#i have been uselessly laying around on the couch/in bed since i got home from work. fuck

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

anyway!!! everything sucks forever I am going to start making my pd character playlists

[imaginesmai]

Peter Parker - Health class, horny teenagers and sex

Plot: Your highschool tries to be as open as possible by giving a ‘sex care’ talk in health class. Flash is the typical teenager who watches porn and talk too much about girls. And Peter, is just nervous

or

Sex is not a rule and Peter Parker isn’t the exception.

or

Kind of a frustation-fic where the writer wants to show that it’s okay to be a virgin and don’t enjoy sex.

Warnings: NO SMUT

You sat on the toilet seat, knees pulled up to your chest and anxiety fluttering in your stomach as you kept staring at the wall in front of you. May’s bathroom was cute; it was filled with some beauty products, but on the majority it was small and neat. You had been there before, yet until that moment you hadn’t had stopped to really look at it. The shiny bath in the corner that still had the strawberry shampoo Peter loved so much. The pale blue towels that matched the walls. The white, wooden bin that was behind the sink.

You trailed your eyes from the wall to the door, that had been closed for more than ten minutes. Behind it, was Peter Parker, probably as nervous as you. You knew he was eaten alive by nerves more often than not, and you hiding in the bathroom was doing nothing good to the situation. But you couldn’t find the strength to leave the bathroom, at least not yet.

You had shared a bed before over the past several months, usually his since the apartment was mostly empty. You liked sharing his space, liked the warmth of his body and the sound of his breathing, his arms around you. You had just slept, curled together under the covers; nothing beyond kissing, and you had been happy with that.

But lately, both of you lived with the aching feeling that there was more, and that you wanted it.

In highschool you had heard about sex, maybe too much even, and in health class they had explained you how to put a condom and avoid STD. Through the whole hour, you had avoided Peter’s eyes and he had avoided yours. And now, the weekend after that talk, you were spending the night at Peter’s.

“Um, Y/N?” Peter’s hesitant voice came through the door. “Are you – everything alright?”

“Yeah!”

As if to prove your point, you rose up from the toilet seat and walked towards the door, not opening it yet. Moments ago, you had been laying in the couch watching a film, lazily making out. The film had ended and you had decided to go to bed, choosing not to notice how Peter kept a cushion on his lap while you ran to the bathroom. Where you were still locked, trying to decide if you were really going to do it or to jump out of the window.

Peter misunderstood your internal monologue as you being uncomfortable in his house, and even though you couldn’t see him, his shoulders slumped down and he dropped the smile.

“If you want to… call your mom or anything, it’s fine” he suggested. “Or I can swing you home”

That Peter was nervous only confirmed what you were afraid of; both of you were thinking about the health class and wanted to continue what happened in the couch. You cursed yourself because, to him, it seemed that you didn’t want to. Which wasn’t true, because you had gone to the mall with MJ after class earlier and you had bought some black lingerie. That was the whole motive of your doubts in the bathroom.

You looked to the mirror once more, thinking again that you had gone a bit overboard with it, and checked how the underwear looked on you. Indeed, it was so good that it boosted your confidence up a bit. You lowered again the long shirt-dress you wore at night and opened the door.

“Sorry, I was just – sorry” you chuckled, not being able to say any excuse. Peter blinked at you and attempted to brush off the sad face. “I’m staying. We’ve done this before. It’s – it’s fine”

Peter nodded to every word you said, not tearing his brown warm eyes from you. You smiled at him and walked past his frozen body into the hallway. The apartment was similar to the bathroom; small, but cute. It wasn’t as neat, probably because of Peter and his clumsiness, that tended to leave socks everywhere.

You felt  the previous tension left your shoulders when you finally entered Peter’s room. It was all the same as when you slept together before, with the space themed sheets and the parts of some technological device laying around. You laid on your usual spot on the bed, and waited until Peter took of his slippers and socks and got into bed. Instead of becoming a mess of arms and legs like usually, you didn’t move.

Peter’s nose brushed yours as you brought your hands close to your chest. The dim light that he always kept on in the hallway, and the night lamp behind him created an intimate environment. It would have been enough to doze you to sleep if your thoughts hadn’t been jumping crazy in your head. Knowing Peter wouldn’t say anything, you talked.

“This week’s talk was cool” you said, looking at Peter’s chin.

“Yeah” he rasped out. “Well, I was – Flash was behind me, and was saying… stuff.”

You hummed. Flash was the typical teenager who talked about boobs and ass all day but hadn’t seen one yet. He ogled the older girls and had some debatable pics on his phone. But Peter, as the teacher showed a female body on the screen and Flash took some photos under the desk, could only think about watching you like that.

