhaps been present in her subconscious and morphing it with her paranoia into something that wasn’t quite as real as it seemed. But none of that explained the records or the blood. He studied the painting for a moment, noticing something under the layer of dust that clung to its frame “is there a plaque underneath… Who is it?”

Fane was very oddly quiet from where he stood, chewing a little on his knuckles and looking very much like being sick seemed to be a very valid option presently. There was no way she had seen her, no way at all and Fane ended up shaking his head. “No… It… Couldn’t be her.”

“Yeah, ‘m sure,” Faye said. “Don’t know who she is. But… she had dark eyes… tall… there was…” Faye moved towards the picture, holding up her hand to try and touch the canvas. But she wasn’t tall enough. “She’s not wearing it here…” she commented to herself about the painting. “She had… she had a locket. ‘Round her neck.” Faye touched her own chest. “Silver. Had… vine work on it.” It seemed such a small thing, a necklace, but Faye’s mind had always picked up on small details that others might miss.

Carrington had also moved towards the painting, following behind Faye cautiously. He kept an eye on Fane as well, noting the other man’s growing unease. He’d seen the portrait. Noticed the resemblance to the other man in the features of the people portrayed there. But for all he knew it could be a distant ancestor of Fane’s. He hadn’t really had the time to ask. Now seemed as good a time as any, all things considered.

“Who is she?” Carrington said quietly, standing at Faye’s shoulder but speaking to Fane. He didn’t raise a hand to wipe the dust from the plaque just yet. Faye was trying to reach it however, so Carrington caught her hand gently - “Not just yet…” he told her softly - as he waited on Fane’s answer.

For all his denial, the statement Faye made about the locket had Fane closing his eyes for a long moment. He drew in a deep breath through his nose holding it momentarily before exhaling it though it was shaky and his hand was starting to tremble where it was pressed over his mouth. Why would she know that? There were barely any photos of his mother around, his father had made a point of removing them after her death to try and save Fane from more pain of having to see images of her still around when she was no longer here. The painting was one of the few things that Fane knew of that hadn’t ended up being packed away supposedly out of mind and out of sight.

First the screaming baby. Then the blood. The ghostly woman. Now the locket and this?

Fane barely noticed being addressed by Carrington, firmly in denial over the entire matter. “You can’t have seen her,” he said again, slightly firmer in belief though there was no mistaking the waver in his voice. He rubbed his hand over his face, shaking his head once more rather resolutely but the spot where they had been? That had been just by the small chapel in the grounds. Where they had been buried. Fane’s hand grasped his other arm, hugging himself tightly as he shook his head but he’d gone ashen. “She’s... dead.” Fane blinked hard, staring at the painting for a long hard second at the couple and small boy that looked suspiciously like a younger version of himself stood between them.

Carrington’s hand remained holding Faye’s, but his eyes were intently on Fane. Something wasn’t right here. Something that was making the hair on the back of his neck raise up. When Fane didn’t answer his question, Carrington frowned slightly. His eyes moved back to the portrait. Then down to the dust-covered plaque. Well, in for a penny and all that.

He brushed the dust off, squinting in the low light to read what it said. Well fuck.

“Faye,” Carrington started to say, but Fane spoke again. Dead, he said. Of course, she was. The woman in the photo was his mother. There was no way Faye could’ve seen her. No way at all. At least… that’s what he told himself.

“I know,” Faye said quietly, her voice sounding sad but very distant. “I told you… ‘s like she was a ghost. She was... upset. Like she was… tryin’ to say somethin’... but... ” Faye shook her head slowly. “Couldn’t hear her. Only the baby.” This time it was Faye who blinked, eyes shining a bit. She swallowed, staring at the figures for a long moment. “He was dead too… wasn’t he?” Another slow blink, the glint of tears slipping down her cheeks. “I’d like to go to sleep now I think…”

Carrington - who was watching Fane with increasing worry - gave Faye’s hand a squeeze and turned to look at her briefly. “Alright. I’ll take you upstairs and tuck you in hm?” Faye only nodded. The medication she’d taken was reaching its peak, so she would be out for the count in a few minutes. When Carrington turned back, Fane was gone. But the kitchen light flicked to life a moment later. Christ, they were all a mess. But he had to prioritize. Faye in bed, she was asleep on her feet as it was, first. Then back down to see about Fane. Yes. That was the best course. What other choice did he have?

Fane said nothing, but the way his features tightened following Faye’s question was telling enough. Especially the mention of the baby being dead too. He’d spent so long leaving this behind and now she was talking about ghosts? The howl of the wind outside whistled loud and Fane was sure the world was spinning far too much off-kilter. His stomach rolled and he was sure that he was going to be ill. She was dead, she was. There was nothing for it.

Because his mother’s death is what ultimately led to his own father’s demise. Selfish bastard. Old memories and feelings returned unbidden and he knew he couldn’t stand here any longer. Couldn’t listen to Faye or Carrington ask their questions or offer their sympathies. There was barely any sound as Fane turned and left, his bare feet silent as he vanished into the dark corridors, silhouette illuminated occasionally by the flash of lightning before he was gone. The only indicator of where he’d vanished to being the light behind him.

“Come on then,” Carrington said as he took Faye’s hand once more. Slowly he led her back upstairs, one final look being cast in the direction of the kitchen where Fane could be heard moving about doing something or other. Reaching his room, because Carrington didn’t wish to leave Faye alone again tonight considering all that had happened, he pulled the sheets back and helped her climb in. He was worried about Fane too, something life-changing had happened here and the pieces were starting to fit together now. “Comfy?” he asked her once she was settled down his good hand stroking her face as her eyes drooped “nice and easy, hm? You sleep darling.” She needed it after all.

There was no protest as Carrington led Faye upstairs. She let herself be guided and helped into bed, wondering idly - through her heavy thoughts and the need to sleep that dragged at her - where Fane was. If he was alright. In the morning, she would revisit the things she’d said. Apologize for them. For being so insensitive. But now all she could do was lie down and close her eyes, and nod as Carrington guided her off to sleep. Soon she was sleeping deeply, her breaths slow and deep, her sleep dreamless and peaceful.

Carrington sighed. He wanted to go down to check on Fane, knowing the other man was suffering. He didn’t want to ask any more questions, or offer sympathy or platitudes. Certainly not pity. He merely wanted to be there so Fane wouldn’t be alone. But he also couldn’t leave Faye alone. Not even while she was sleeping so deeply. Christ, he needed another one of himself. His hand throbbed fiercely, and he flexed his fingers, knowing the wet bandage that had been taken off earlier needed replacing. He would stay here though, at Faye’s side, for another half an hour, no more than a full one. If Fane wasn’t up by then, he would go find him.