“Betty was talking too” you looked at him in the eye, and decided you would just say it out loud. “She was – she said it’s something lovely if you do it with the right person, and I think you’re my right person”

Peter actually chocked on his breath, and his eyes went wide. Was he thinking about it during the whole film, even when he pressed a cold ice pack to his groin? Of course, and it wasn’t the first time he did it. He was, however, as awkward as he could be. Blush creeping his cheeks, mouth pressed in a tight line and not tearing his eyes from your eyebrow. Not even your eyes, because he felt as if he could melt into a puddle.

Thankfully for the both of you, you had known Peter for a while now, and you didn’t misunderstood his silence. MJ had made sure of it talking to you for a long hour that you didn’t enjoy too much. Your hand brushed his chest through his pyjama top, and you chuckled to yourself. It was nothing like the porn Flash talked about – he was wearing an iron man shirt with thousands small helmets.

“It’s fine if you don’t want anything else” you assured him, playing with the hem of his shirt. “Just kissing is fine with me. And you don’t have to feel pressured because of the talk and what the other boys –“

“It’s not that” Peter interrupted you, looking down to where your hand was. “I really want to, Y/N. I have – wanted it for a long… I just, dunno”

“You don’t know what?” you frowned, for a moment thinking it had to do what you had said. “About the right person?”

“No! It’s not – ugh, Y/N, you know it’s not – you know.” Peter tried to explain uselessly; and when he understood he wasn’t making sense, he sighed and lowered his voice.  “I have never done… it. Not like, Flash and them. I-I have, you know, like everyone. But I have never – I couldn’t”

“I’m a virgin too, Pete” you finally met his eyes. “It’s fine, we don’t have to be perfect. If you don’t feel ready, we can –“

“I’ve never masturbated!”

Peter’s outburst, compared with the quiet and soft room you were in, was quite surprising. It wasn’t what he said that surprised you, but how he did it. You had only heard him scream once or twice when there was too much noise around to be heard. He was always a shy boy with a hard time voicing out his opinion and thoughts. So when, right after the confession came the glassy eyes, you weren’t surprised.

“I can’t because every time I try it just, hurts” he whispered, sadness radiating off him. “I guess it’s because the bite, but I’m too sensitive and – and when I – it just… I’m sorry”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Having sex or not is not going to make me love you any less” you shifted closer to him, until it was as if any other night. “If you want to wait, or if you don’t want to, it’s fine. Last month talk was about different types of sexual attractions, and if you’re asexual or –“

“But I want to, Y/N. I promise” Peter whined again, sniffing slightly. “ When we’re, like, making out or something – I-I want to. Then I… try to do it, and I even tried one of the videos Flash sent to the group. I-I-I-“

You couldn’t help the grimace when he mentioned the video. There was something going on between some of the guys in the class that had them sending porn to the group chat. They had been kicked out a few times, and even some of the teachers knew about it and told them off. But they kept trying to spread those nasty videos, that had nothing to do with the reality of the moment and that usually used girls as sexual objects.

It was not a talk you were willing to have with Peter. A few moments ago, in the bathroom, you had thought it would go way different. You were even scared that Peter turned out not to be a virgin, or that expected too much from you, and your inexperience ass wouldn’t know what to do. You threw through the window every comment you had heard about the man comforting the woman and decided to do what you knew you had to.

“Those videos aren’t good, and the actors are just that; actors. We don’t have to be like that or – or that at all. Flash and his croonies can’t understand what we are or need” you assured him, finally making your way into his arms. “That’s our job. If you want to try with me, we can. And if we have to stop, you’re no less man because of it.”

You felt Peter nodding and internalizing your words, and you mentally high-fived yourself.

In health class, they hadn’t been as open as they wanted to. They had talked about how you have to take precautions and choose carefully who you sleep with. They hadn’t talked about being okay not wanting to have sex at your age, about being normal feeling insecure or just being different. Peter’s body ended up relaxing against yours, the previous tension leaving. There wasn’t any more the need of fulfilling other teenagers’ fantasies and sleeping with each other, or proving to anyone that you wanted to do it.

Eventually, Peter moved closer too, searching for that physical comfort he wanted. You weren’t two different persons nervous about being one; you didn’t have to have sex to do so. There was no space in between, and you felt good enough about it.

“You’re my right person too” Peter went back to his original voice volume. “And I want to… try it with you. Just – not the whole way there, yet. And maybe I have to, uh, stop. Or I can’t make you… you know…”

“It’s fine, we have plenty of time” you chuckled, closing your eyes already. “We don’t have to do anything, fuck health class and the horny teenagers”

Peter chuckled too, and didn’t say anything else. Tomorrow morning, May would be back and probably your mother would call you to take you back him. They had had their own conversations with you too; May with Peter which turned out to be a mess, and you with your mother which wasn’t so good too.