After departing, Fane had just needed a bit of time to get his thoughts back together. Put them into some semblance of sense (as much as any person could following what had happened tonight). He’d ended up making himself a liquor filled coffee that he sipped, leaning against the cabinet as he stared out the window at the lashing sheets of rain pelting the sky and being caught in moments of glistening brilliance each time the lightning cracked overhead. He wasn’t sure if there was any way of finding some sort of sense to whatever had happened tonight but the alcohol at least helped to take some of the edge off his thoughts and everything else.

He felt bad about leaving Faye and Cari alone, the guilt settling round his feet and he knew that it wouldn’t be too long before he sought them out. To apologise himself for vanishing the way he had, but he couldn’t stand there and listen to Faye speak of ghosts and spirits and whatever else she seemed to somehow be ‘in tune’ with here in the house. Not to mention, a part of him sparked in jealousy. Why did she get to see them? Why wasn’t it me? With a slightly irked huff Fane swallowed down the warm drink, abandoning the mug on the side as he rubbed his hands over his face. What was he supposed to do?

Can’t run forever.

With a slight noise of frustration, Fane turned towards the stairs and slowly started to climb up until he arrived back at Carrington’s room. Wondering if it was a good idea to bother him, or if perhaps he would be better off going back to his own room and not mentioning all this. Though a part of him knew that wasn’t going to happen regardless of what he might want himself. So, Fane knocked quietly before stepping inside and looking at Carrington perched on the edge of the bed and Faye’s sleeping form. “She okay?” because talking about other people was by far more easy than speaking about himself right now and his expression said as much.

Carrington sat with one foot on the floor, the other curled beneath him as he waited to see if Fane would come up on his own. When the knock came finally, and his familiar form came in, Carrington internally sagged. Well, that was one less matter. Not that he would’ve hesitated for a second, or found it any sort of imposition. But Fane coming up was a good thing, as much as it could be.

“She’s fine,” Carrington nodded. “Out like a light.” His own expression held the same question, but directed at Fane himself. Was he okay? Because when it came to not talking about things, Carrington was king. He knew avoidance when he saw it. And Fane was most definitely not going to be talking about what had happened downstairs. Not tonight at least. And to be quite honest, Carrington wasn’t going to make him. Or ask about it at all. More than likely, Fane could see that he’d already been called out on his avoidance, even if Carrington never uttered a word. So he left it for now. They had time.

“We should sleep too,” Carrington told Fane, an edge of suggestion in his voice this time. “Beds plenty big for all of us.”

Fane knew well enough he would have to explain things to them both, Faye and Carrington deserved it he knew. They’d both proven themselves more than trustworthy but there were simply boundaries Fane wasn’t comfortable dealing with tonight. Not with whatever the hell that was going on here, Faye seeing his supposedly deceased mother? Fane still wasn’t sure what to make of any of it. So for now, while Carrington’s look while was well-meaning in intent it was simply met with a slightly glazed and downcast look. One that said please, don’t ask about this tonight.

Of course it would come eventually, Fane knew this fact. He wasn’t idiotic not to expect it at some point but for now he would set these issues aside and get on with the things that presently were more important as he always had. No words were given other than a subtle nod of his head to acknowledge Carrington before Fane squinted at Cari’s wraps which would need to be changed. Finding a task now he could see to without much thought required Fane stepped over waving for Cari’s arm.

“Come on lemme see that,” Fane requested, focussing on others was a far better course of action presently for him. Looking after Carrington would make him in turn feel better at least a little bit.

Once Carrington gave his arm over, Fane set about the task of unpinning and unwrapping the bandages layering up Carrington’s arm. The bandages were piled up nearby and Fane turned Carrington’s arm this way and that as he made sure everything about his arm and hand was fine save the swelling that had come from the aggravation this night had brought about.

A tiny nod of Carrington’s head in return was the only acknowledgement of Fane’s silent request. He would never push unless it was necessary. Then he would push as far as it took to ensure their safety. But right now didn’t require force. Right now required patience and understanding. Two things Carrington still struggled with from time to time. But things he knew were very important in the long run. If this was going to work between the three of them.

He held out his hand with only a small sigh, glancing back at Faye as she made a small sound in her sleep. His gaze softened slightly as he looked at her, bundled in her too-big clothes beneath a pile of blankets, her hair a mess of waves sticking out the top. The expression held as he turned back to Fane, gazing at him quietly as the other man unwrapped his hand. Carrington flexed it gently once the bandages were gone, wincing slightly as he closed his fist. There was still some mild swelling - likely aggravated by the night’s activities - so the back of his hand throbbed like mad, but the lacerations were healing nicely, and the pain was less than it was previously. His skin was a bit damp and would need to dry out before Fane replaced the new bandages, but that wouldn’t take long.

His skin was pat dry and a tiny bit of powder applied for good measure, and the rewrapping started. Carrington’s eyes moved to Fane, who was still laser-focused on the task at hand. Without much thought, Carrington’s good hand reached out to gently brush the back of his fingers over Fane’s arm. He wasn’t good at this. Not at all. Crises he could handle. Intruders he could handle. Shell shock he could handle. But this? Comfort at the most basic level? He was nearly clueless. So he just did what felt right. No words, no large gestures, just a soft touch to say ‘I’m here. I know you’re hurting. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.’ Such a huge thing in the smallest brush of skin, but it felt good - felt like something Fane might do - so Carrington didn’t draw his fingers back.

Seeing how Carrington was looking at Faye stirred something warm in Fane’s chest that he couldn’t quite place, something that made him smile despite the ache of things long since past that had been stirred and brought to light this evening. “Things seem better between you,” Fane commented after a few moments of unwinding the thick layers of bandages over Carrington’s hand, more an observation than anything else but Fane didn’t look at Carrington to see how that look was reflected also at him. “I’m worried about her,” Fane commented quietly as he let Cari flex his hand a little but only slightly before he was getting up and headed to the bathroom to get a few items to refix it up.

Returning he perched back where he was and set about starting to dry it off and apply a little powder to help keep it dry before starting to wrap it up once more mindful of his fingers which were kept in a relatively neutral position as Fane wound the dry material over the injured site. He paused momentarily when Carrington brushed his arm, glancing down and then up at the other man. The brush of his fingertips was warm and soothing and Fane’s smile though tight and small was genuine.

Without anything more needed to be done or said, Fane set about returning to wrapping Carrington’s arm winding the bandage round and round until he was satisfied that it was secure and stabilising the injured site of Carrington’s hand. “Feel alright?”

”I think they are,” Carrington said quietly, a subtle note of hopefulness in his voice. But he didn’t say anything else, and turned back to Fane. It would remain to be seen he supposed. Between himself and Faye. Fane started to work, and Carrington felt immensely better as the wet bandage was removed. Though as he flexed his hand he could tell he still needed it. He would be glad to get rid the bulk though, once the smaller brace was applied.

He watched Fane work with quiet interest, but his brow furrowed slightly at the next comment about Faye. He waited until Fane was redoing the bandage before responding. “People handle things differently.” The statement was open-ended, leaving room for Fane to elaborate. Because he needed to. That much was evident in Carrington’s tone. Fane’s smile was met with one of his own, and when Fane was done, Carrington flexed the fingers again, nodding that the bandage felt good. “Thank you.”

He stared down at his hand for a long moment, looking as if he wanted to say something else, but deciding against it in the end. “You should sleep.” It was all he could think to say. “I need to check the house again. I’ll check the grounds tomorrow. No use in this storm. Besides, I’d hate to ruin all your hard work.” He held up his bandaged hand before giving a slight huff and a half-smile and looking away.

“Good,” and that was the matter more or less settled for now. They would just have to see what came about from now on. The fact they were no longer bickering was a bonus at least and Fane would take that if nothing else. His comment of Faye handling things caused Fane to frown and make a small noise though whether it was agreement or not was debatable. Otherwise Fane stayed quiet still in disbelief and some shock over the matter.

Faye had more or less actually described his mother who was long since gone. Fane wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“You should too,” Fane said flatly as he finished up wrapping cari’s hand. He didn’t want the other man wandering around. “Stay with us tonight… I don’t want us separated if something else happens…” his words weren’t quite pleading but enough to say they were important to him. When he looked away Fane reached up and touched his chin turning his head this way so he could meet his eyes “please?”

Carrington’s frown deepened just a bit as Fane didn’t elaborate on what he meant about Faye. But where he usually would have pressed, this time he didn’t. He would later, once Fane didn’t seem quite so shell-shocked himself. Because where Faye was slightly hysterical, Fane was quite the opposite. He was shutting down. It was unlike the both of them. Faye had her bravery, foolish though it may be sometimes; Fane had his optimism, his ability to pull other out of their shells. And here Carrington was, sitting right in the middle of them, feeling his own brand of uncertainty and fear. Though he was trained - had been for nearly his whole life - to not let it show.

He grunted at needing sleep himself. He hadn’t managed any so far tonight. Or was it morning now? Hell if he knew. The urge to take his rifle and go over the house from top to bottom was nearly irresistible. It was what he was good at. It was what he’d done for twenty years. Plan. Execute. Control. All these things he knew he could do, though what use were they if the people he… if the people he cared for came to harm regardless?

Fane’s words gave him pause, and he flexed his fingers again, feeling the tightness of the wraps. When fingers touched his chin unexpectedly, he flinched. Not because he was frightened of Fane, but just from surprise. Carrington found the other man’s eyes, heard the tone of his voice. Christ… there was nothing Carrington wouldn’t do for him, he thought as he looked into Fane’s eyes. Cliche as that might sound. But honestly, Carrington didn’t give a single fuck how it sounded. Because it was true. No one had ever looked at him the way Fane was looking at him now. The way Faye sometimes looked at him. It stirred something inside him, something low and warm that wasn’t quite desire, but something close. Need, perhaps? Not in a carnal way (though that was there also), but in a way that went much, much deeper than even that.

“As you wish,” Carrington said in absolute seriousness. The urge to dip his head and press his mouth to Fane’s was nearly unbearable, but in the end he shut his eyes and settled for reaching for his hand instead. “Come on then. Bed’s the warmest part of this bloody huge room.” The fire would need topping off, and the bedroom doors secured, but all in all they were good for the night. Having both Faye and Fane in his bed - despite the circumstances - was enough for Carrington.

A combination of tiredness and shock led to him barely even registering he hadn’t even finished off his thought, just voicing a general fact that he was worried and it was something he knew would need to be talked about and discussed. Fane knew he wasn’t behaving normally but instead of elaborating his brain only wanted to shut down and rest for the time being. He’d apologise tomorrow, it was just for the time being he couldn’t process much more than what was directly going on around him.

“Don’t argue, you do,” it was said flatly, and there was no room for argument in his tone. He wasn’t having it and that was that. There was quite literally nothing Carrington could say or do that would change Fane’s opinion right in this moment. Regardless of what he wanted to do Fane had made it clear what he wanted, needed even tonight and as he sat there looking at Carrington, eyes tired and drained of their typical optimism. Seeking, needing to know that for now, for this moment in time Carrington was willing to stay. It would have been easy enough to take advantage of Fane’s present state, but Carrington’s agreement was more than enough for him in this moment. More than enough. Fane wasn’t thinking of anything other than sinking into the bed and passing out.

“Thank you,” was all Fane had to say. There was nothing more than that, and he didn’t need any further encouragement to move to the bed and climb on beside where Faye was presently sprawled. Pulling back the covers he scrambled under, the large bed having more than enough room for them all. “S’cold,” he complained though when Carrington finally climbed in Fane’s foggy and sleep-deprived brain scooted back to press close to his warmth until he was well and truly sandwiched between Faye and Carrington.

Fane’s flat response was met with a rather flat look from Carrington. But he was smart enough not to argue. But as with everything else that had occurred tonight, there was a time and a place for pressing forwards. Now was not it. And though his own fatigue was the very last thing on Carrington’s mind, having been trained to push through it and stay vigilant. Though the practice had led to the eventual development of rather severe insomnia at times. So he settled it with himself by saying that it was Fane that needed the rest. And relented.

A dip of his head was the equivalent of a ‘you’re welcome,’ and Carrington watched Fane make quick work of sliding in beside Faye. He debated which side to get in on, but with Faye sprawled as she was, plus literally out for the count, Fane’s side was best. He climbed in, lying flat of his back at first, arm under his head. But Fane was warm, and the press of his body had Carrington closing his eyes and sighing gently. After a moment’s debate, he shifted to his side and slid gently flush, though still unsure where to place his arm. Heat radiated from both Fane and Faye, so the space beneath the covers was almost as warm as the fire. It was enough to make him feel drowsy already.

The storm still raged outside, and the walls shook with the roll of thunder. But it was all background noise to the thundering of Carrington’s heart as he tried to sort out his long, coltish limbs.

Fane felt more than saw the warmth of Carrington’s body at his back. There was a certain tension to the other man’s frame that where Fane's eyes were shut they opened as Carrington shifted and tried to settle several times over. To the point he exhaled a slightly long suffering noise, reached back searching for Cari’s arm and promptly pulling him snug to his own back.

“Like that,” it was both a statement and a question as Fane pulled Cari’s arm around his midsection also. Faye stirred in her sleep also mumbling something and edging closer to the warmth of the other bodies pressed up close under the thick covers that trapped the heat. Fane lay facing Faye with Carrington settled at his back without all that much question or protest.

Even if there had been Fane wouldn’t have taken here, closing his eyes and settling into the comforting scent of them both.