You were almost asleep when you realized that, without really noticing, you had said your first L word to Peter. MJ knew about that too – and she had bet that that night would be the first one where you said so. You already felt it, and Peter too. And it turned out, you didn’t need to have sex to know so.

“Love you too” Peter whispered into your hair.

Health class, Flash, horny teenagers and insecurities could fuck themselves that night, for sure.

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[neoffle]

friendzone fight-off

pairing: doyoung x reader / friends to lovers au

warnings: mature themes (but no action), swearing, 'cause you’re hot and you’re cold you’re yes then you’re no—

3.2k of my word vomit,, enjoy!

“Sleeping with your best friend isn’t so bad.”

You suddenly can’t breathe and watch as Joy attempt to soothe your back for you, snickering at your blubbering mess. Where was Irene when you needed her? 

Oh yeah. 

She’s too busy hooking up with the hot part-timer Kang Seulgi.

“You don’t understand Sooyoung,” you resorted to using her real name instead of the nicknames you made in middle school. 

“He’s my male best friend.” 

Joy snorts as she sips on her uselessly pretty pink drink. “Yeah, and so?” She pushes her drink aside to lean in closer to you. “Be honest.” She whisper talks. “How is he in bed?”

You throw your head onto your crossed arms and try to block off any of Joy’s attempts in trying to get into the juicy details.

If you were sober enough,

there was no way that you would ever get into his bed… that way. 

Sleepovers are normal for the both of you… but nothing ever went past platonic cuddling and so on. There was always a strict line in between your friendship that you wouldn’t dare cross. 

You know how easy it is to fuck up a relationship, and no way in hell were you going to waste such a good friendship, built on years of experience.

“Don’t torment her too much Sooyoung,” Irene comes with the tray of cakes, catching the both of your attention.

Joy grabs her favourite flavour as soon as the eldest female set the tray down and dug a fork into it. “Then tell her she needs to stop acting as if the world just ended.” She inhales the sugary piece. “Did you get the part-timer’s number yet?”

To this, Irene’s expression darkens but she sits down anyway and sips on her drink. “No. But we’re making progress.”

Joy’s definitely the brunt of the three because she’s off laughing her ass about how it’s been a month since and the so-called ‘goddess Bae Joohyun’ is failing terribly at courtship. 

“Good things take time,” you quoted, most probably somewhere off tumblr. 

“Yeah,” Irene exhales, playing around with her straw. “And like I said, we’re making progress.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the midget step like?” 

You elbowed Joy purposefully at this, giving her a dirty look to stop teasing Irene before the elder dropkicks the younger into the third dimension. 

“She gave me,” Irene’s long locks whip back to grab an object from her bag, pressing it dangerously close to Joy’s face, “this.”

Both you and Joy gave each other understanding glances, smiling at how simple it is to stroke the goddess’ ego once you’ve tamed her enough.

“A cookie,” Joy smiles rather sickly sweet. 

“Nice.”

———

You ended up parting from the duo to go home early, leaving them to do a bit of bar-hopping. It’ll most probably go on until early morning and you dread the hangover once you’re done— so you take a bit of responsibility for yourself and head home, just slightly tipsy.

The glass of wine you had after leaving the cafe, (where the love of Irene’s life awaits), along with the bar food paired perfectly with the night. 

Your little problem ended up back in the cupboard (as it has not been discussed since joy was sober enough— which was when you brought it up at the cafe) and you sigh as you watch people walk by, attempting to sort out your mind before you reach back home.

What the hell were you going to do about the dreaded awkwardness that’s going to surface in between the two of you?

Everything felt like a blur around you and as you enter the apartment complex and head up the elevator, your distressed exhales don’t stop. 

Even as you enter the pin to the apartment and undid your shoes, staring blankly at the carpet, the sighs won’t stop.

And even as you take a seat on the sofa and lay down horizontally,

it didn’t stop.

Your mind is packed full of your best friend. The guy whom you’ve known since like— forever. Sometimes it feels as if he was more than a friend, but not quite a lover in your eyes. 

What were you going to do about Kim Dong—

“(y/n)?” There’s a shuffle from the bedroom, and you halt in your tracks, knowing this voice anywhere.

So you sit up so quick that a headache strikes. Massaging your temples, you watch as the man in question, Kim Dongyoung, aka Doyoung, carefully approaches you from the door frame, dressed in a simple muscle tee and plain, black boxers. 