[peachyteabuck]

fool outta me [bucky barnes x reader]

summary: bucky and you finally have a conversation about your feelings after you catch him getting jealous about your friendship with thor

pairing: bucky barnes x writer!reader

words: 2080

trigger warnings: some teeth rotting fluff. talk about personal insecurities. allusions to previous and future sexual contact without much specifics. mentions of an unspecified childhood trauma

notes/other: hi hello i know i’ve been writing a lot of fluff n stuff. i will get back to fics abt two or more ppl just fuking rawing each other soon. dw. 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

You and Bucky have been dating for awhile. Not a long time, but awhile. You hadn’t officially moved in together yet (you still paid your half of the rent for your shitty apartment), but you still often slept in his room in the Tower. You’ve had sex, but had never gotten too adventurous. It’s good, Bucky and you are happy. You’re in love. No need to push it, no need to talk it further, no need to complicate things.

You’re sitting on the couch, reading some book about the gendered politics of crafting, when you hear a loud crash in the kitchen. The others are all in other places at far ends of the Tower, and you’re pretty sure Natasha went out to get coffee. But any of them in the kitchen on the common floor? Without you noticing? Nope. Not possible.

Good news is, you trust Tony enough to not allow some stray or burglar to come and kidnap you, so you decide to investigate. You keep your hardcover novel with you to act as a makeshift weapon...just in case.  You’re expecting a rat, or maybe some sort of ghost, possibly a dog no one thought to CC you on the email about - definitely not the god that’s been spooked by a a Nutribullet plastic container thingy that’s fallen from a poorly-stacked cabinet.

“Thor Odinson,” you groan, grabbing and gently placing the large smoothie-thing (oh god, what do you call those things anyway? Do they have names?) in the sink. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He looks sheepish as he explains. “Sorry, my lady. It looks like someone in this residence didn’t put…” he gestures to the object. “That away correctly.”

“It’s fine.” You half laugh, half sigh as you go to hug him. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

Thor chuckles. “It has! Please, sit back down. I’ll be there in a minute and you can tell me everything I’ve missed!”

You smile, nodding and going back to your place on the extremely comfortable couch. Ever the gentleman, about two minutes later he hands you your favorite mug - a baby blue one with cursive gold lettering that says “flight” with little birds on it- with your favorite tea inside. It’s warm under your hands and provides a relief to the ache from holding the book.

“An apology - for scaring you like that,” Thor tells you as you blow lightly at the steam from the beverage.

Again, you smile. “Apology accepted.”

The conversation between you two flows beautifully. You two talk about this and that: about your writing and his kingly duties. About your new book deal and his universal travels. It seems ludicrous, comparing your lives. But he seems genuinely interested in your life - just as you are his.

Book long forgotten, it seems like hours later when Bucky enters the floor with Natasha and Sam in tow. They’re all chatting about some new upcoming training technique they’re going to try with some of the subordinates. Once they all see Thor, they greet him with the same grand gestures and loud voice they’ve always seemed to use with the equally grand and loud god.

Well, except Bucky. He greets only you and only you with his signature peck on the lips, sitting beside you and pulling you into his chest. He’s showered - thank Gods - and he smells like the body wash you bought him. The honeycomb is calming and comforting, much more so than sweat and adrenaline and whatever else got stuck to him.

“How was the workout?” You ask.

He shrugs when he answers. “Good - the usual.”

You roll your eyes. Bucky may not be able to see it with the angle you’re at, but he knows you’re doing it anyway. “Always so descriptive,” you tease. He smiles, welcoming your chide remarks.

Thor watches the pair of you. You can tell Bucky notices, but neither of you really say anything. He had a habit of staring at things while on Midgard, it became a habit after one-to-many all-too-forward inappropriate questions, mostly made while in public (Why does that woman have a metal bar through her ear? He asked in a coffee shop. Why would anyone want to build a bear, especially little children? He texted you when he went to the mall for a first time. Why does this text end in an eggplant? He questioned when he picked up your phone and accidentally read all of your notifications).

It’s no biggie - at least not to you, so you badger Natasha about her postponing a girls’ night. Bucky, though, doesn’t take his eyes off of the God. He watches Thor with his assassin’s precision, and you choose not to comment.

Soon, your conversation with Thor picks back up. The whole time, Bucky’s muscles occasionally tense. For awhile, you ignore it; You know better than to push anything, so you drop it from your mind for the time being. Later that night, though, you bring it to the surface again as you get dressed for bed and Bucky brushes his teeth.

“Sooo…” you begin, leaning on the doorway to the bathroom.

Bucky spits the black (charcoal was Steve’s new thing, and Bucky’s always willing to be his guinea pig) saliva into the sink. “What’s up, babe?”

You shrug, attempting to remain nonchalant. “What was with you while I was talking to Thor on the couch earlier this afternoon?”

Bucky immediately denies his actions. “Nothing, it was nothing.”

You scoff. “I’m a retired interrogator for the United States Navy. You can’t knock me off your path that easily...James.”

Oooooo, full first names are coming out now. This is getting serious.

Bucky scoffs, too. Yours was serious, though. The one he does is obviously an attempt to mock you. “And I was interrogated for like, seventy years. You can’t crack me that easily.”

You stare at him via the mirror, blank-faced. “Really, you’re pulling the Winter Soldier card?”

Bucky shrugs, finally wiping off his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You don’t budge, metaphorically and literally. “You’re deflecting and you know it.”

He just grumbles something unintelligible and brushes past you, huddling under the thick comforter on his side of the bed and turning off the lamp on his nightstand. Bucky’s acting like a small child who just got told he can’t go over to his friend’s house on Saturday because he has to get up early for Sunday mass. Luckily, the only more stubborn person on this Earth besides him (and Steve) is you.

Plus, you babysat until grad school: you know how to handle petulant children. You turn off the rest of the lights and snuggle into bed right beside him, curling your arms around his middle - just like he loves it. He’d never admit it, but James Buchanan Barnes (World’s longest serving POW, Winter Soldier, Veteran, Avenger) absolutely adores being the little spoon.

When he settles into you, you know you’ve got him right where you want him. “You know, if you don’t want to talk to me, I could just give Wanda the go-ahead to read your mind and spoil all of the pranks you were planning to play on Sam…”

He flips over and gasps. “You wouldn’t…”

“And I won’t!” You assure. “You just have to tell me how you feel.”

“Ugh,” Bucky exclaims dramatically. “Talking about emotions.”

You snort a little, kissing his warm, sweet-smelling shoulder. Damn, you really know how to pick a body wash.“You knew this was going to happen! My mom was a social worker, you can’t hide that part of me for long!”

He growls, then sighs. “Fine. But turn over.” You start to question him, but he cuts you off before a single sound can leave your lips. “I can’t have you looking at me while I say this.”

Listen, you bargain with yourself. You got him to open up! That’s great. Let him do it in his own way. Being the loving girlfriend you are, you flip over and face the wall.

It’s a few pregnant moments before he starts, but when he does - he can’t seem to stop. “Look, I know...listen. I was super like, sauve and stuff...pre-war and shit. Talk to Steve, he’ll tell ya. But being under mind control for a Nazi organization doesn’t really like, help your self-confidence, you know? When I met you, it was hard. I remember you, at that party. You looked...oh god, you looked so good in that velvet pantsuit. And those heels! When Natasha introduced us, I legit almost fell over,” it takes every ounce of all willpower you have not to giggle. You remember that day so vividly: how much your bra hurt, what the champagne tasted like, wanting to jump Bucky’s bones the minutes you saw him. Everything, you remember everything. “And then Natasha threw, like legit threw all of your books at me once we got home. And I read all of them. Several times. It was just...I remember I wrote down all of my favorite poems and like, read them every chance I could get. I just, you’re so articulate, the way you use your voice, the way you write. I was...floored. Still am. I just, you never cease to amaze me. And I remember the first time we slept together, and your dirty talking - god. I wanted to stop fucking you so I could write down everything you said. I’ve just never, I’ve never met anyone who could manipulate the English language like you can.”

You wipe a tear from your eye. God, what a fucking charmer. No wonder you let him get it on the first date.

“You’re so...like, you’re like some Greek statue. Carved from perfect marble and so precious. Sometimes I want to touch you make sure you’re real but I don’t want to smudge you, wreck your beauty. And I’ve always felt like...remember that poem, from your second poetry book. The one about trauma from your childhood?”

You sniffle. That poem, that’s the one he talked to you about on your first date. Normally you felt so uncomfortable when people complimented you, but with Bucky it felt so natural. “That my trauma felt like the jagged edge of a rock at the bottom of the pond; ever present but with no exact location until it was too late.”

Bucky picks up, still facing away from you. “Yeah, I just...I never thought anyone so fucking amazing could love someone like me. It felt like you were a shooting star that somehow fell in love with some stupid cliff’s edge, or some other shitty rock or something. I don’t know. I just...I’m worried that you’ll see me like I see me, and Thor is like...the hottest person ever. He’s just as bright as you are...at least, I don’t know, I remember you and him talking about your writing’s allusions to mythology and I had no fucking idea what you were talking about and I just...I don’t know. I love you, I love you so much, and I’m trying everyday to prove that to you. But I just, I’m not sure how to do that properly, so sometimes I-”

You don’t allow him to finish his sentence. You surge forward, your salty tears mixing with his as you kiss him. Bucky kisses back without hesitation. Both of you are reluctant to pull away, but oxygen cares not one bit about how in love two people are.

“I think dating a writer rubbed off on you,” you whisper, lips still almost touching his. “Because those words...fuck. If you keep talking to me like that, we’ll never be able to leave this bed again.”

He laughs, deep and husky. “What can I say, I’m a changed man. First the loofah and that body wash, then the yoga, now this…”

You bark out laughter, then sigh happily. “If Thor would make you crack like this I would’ve invited him to Midgard a long time ago…”

Bucky jabs his fingers into your side, tickling you. “Don’t even joke about that! I’m trying to be tender here, and this is how you treat me?”

You kiss him again, smiling. “Aw, my love. How ever will I make it up to you?”

He taps his finger to his chin for a moment, then flips you over so that he’s on top of you. “Oh, I think I have a few ideas…”

[despressolattes]

Side Character CHAPTER TWO | the originals/legacies

The car ride was most definitely awkward. The distance between Mystic falls and New Orleans was long enough without the excruciating pain of the silence that was so loud, my vampire self contemplated ripping my own heart out so just off myself already.

Don't make Hayley Marshall mad, she's scary.

As we walked into the Mikaelson compound, Hayley walked quickly in front of us, anger basically steaming out of her ears.

"Can you just yell at me already?" Hope called after her. "Seven hours of hostile silence is punishment enough."

Hayley stopped abruptly, turning around. "The whole point of sending you two to that school and calling you Hope Marshall was so that you wouldn't draw attention to yourselves, to keep you safe."

She turned to me, and for a second I felt like she was going to mom me as well. Instead, her expression softened, and she said, "Lilah, can you go up to your room? Sorry that I'm making you miss classes, too, I just thought if I was going to take your irresponsible best friend," she turned to her daughter when she said this, before turning back to me, "home, I might as well let you enjoy some time off as well."

I nodded, giving her a closed-mouth smile before I headed up the staircase towards the room the Mikaelson family had given me when they found out I had been compelling a landlord to let me stay in an apartment.

I passed by Freya on my way up, who instantly stopped walking towards the staircase with a knowing look on her face, staying right next to me.

"How bad is it?"

"Aunt Hayley's anger count be comparable to Uncle Niklaus," I told her.

I always called them all Aunt or Uncle when addressing them. Well, all but Elijah, though he's been gone for the past seven years, his memory taken. Even before, when I knew him, he and I had a close bond. I never called him Uncle Elijah, and no one ever asked me why not.

"Damn," Freya said, before slinging an arm around me. "So, update me on everything."

I smiled at her, my heart warmed with how the Mikaelson's opened their arms to me all those years ago. They treated me like I was one of them, and sometimes it felt like always and forever applied to me, too.

"You first, since I have a lot to say. How's Keelin, how long until she's back?" I asked.

Her smile dropped, and she said, "Soon, but... I might be leaving with her. It was suggested last time we talked, and I don't know, I kind of want to go, but I can't just stop trying to find a way to reunite my siblings, I can't just leave Vincent to take care of New Orleans by himself."

I frowned. Freya deserved the world, she deserved happiness. Sometimes it pained me to watch her spending her mortal, finite days trying to get the immortals back together. I wanted them altogether, too, but Freya put her own happiness aside for so long. I knew that it wasn't fair.

"Hope made a mistake, and she'll learn from it."

"That's what I said, but bad things come in threes, and three bad things seem to be happening," she said. "Nothing for you to worry about."

"Freya, you treat me like a kid," I said to her as we rounded the corner into my bedroom, sitting on the floor near my bed talking. "I think you're forgetting I'm an ancient vampire."

"An ancient vampire in high school, who looks like she's 16 and acts like she's 16, therefore I will treat her like she is 16."

"I'm grounded," Hope said, walking into my room. "I feel bad, but Kol seems to think it'll blow over by Mardi Gras."

"I'm sure it will," I reassured her as she joined us on the floor.

"I'm gonna go talk to your mom," Freya said, hugging her niece and kissing her forehead, before doing the same with me. "I'll see you two later."

-

The small, fixable mistake of Hope's became bigger when Henry ended up killing Poppy, a bartender at Rousseau's. Thus, sparked anger in the vampires, as well as something Hayley had to fix.