Your face is probably already red due to the alcohol— but you didn’t need him to know that he just escalated the symptoms. 

And honestly, 

you didn’t need a reminder of two yesterdays ago. 

Doyoung takes a seat next to you— but with a respectful space you don’t usually see because he enjoys squishing you to a corner usually and casually putting his arm around you. 

“Uhm, hi,” you offered, but your eyes are averted and somehow the amount of photos Doyoung has on his walls are fascinating to count.

Your best friend doesn’t quite talk for a few minutes, watching from the sidelines as he sees your eyes shake. He rubs at his nape, knowing that it’ll take time to coax you into engaging in a proper conversation with him. He knows what was wrong and honestly, he thought you’d need more time to come into terms with it than just a plain two days. 

But anything goes for him— albeit that you’re not really sober— judging from how red in the face you are. 

“Were you… drinking?” He starts, hoping that you’ll at least turn to look at him when answering this.

And to his pleasure, you did. 

Peeking over your shoulders, you gave him a timid nod. “Irene was having a hard time dating the part-timer I told you about a few weeks ago and Joy just wants a reason to not stay sober.” It was a habit for you to spill everything to him. It didn’t even pass your mind that you’re still overly cautious of what to say— but the report rolled out of your tongue like butter and you did it faster than your brain could register the comment. 

Doyoung shows you a rather grateful-looking smile, finally relaxing the muscles he’s been tensing since he heard you come through his door. 

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. “Why are you here?”

The male beside you stares at you with a raised brow— but then realised your semi-drunken state— and to this, he grins further. “I live here you trespasser,” he knocks your forehead lightly with his knuckles, watching as your eyes widen in realisation, a gasp to accompany your surprise.

“Oh, uhm, errr— I’m going!” You shot up, surprising Doyoung in return. 

Just as you were about to gather your beige tote bag, encasing your fingers along the the long straps, a hand reaches up to grab onto you, holding you back.

“It’s late,” Doyoung glances from the carpet and into the depth of your eyes. It feels rather peculiar looking at him from this perspective… it wasn’t quite platonic and you weren’t sure how to face him in the coming morning— at least when the alcohol wears off.

“I’ll take the couch, so go wash up and sleep here.” He says, though there’s a soft stutter in between each breaths. It wasn’t the almighty confident Kim Dongyoung you knew— and if things didn’t happen a few days ago— you were so sure you’d take this opportunity to tease him for a bit. His eyes cast themselves away once again, adjusting his voice a bit. “I won’t go into the room, I promise.”

This was so weird. 

Why are relationship always so complicated?

You sit back down, letting your bag fall onto the floor. “Doyoung,” you pause a bit, attempting to rearrange your thoughts. His grip on your wrist loosens until it dissapears and he bends slightly forward, elbows on top of his thighs. “We’ll… talk when I’m not intoxicated— but how long have we been friends for? I know you won’t do anything to me without consent… so let’s just do this normally.”

He’s very surprised at your revelation— eyes almost bulging out of it’s socket. “(y/n) aren’t you unco—”

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes. “I’m so sick of avoiding you okay.”

“I was sick of being avoided like a plague too you know,” he sounded more like the sassy best friend you know. Doyoung’s up before you when he takes your bag and extends a friendly hand. “And I missed you a lot too.”

It’s only been a mere two days and the both of you felt discouraged being separated. It wasn’t easy going from being two peas in a pod to a single person. 

Everything felt so lonely— especially as the both of you were currently single.

It’s only been a month since you were single— but that’s for another story to tell. 

Doyoung leads you to his bedroom, which you know by heart, considering how you found yourself in his apartment without realising anything…

It says a lot about how much time you spend in the comfort of his home. 

You take the cue to head to his bathroom to take a quick shower and wash off the sunscreen you had on, grabbing a fresh towel in the cupboards as per usual. 

Before you could strip down your clothes, you hear a soft knock on the bathroom door, and you know that your best friend’s back with pyjamas. 

“I got you the stripy long ones you left last time,” a hand reached out through the cracks as you opened the door for him, cackling as he turns his whole shoulders and face the other way, thinking that you might be somewhat exposed.

When he heard you laughing, Doyoung’s brows knitted together in question. “Are you going to drown in the sink? Just how drunk are you?” He figured that you were laughing out of alcohol— but you’re partly sober now and the sight of Doyoung being so courteous wasn’t rare— but it’s been a while since you saw it. 

(Like two days = a while.)

“I’m fine,” you retorted, grabbing the necessities he provided and closing the door to change and to brush your teeth before bed.

You came out feeling much more refreshed and was greeted by the sight of Doyoung finishing with changing his covers. 