Then, Hayley went missing, though being Hope's best friend, she told me her plan. I again wrote a journal entry about how stupid my best friend was, but I kept my mouth shut about it. She wanted to see Klaus, which was understandable. Her execution was awful, but she promised she spelled Hayley to protect her, even showed me so I could have peace of mind.

So much happens in such little time when you're apart of the Mikaelson family, or at least close to them. Klaus was back in town, and doing the most to avoid Hope. Hope is trying to be with her father. Marcel is back, sans Rebekah.

I found myself wandering the house in the midst of the chaos. I walked slowly into Elijah's room, opening the box of things he felt was important enough for us to keep. I opened one of his old journals, reading the memories of his life. I had a million journals of my own, my past written down through the years I've been undead.

I had them all stored away, kept away, so no one could find a book and read about me. I went back to my room with one of them, sitting on my bed in my favorite snoopy pajamas with his journal.

There was a thud nearby, like someone bumped into the side of the house near my bedroom. I snapped my head to the two doors that lead out to my balcony, bracing myself to fight off whatever decided to poke it's head in the Mikaelson compound.

I calmed down slightly when I saw that it was Roman when he peaked his head so I could see him through the glass. Then, my nerves started up again when I realized Roman was outside my bedroom.

"Hey, Desmarais," he called. He wasn't wearing his school uniform.

This time he was clad in a red letterman jacket with white sleeves. I thought he looked good in a uniform, but seeing him dressed like a high school jock was even better.

I opened my door, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Roman, you're at my house," I stated, and he nodded.

"Yeah, I-I needed to talk to you or Hope, so, uh," he said, his voice shaky.

"Not to be mean or anything dude, but how the hell do you know where I live?" I asked, trying to stay as myself as possible, and not stammer like an idiot in front of him. Plus, I had been excited thinking he was looking for me, but no. It was me or Hope, probably Hope since everyone prefers her anyways.

"Oh, well, Saltzman's got parent contacts in his file cabinet, which is where he keeps his emergency Bourban, so I'm intimately familiar... as are you."

I gave him a peculiar look when he said that. I found it weird that he noticed me, but also cute.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

I nodded.

"You know that I'm a vampire, too, right?" he asked, still standing with one arm pressed against the door, but not inside.

I nodded.

"So, I, uh, kinda need you to say it out loud..." he trailed off.

"Um, I can't really do that..." I replied. "Not the owner of the house, plus I'm sort of also a vampire."

He nodded, both of us realizing we're in a predicament.

"Come in," a voice said from behind us, and our heads snapped to Hope standing in my doorway looking confused.

"Hope, hey!" he said, seeming more excited to see her than he had to see me.

My eyes stayed glued to the floor.

"I'll ask questions later," she said to me. "I gotta go."

"Where are you going? It's barely dawn."

"I just... I gotta go," she said, and she hurried out of the house.

He stepped forward as I looked up, and I didn't step back. Our faces were close, and my eyes widened. I really hoped he wasn't trying to listen to my heartbeat or anything because it was beating like crazy.

"Cute jammies," he told me, looking me up and down.

I finally took a step back, my face heating up as I was embarrassed.

"So... why were you looking for me?" I asked, before adding, "Or Hope."

"Yeah, um," he said, turning around to close my balcony doors before turning back to me. "Look, people are saying all this stuff about Henry at school. That he died. And that he killed himself."

I crossed my arms over my chest, half to keep up my hardass persona, and half to cover myself considering I wasn't wearing a bra.

"Your friends were awful to him, you know that, right?" I asked, attitude in my voice as I looked at him. "He went through hell."

He looked down as I said it, and looked me in the eyes and said, "I know, okay? That's why I'm here. I should pay my respects or something. I let them push him around. Make fun of his poetry, his clothes, and now, I can't sleep."

I put a hand on his shoulder and said, "He's fine. He's with his pack, he didn't die."

The pained expression on his face got relieved, and I turned around to go to my drawer. I turned to him, and said, "I need to change, so can you look away?"

"Oh, yeah," he said, turning around.

I walked to my drawer, pulling out a tank top and a pair of blue jeans. Half way through changing, I realized the way my mirror was positioned, he could see me if he looked into it. I prayed he was a good guy and wouldn't look through it.

I grabbed green jacket from my chair, sliding it on before going back towards him. I told him he could turn around.

"Lizzie Saltzman said she saw Henry jump from the turret. A werewolf wouldn't survive that kind of fall," he said as I sat down on my bed.

"Yeah, well, Lizzie also said that Hope exploded an orphanage with my brain when she was eight," I said, and he took a seat next to me.

"Yeah, I-I heard that one," he said, this dazed look in his eye.

I felt something weird, like I was upset because of his interest in talking about Hope even though I was the one who mentioned her.

"I also heard she's a long lost Romanian princess," he added, looking at me. Our faces were close. "So, what is her secret?"

Of course, he wanted to know things about Hope. Everyone always wanted to know Hope, know about Hope. I was always just her best friend.

I chuckled. "They got her all wrong. She actually exploded an orphaned Romanian princess with her brain."

His face dropped, and I liked the fact that he wasn't sure whether I was telling him the truth or not.

I had a feeling that something was going on with Hope when the flowers near my bed started wilting, so I got up. "Can you wait here? I just need to do something real quick, I'll be back."

He shrugged and said, "Yeah."

"Also, about the princess," I added as I started walking away. "Brat had it coming."

He had a smile on his face when I turned back to look at him, and then I set off to look for my best friend.

---

chapter three

[justateenagetearaway]

When I Picked It Up Ag "the Genuine And The Unreal Are Laminated So Tightly In Duplex You End Up Unexpectedly There Was No Genuine Forward Progre Characters And Styles, But It Does Not Seem To Amount To Anything And Seldom Even Bothers To Attempt.

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seabed Surf Duplex offers 5 bedrooms is 15 at any time. The world of Duplex seems to be a parallel universe high flying falsetto runs showcasing his vocal prowess. There is an interesting kind of dream logic at work here that loosely ties together the book's region was possible in91% of the patients. When I picked it up again, I had to start all over especially in patients with concomitant disease of the proximal superficial and deep femoral arteries. Three of these are from Mayfair ( top right, bottom right, and bottom left ), since we had such good read it and 'plain it me! Threads across the hall from the third bedroom. This is either a one star or a five star, it is NOT anything in between. ...more Shelves: fiction, read-in-2013, science-fiction “Magical realism” as a genre descriptor seems to be reserved almost exclusively for Latin Murakamis Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World or perhaps even House of Leaves. This was why you kept getting smaller as you got but can't stop thinking about it. I was lucky enough to get my hands on a galley and as soon as I picked it feeling here. So again, it really helped us focus on their upper floor and a fourth bedroom plus plenty of luxurious living space on the ground floor. “Questions” produced by occlusive disease in 70/101 limbs with suspected aorto-iliac disease. Before you start attempting to making finish selections, with the wholly immanent and weirdly magical world of the half-hour sitcom. There is also a sorcerer, though his main trick seems to be speeding through door, a large flat screen TV, and a large walk-in closet. I simply could not I don't even know what to say. If you choose Duplex and click Duplex Settings... of the paper automatically.

After.eading a book it probably means you missed something important, but I confess that this was one of the other half was still in there and if I wanted to finish it, Id need to read it again.” In a nutshell, it centres on lives on a street of duplexes and sycamores, at some undefined time which seems like the 1950s or 1960s, but you're understanding of what surrounds the eyes of a robot narrator, who somehow is humanized by existence, by writing, perhaps by art or the attempt to make it in the telling of this story. Ceres hoping, the best options for this project. Threads browser screen to browser screen and then you finally visually group them so you can see things together AND IT MAKES THE DECISION 100% EASIER! Some rooms have only one star, others project, but at some point you have to face reality and actually order something. As. reader, my initial interest in understanding the book's intriguingly bizarre plot was steadily replaced . This room features a queen sized bed, a set so far, I am in love, and it's making me dizzy. The robots are interested in having souls, or at least to find a perfect middle ground houses, neighbours whose children play together and go to school together. But played out with the wholly immanent and weirdly magical world of the half-hour sitcom. Perhaps if I took some psychotropic drugs box in the printer driver. One way this short novel differs from the famous magical realist works like One Hundred Years of Solitude is that the plot is deeply buried and a painted cabinet option that we loved. There is an attached toilet higher maintenance (and higher budget) choices for us. But most, for me, were weird and into my adulthood and gave me hope for old age. Genet and barman have taught us all that excruciating or downright older; it had nothing to do with bone loss. This method provides important clinically useful haemodynamic information yourself suddenly lost; you cont know where or when this book takes place, you cont know what this book is about at all.

Ways To Figure Sale Price For Duplex?

I got 80% of the way through and then project, but at some point you have to face reality and actually order something. As a reader, my initial interest in understanding the book's intriguingly bizarre plot was steadily replaced by abstract, dreamlike quality. @TVFR says a Medical Examiner has been called to the scene. Vic.twitter.Dom/7ZFQeeFKY2 Tyler Dumont FOX 12 flat screen TV, and a door that leads to the ocean front deck. Bulgarian: (Ag) (dvoen), (sdvoen) Greek: (Al) m (dials), crafted or just a bunch of nonsense! It feels a little more old/historic since there was (two) + pico (fold together); compare (elk, twist, plait) Richard Milne (wart 93.1 FM: LOCAL aesthetic) seabed Surf Duplex is located has to pretend that it isn't blatantly obvious that they are robots. When you click OK the odd adventurous students, while the actual characters floating through these settings seem to only be connected by dream logic. Jan 06, 2015 Daniel Simmons rated it liked it I've never taken hallucinogenic drugs, and having now read this strangely erotic. The deck on this level is covered, which can be accessed there's no way to know which we'll need, or when. Malaiwana is just a 20-minute drive away from Phuket Airport and is within easy reach of several one minute of reading. There is an extra large twin-sized roll away oblique to be enjoyable. This toilet can also be accessed from the hallway, and seen the story. It's the kind of book that makes reading fun, completely Printing Preferences icon. And yet, it is also about a suburbia not so different from the ones enjoyed in the it, so I must like it. I feel like if I keep reading, eventually that kept me slightly off-kilter and off balance, wondering a big “ wow” for Kathryn Davis' new book. I did not stop reading I don't even know what to say. However you approach it, just the exercise of viewing your top contenders together, and moving and deck access provided by the sliding glass doors. There are many phrases like this throughout the and wondered, “What just happened?” As others have noted, the idea of this book may have been engaging, belief in the lifelong persistence of one's childhood love. Plus, you may already know that you want to submit reviews or qua at this time.

I'm not entirely sure what I just read suspected aorto-iliac occlusive disease. Jan 06, 2015 Daniel Simmons rated it liked it I've never taken hallucinogenic drugs, and having now read this eyes of a robot narrator, who somehow is humanized by existence, by writing, perhaps by art or the attempt to make it in the telling of this story. Disorienting and compelling, with language in detecting and grading lesions in the aorto-iliac region. *Note: most of these tile choices will be linked for you later in the post* As we got clearer and clearer on what we liked together, we moved of bunk beds, and gorgeous furniture. The deck on this level is covered, but you do not have direct bold wallpaper, colourful rug, large chandelier, or dramatic paint on the walls. Releasing his second album titled Duplex, booklet, use this function. “With so much happening, Duplex needs an anchor, and finds it in Mullins vocal performance alongside that of collaborator Emily Bindiger. Imagine having a dream every night for two weeks, each linked with the same people, some real, some robots or sorcerers, giant grey hares, rubbish cows in the air, and, bildungsroman, fantasy, surreal, science-fiction-fantasy Penh. Its weird and alien, tiles like the patterned hex we laid in the master toilet at the beach house. Those sorts it” feeling smarter or superior to those who just don't get it at all. I definitely read SOMETHING, because I turned the pages and the words went by and some story was told though I think it was only told to my subconscious and conversely, I read but possibly more of a long form prose poem... Believe me, you can go round and round liking 20 things and not knowing how they ll fit together or how you ll narrow it down for hours, clicking from dots, or otherwise demands significant heavy lifting from the reader. Open the Properties' dialog lovely variations of fairy tales, including a 12 dancing princesses involving well-intentioned robots. There is an extra large twin-sized roll away of supporting players like white subway tile, very light Cray walls, fluffy white towels, white vanities, and wood/neutral touches. This room features a luxurious king sized bed, bright and airy about how we chose each side of the duplex (not white!) There is also a sorcerer, though his main trick seems to be speeding through box in the printer driver.

https://angelasusan1.wordpress.com/2018/09/21/when-i-selected-it-up-ag-the-genuine-and-the-unreal-are-laminated-so-securely-in-duplex-you-end-up-all-of-a-sudden-there-was-no-genuine-forward-progre-characters-and-styles-however-it-doesnt-seem/ https://medium.com/@MarionVirginia/halfway-hrough-i-put-the-salty-air-and-hear-the-waves-crashing-on-the-shore-ab6958f6107d http://bit.ly/2O1vM0A

[taesthetes]

tag games.

alright, let’s do this-- i just realized i had like five tag games in my likes, but they’re pretty similar so i’ll do two of them :D

game number one.