“What’s the occasion…?” You look over his shoulder, stunning him. 

“Don’t creep on me like that,” he clutched onto his heart, eyes wide. 

There’s a beat of silence before he continued, “I just felt like it.” But oh boy, you knew something else was there. 

You try to analyse each and every one of his moves previously and matched it to his personality— which you know inside out and under. 

“Let me guess,” the corner of your lips started to hike under your assumptions, “you haven’t gone out of bed much for like two days?”

Doyoung rolls his eyes at this, (a signature of his), and you just smile. 

Bingo. 

“I went to work,” he finished up with dusting the covers one last time. “Obviously.”

“That’s so cute,” you giggle into your hands, and Doyoung’s ears redden at this— although you didn’t quite notice in your  semi-drunk state.

“Hurry up and sleep. Your boss might be nice but Taeyong’s going to scold me for letting you drink during a weekday.”

You climb into the covers after him, relishing the way that your legs glided in smoothly. There was nothing like a new change of bed covers after all. It felt like heaven. 

Like a habit, you throw one arm and leg over Doyoung’s stiffened form, the thought of that night slipping past your mind. Gone like the wind. 

Doyoung, who had his back towards you, gradually turn over under half your weight, raising a stern brow at you. “Are you forgetting something?”

Your eyes are closed at this point, mind slowly drifting into sleep. “What is it?”

“Your conscience,” Doyoung flicks a soft blow at your forehead. He takes a good look at your features, watching as you giggle snort in your sleep. What a weirdo. An adorable weirdo he has for a best friend. 

He tucks the loose strands off your face and behind your ear, heart melting at the way you snuggled into his touch. 

To him, 

you were making it very hard to stay as a friend.

———

In your opinion, mornings and hangovers don’t mix very well. Add drowsiness to the terrible headache and last night’s choice— it’s practically a stew for trouble.

From the moment you opened your eyes, a familiar yet an alarming environment greeted you. In shock, you scrambled up and was immediately hit by the devil of an ache. Your temples throb as you reached over at the bedside table and grabbed the cure and the glass of water next to it. 

There’s distinct sounds coming from outside and you sigh as you grabbed onto your face.

Hey, at least you weren’t naked this time around.

Dreading it, you got out of bed and tracked a slow trudge towards the kitchen, where the backside of your best friend greets you.

On the other hand, Doyoung exhales a large amount of air as he tries to put up the most casual demeanour he could muster at that point in time, noticing you creeping up from the bedroom.

“Morning (y/n),” he calls in a jolly manner, but the strain on his lips told you otherwise. 

“Oh, uh, hi Kim Dongyoung.”

Smooth.

Doyoung’s eyes judges you real hard, despite the smile that’s faltering to stay on. Even so, he gestures you to sit and hands you over a freshly cooked batch of your favourite blueberry pancakes. It has the right amount of honey and butter on top and of course Doyoung would never get it wrong. 

He sits opposite you and coughs into his palm to get your strayed attention.

“Should we talk this out like adults since we have,” he stops to check his watch, “exactly fifteen minutes before you need to get ready and I have to head out.”

You nod solemnly, poking around the pancakes you loved so much. If this was any other day, you would be scarfing down the whole plate like a dog— since Doyoung rarely makes them— claiming that they’re ‘unhealthy’. 

You guess that the plate was a consolation prize of some sort, glancing at Doyoung’s equally nerved features.

“I’m sorry I avoided you,” you opened up first, knowing that it was wrong of you to do it in the first place. 

It’s just— something like this would have never crossed your mind and you feared the aftermath of the whole event. 

“You’re forgiven,” he nods, licking his bottom lip cautiously. “I’m sorry for being irresponsible that night.”

So it was like that? Forgive and forget kind of scenario?

Your lips twist into bitter distaste as you poked around the blueberries on plate. On one hand, a part of you felt so relieved to be ending this forty-eight hour dilemma— but on the other hand, you’re quite disappointed that he’s writing it off like this. It was a hard feeling to digest. 

Doyoung raises a brow at your quiet demeanour. On any normal day, there was no way silence would weave in between the two of you— but recently, its been all there is. 

“(y/n) we’ve only got three minutes left of this conversation before you’re going to avoid me again for another few days.” Doyoung grits out, having enough of this damned silence.

You’re pouting when you glance up at him, as if you were a child being scolded by their mother. 

“What? Seriously, what do you want from me? I’m trying to tie this all up and go back to being the great friends we are.” He hissed, fingers gripping onto the handle of his mug. 

“What if I don’t want to be friends?!” You yelled, standing up from your seat. 