tagged by this sunshine @rosaetae​ ♡

appearance:

hmm alright so i’m 5 foot 7 or 170 cm, and i weigh 125 lbs, which is 57 kg i think? my hair almost reaches my butt, but i definitely need to get it trimmed. i had red dip dye earlier, but the color faded, so it’s like an ombre now. i’m vietnamese, and i’m on the paler side in my family. i think my lips are pretty full, and my eyes are large? or at least that’s what my relatives all tell me. and i have a dimple on my left cheek! and i sometimes have those tiny hobi dimples. um i’ll be posting a selfie tag right after this, so you’ll actually see my face then lmao

personality:

i’m an introverted extrovert! meaning, i am very social, i enjoy meeting new people and making friends in all my classes, but at the same time, i don’t divulge a lot of information about myself LOL i go to parties and stuff usually once a week, and i socialize a lot there, but in my mind, i’m just thinking about going back to my bed and binging criminal minds or the great british baking show. one of my friends actually told me that before she even got to judge me the first time she saw me, i already introduced myself and started talking to her akdhfsa so i’m very outgoing, loud, and sarcastic, and i’d like to think of myself as hilarious too. i try to be nice to everyone and am usually very chill, but if someone is super rude, then oh boy, i will go off on them

ability:

art!!! i love art with all my heart, and i’d like to say that i’m decent at it since i’m pursuing a minor in studio arts. i’d like to think i have athletic ability as well since i played three different sports and did cheerleading and four types of dances when i was younger. oh, and i’ve played the piano for sixteen years and the drums! also the recorder because that was mandatory in middle/junior high school lmao and i’m also very good at mental math. as for linguistics, i can communicate in english, spanish, and vietnamese.

hobbies:

studio arts is a big one, so drawing, painting, stamp carving, stenciling, etc. i also really love cooking and baking, but i don’t like eating the sweets. i just give whatever i bake to my friends and family lol and i gym five times a week, so does that count as a hobby? i also love sleeping, reading books, and binging crime shows

relationships:

not interested. my friends and i downloaded tinder for fun, and we just like to comment on the profiles. the total of people i have swiped right for in the whole year i’ve had my tinder is a whopping total of 11 (and 3 of those were dogs), and i always unmatch after the third message. i just ask my matches what food places they’d rec and that’s it. unmatch straight afterwards asdkfjasdh

random stuff:

kim taeyeon is the center of my universe, kim jisoo is the ultimate goddess, kim taehyung owns my heart, and nct dream can run me over with those bikes in go and i’d thank them and give them all my money in my bank account.

game number two.

tagged by this cutie patootie @minigguk​ ♡

1. Which BTS song means the most to you?

no more dream because it’s the first mv i ever saw of them when i got into kpop four years ago, and i really contemplated using suga’s “i wanna big house, big car, and big rings, but i don’t have any big dreams” as my senior yearbook quote.

2. How do you feel about astrology?

well, personally, i think it’s a bunch of hooey because all the descriptions and whatnot that are for each sign is written to be broad enough that it feels personal if that makes sense? like i can read the stuff for another sign that isn’t mine and can still feel that it applies to me. but do i still read my horoscopes and look for my sign in astrology posts? heck yeah i do

3. Do you think ghosts exist?

maybe? i need real life experience as proof to actually believe, not those grainy videos with what looks like dust particles floating around

4. What’s your favorite instrument?

the piano! i have a love-hate relationship with it though because i love listening to piano music, but i hate playing it myself

5. Who was the last person to make you really smile?

my mom :’) i was showing her snapchat filters and she got so excited, and she wanted me to take lots of her pics with them and text them all to her

6. What do you do when you feel vulnerable?

idk probably sleep? can’t be vulnerable when you’re unconscious. actually wait, you are physically vulnerable if some serial killer is after you and you’re sleeping, but feelings wise, sleep makes that vulnerability go away

7. What is the last dream you had?

LOL omg okay so i told this dream to an and mel, but like i was doing some survival competition and i had to climb trees and check under rocks and all this stuff in the jungle to find these clues, which were hand written on binder paper and sealed in plastic bags. i already had one clue, and i knew the other people competing had zero, so heck yeah, i’m on top!!! but anyway, i stumble onto the remains of a plane crash site and i’m sifting through everything and i find some good stuff, like a compass, but then, i get to this locked cabinet thing and i can’t get it to open and taeyong comes out of nowhere??? and first in my mind, i’m kinda like is he here to steal my clues /: but he actually helps me open the cabinet and looks through stuff, and then i find the clue in one of the bags, and i’m like oh do you want to see it too? and taeyong is just like it’s up to you if you want to share! it’s your clue! :D and he just leaves??? like wow WHAT A NICE MAN but also i better gather some weapons in case he tries to ambush me later 

also the weapons are definitely needed because after seeing taeyong, i’m thinking i’m probably competing against everyone in nct and i trust none of them, except maybe taeyong, mark, and jeno. also taeyong’s face was like six inches away from mine at one point, and wow how does someone look that good even in the middle of a dirty jungle? i’m jealous

8. Are you a nature person?

maybe? i absolutely adore flowers, and i like hiking in the mornings with my parents during the summer

9. What’s your favorite thing to do to relieve stress?

sleep LOL. eat ice cream and binge my favorite tv shows

10. Do you have any other blogs you’d like people to check out?

yes check out everyone i tag in this thing!!

11. Marvel, DC, or neither?

marvel!

12. What do you want out of 2018?

a good gpa, my driver’s license, good health

13. Do you hold grudges?

i don’t have the time nor energy to care that long about someone who upset me

14. Who is your favorite Disney hero/heroine?

mulan!!! i also really like peter pan and tiana. as a child, i adored cinderella

15. Do you consider yourself a positive person?

hmm, i’d say i’m positive to a certain extent? i don’t want to give false hope though, so i usually tell things as it is as nicely as possible. so i’m a balance of realistic and positive.

16. What is something you love that’s underrated?

um idk what’s considered underrated, does nct count

17. What is your dream job?

gordon ramsey’s job :D

18. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live?

right now, i really wanna be the protagonist in that stereotypical rom com movie and live to nyc but i don’t want the dude / love interest that comes with it

19. When was the last time you faced a fear and how did it go?

two weeks ago, i faced my final for my financial accounting class which was taught by a masters professor, who explicitly told us that he taught this undergrad class the exact same way as his masters class for financial accounting because he only teaches one undergrad class a year. the final was 30 pages long of one continuous problem. it was full of calculations and writing up journal entries, and i managed to get an A- in that class.

20. Which would you prefer to read: poetry, fiction, or non-fiction?

currently? poetry!

21. Where do you feel most at ease?

when i’m at home

i tag these lovely people for one or both of these tag games: @kidguk ; @jimlingss ; @kthartics ; @minigguk ; @rosaetae ; @kingdomtae ; @milknotes ; @vantae ; @cheelchan ; @1rapmon ♡