“Oh yeah?” Doyoung mimics your action, squaring his shoulders. “So you’re saying you want to be more?” He scoffs. “Sure, that’s totally reasonable after ghosting me for so long!”

“Shut up. Two days isn’t a long time! It’s a perfect length to rethink about possibly poor life decisions!”

“You!” He points an angry index finger at you. “Are you trying to sell me off as a bad decision! Is that what all of this is? Fuck, you’re so—“

“Don’t swear at me. You’re being a very bad adult Dongyoung.” You mocked, sidestepping out of your seat and standing a feet away from him.

Arguing like its raining cats and dogs with Doyoung was nothing new. You shouldn’t feel so exhilarated by the feeling but— you can’t help but feel the pressure of all this sexual tension in between the two of you. Now you wonder… has it always been there, pushed to a corner— or did you miraculously develop an obsession for him after a one night stand?

The stare-off between the two of you lasted for a good minute, leaving you with sixty seconds left to this doomsday countdown. 

Doyoung’s blatantly burning a hole on your lips, licking his own unconsciously. “So if I kiss you, what happens?”

“We stop being friends of course.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you fix up the crease on the collar of his work shirt. 

“Then,” he’s only mere seconds away from closing the distance between the two of you. “What would we be?”

Fluttering your lashes up at him, you could only smirk at the raise of his brows, unsure if he’s even breathing at this stage. 

“I don’t kno—“ Doyoung crashes his lips against yours, the sense of urgency bringing flashback to the fateful night. He wraps his arms around you, as if anxious that you would push him off again.

Closing your eyes, you savoured the aftertaste of coffee lingers in his mouth, whimpering as you slowly run out of air. Doyoung senses this, parting, wiping at the sides of his mouth using the back of his hands.

“Promise me you won’t run away again?” He brings up his pinkie, gesturing you to return the sentiment. 

Rolling your eyes, you grudgingly seal the deal. “No shit sherlock, why else would I kiss you back? You’re not a charity case.”

He clicks his tongue at that, shaking his head in a disapproving manner. “Don’t swear (y/n), you’re being a terrible adult.” 

“Haha, you’re so funny Dongyoung.” You mocked his tone.

“Oh yeah, you know what else is funny?” Doyoung closes the gap once more, a hand reaching out for behind you. 

You think he’s about to initiate another intimate moment, eyes blinking up at him and lips puckering. 

He chuckles at your actions, lips pressed against your ear. 

“That you’re late for work,” he yanks his bag from behind you, sending you a salute before heading out the door. 

You’re left as a frozen statue, attempting to process his words. 

In a split second, realisation and dread paints your face. You quickly rush to Doyoung’s bedroom, knowing you had a spare change of work clothes in there. 

Despite the saint Taeyong is, he’s unable to tolerate hangovers and tardiness at the same time— it has to be one or another— according to his rocket science. 

You curse Doyoung with all your heart for distracting you again. 

In your mind, a parrot with his voice mocks you. 

You’re being a terrible adult (y/n). Don’t swear (y/n).

[tttinytrash]

((Ok so in my head Blue is a reluctant pred. He likes it, but it takes a lot to make him not just feel overwhelmingly guilty about enjoying this even if it’s safe. So have some Swap Sans vore! I wanted to play more with the pred’s pov since my last couple were more prey focused. Also sorry for making it a not romantic thing but my ace butt prefers it that way. Friends should be able to cuddle friends, dammit! But I guess if you wanna you can squint and just assume Blue has a budding crush and/or is in denial of a crush. Regardless, enjoy!))

Sans was so pleased with his and his brother’s house on the Surface. It was about the size of their home back in Snowdin and even better, it came with a new friend! The little borrower in their walls, a female named Lark, had lived there before the two moved in and had been quickly sussed out between the skelebrothers. (Benefits of magic.) After some tension in the beginning, she was now almost part of family! She was certainly the best roommate Sans could have asked for. 

She loved hiding in Sans’ bandanna to go with him on his morning run, and was glad to help with cleaning the nooks and crannies Sans was unable to reach. But she also loved taking naps and staying up late with Papyrus, and finally gave the taller brother a run for his money in his video games (after Undyne made them a properly sized controller). Their interests were a harmonious blend between the brothers which meant she’d be equally likely to be found perched on the shoulder of either brother whenever she wasn’t taking time for herself in her holes in the walls. 

As for right now, she was laid on Papyrus’ sternum. Sans was slouched in the corner of the couch, and Papyrus pillowed his skull on a cushion laid in Sans’ lap. They were all watching a movie, and apparently all three had underestimated how gory the horror film would be. Papyrus was the least affected, but Sans was a wreck and the borrower was only mildly better. When Lark cracked and ducked to hide in Papyrus’ hoodie pocket Sans used it as an excuse to quit before the end. 

“THOSE HIGH RATINGS WERE SO MISLEADING, THAT WAS AWFUL!” Sans declared in disgust, relieved beyond words that the horrible movie was gone. (No. He was not suppressing the sounds of his bones rattling, thank you.)

“yeah, not my cup of tea either.” Papyrus then directed his attention to his pocket, patting it lightly and asking “you wanna stay in there, tiny tot?”

Sans didn’t hear it, but could tell the answer was an affirmative as Papyrus mounted the stairs. 

Sans finished putting the room back in order and trotted up after his brother, going into his own room to get ready for bed. It was pretty late after all, and he had to wake up bright and early to get a head start on his training!

Once he could no longer distract himself with bedtime prep and cleaning, however, Sans quickly found he couldn’t get the film out of his mind. It felt like the worst scenes were imprinted in the back of his eyelids. Ugh, he didn’t want to be alone.

To Paps’ room he went, relieved to see the light of his computer shining dimly from under the door. He wasn’t asleep then, yet. He reluctantly opened the door and froze at the sight before him. 

Papyrus was sat at his PC, still in his hoodie but he’d at least switched to PJ pants. This was normal, Papyrus did have a tendency to do most of his sleeping in the form of daytime naps rather than at night. No, what shocked Sans was seeing the borrower sized pair of legs hanging out of his brother’s mouth. He couldn’t help the horrified gasp when those legs disappeared with the quiet sound of a gulp.

The gasp obviously alerted Papyrus to Sans’ presence, and he greeted “hey bro. how long you been there?” He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, and Sans didn’t miss that he appeared to be swiping his thumb over his belly under the cover of the fabric.

“LONG ENOUGH! WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?!” Sans fully entered, obviously confused and flustered.

Papyrus shrugged. “they asked.”

“WHAT?!”

“they asked me to take em in, bro. they wanted to hide. what’s with you? you know this is safe, i used to take you in too.”

“YES, YOU’RE RIGHT. BUT I WAS A BABYBONES!”

Papyrus just looked at Sans, shrugging again. He turned back to his computer.

Sans left, movie forgotten completely. He was eventually able to fall asleep, but spent far longer than he’d admit thinking about it and feeling guilty about blowing up like that. He KNEW it was safe, like Paps had said. So why did it bug him so much? Sleep came before an answer, unfortunately.

------

Breakfast the next morning was something Sans wasn’t particularly looking forward to. He made an extra effort to make a lavish assortment of waffles, cut fruit, and even made pancakes with M&Ms tossed in the batter like he knew Papyrus liked.

Papyrus eventually came downstairs, Lark carried in his cupped hand. The smell of cooking food usually woke him up, and if the borrower had followed his sleep schedule she was ordinarily dragged along. They both perked up at seeing the spread before them, before the lanky brother seemed to catch on to his sibling’s bribery.

“apology breakfast, bro?”

Sans sighed and faced his brother, gloved hand wringing the hem of his apron, “YES. I OVERREACTED LAST NIGHT AND I AM VERY SORRY. WHAT FRIENDS OR DATEMATES DO BEHIND CLOSED DOORS IS THEIR BUSINESS.”

Both Papyrus and Lark laughed at that. Before Sans had the chance to be insulted Papyrus explained.

“bro, nah. w-we’re just buds.”

“Nothing there, Sans. Promise. Don’t tell me you’re getting jealous, now.” she added.

“I AM NOT!” Sans squeaked, blush tinging his cheekbones.

She was still laughing, giggling a little extra in fact as she teased “You wanna give it a go, there Sans?” Snicker, “Need tummy cuddles too?”

Sans felt his eyelights go out and the blue glow of a blush burning his whole skull. Amid the uproar of laughter, he swiped the plate he’d set out for himself (waffles with strawberries on top) and skittered retreated up to his room.

He heard their laughter, and will admit he felt relief when he heard his brother called up “sorry, bro. but now we’re even, yeah?”

However, that relief that his breakfast gesture had worked was completely overshadowed by shame. Oh gosh please no, that feeling can’t be right can it? She hadn’t meant it, but she was right.

Sans did want to try it.

Delta help him.

------

The thought had been creeping into his mind no matter how much he tried to sweep it under the rug throughout his whole morning jog. He even ran an extra mile, but couldn’t outrun the problem. She hadn’t come with him this morning, so he found her instead on the coffee table when he came back. Papyrus was up taking a nap apparently, snd she was playing a game on her own. 

“Hey Sans, wanna play? There’s a co-op mode!~” She called, having paused the game.

Ugh, he couldn’t stand to look at her now. His tongue had even manifested unbidden. “N-NO. SORRY. I’M SPARRING ALPHYS TODAY, AND I WOULDN’T WANT TO BE LATE!” 

She bought the lie, and he got out of the house with no issue.

...But he had no plans with Alphys, no errands to run, but also couldn’t go home.

Well crap.

He’d ended up at the Librarby. He ended up there a lot the past couple of days. He knew Papyrus and Lark were getting concerned, but didn’t know what else he could do. 

For now, he was home. When his brother was around he could forget the intrusive thoughts. Just being alone with her was the trouble. So he was happy to watch another movie, and this one was absolutely making up for the awful horror movie that had afflicted their last movie night.

Eventually, the singing humans finished the closing number, and the credits began to roll. So Sans cleaned up the room, and Papyrus trundled up the steps with the borrower cupped in his hands. Once he was done cleaning, Sans bounded up the steps himself and dipped into the bathroom to swap into his pajamas.

Lark was sitting on his pillow when he entered his room. 

Sans would deny the startled squeak that slipped out when he caught sight of her til he dusted, but she didn’t even look amused. That didn’t bode well.

“Sans, is there anything wrong?” she asked.

“WHAT? N-NO! WHAT MAKES YOU ASK THAT? I HAVE BEEN ACTING EXTREMELY NORMAL!” Sans lied. Poorly, he knew.

“Sans. We both know thats not true. Did I do something wrong? Because you’ve been avoiding me. Paps noticed, too.”

“YOU’VE DONE NOTHING, EVERYTHING IS FINE!”

“...is it about Papyrus taking me in?”

Sans couldn’t actually muster words, just feeling his magic heat his cheekbones uselessly.

She sighed. “If it really bothers you that bad, we’ll stop. It’s not worth losing a friend, ok?”

“N-no... that’s not it...” Sans had even lost his usual volume, which made her take notice.

“Then what, Sans? I’ve been wracking my brain for days.”

Sans finally sat on the end of the bed. “...It was taking in stuff... But I’m not upset about you two doing it. It’s what you said that morning.” Sans felt so vulnerable, but as she’d put it, this wasn’t worth losing a friend.

“What? About you wanting to too? Oh, I went too far teasing you didn’t I? I’m sorry, I’ll lay off-”

“You were right.”

She faltered. “What?”

“I can’t stop wondering what it’s like. I’ve never taken anyone in before, and you two so clearly enjoy it. But I would never want to make you, So I’ve been trying to avoid the issue. But I think I just ended up avoiding you. I’m sorry.”

She looked confused for a solid few seconds, then slumped and gave a comically loud sigh of relief, even punctuated with a breathy giggle. “That’s all?”

Sans was now even more uncomfortable. “Yes?”

“Dude, then take me in! I’m fine! If that’s all the issue is, that’s such an easy fix.” She even took the extra initiative to bound over the span of the bed, straight for the skeleton before her. She only stopped a few inches short when she realized he was recoiling.

“Oh. It’s an easy fix for me, not so much for you. Huh, bud?” She asked quietly.

Sans made an unhappy noise, and that was answer enough.

“Ok. If the problem is me not wanting to, that’s clearly not an issue. Is it nerves because you don’t know what to do? I can walk you through it. Really, Sans, I actively want to do this, because maybe it’ll help close the gap we made between us. If you really don’t want to, then that’s fine too but just know the reluctance isn’t on my end, ok? I love and trust you just as much as Papyrus. Promise.”

Sans forced himself to relax, and cycled a breath. Thinking about it, he had no reason to refuse. And honestly, he would be happy to put his self-quarantine to an end. So he nodded. “Ok, but only if you’re sure.”

“Yep!” They beamed up at him, reaching upwards in a clear request to be picked up.

He gently cupped his hands around them and lifted them off the mattress, up to his face. “Ok, what do I do?”

“Why don’t you open up? I’ll get in myself, just bring your hand close ok?”

Sans had to take a moment to breathe, but did open up his mouth. His tongue had manifested itself by this point, so that wasn’t an issue. But that also meant he felt and tasted their hands when they were set down. He was going cross eyed to watch her progress as much as the angle allowed, but she seemed to have no issue and slid in easily. He was surprised by the lack of friction, honestly.

She scooted a bit father forward, making him lose sight of her feet, and called “Alright, go ahead and close your mouth. Makes the next part easier.”

He did so slowly, and felt butterflies knowing what the “next part” was.

“Good, you’re doing fine. Now tilt your head back, just til I start to slide back. Once I hit the back you can swallow.”

Sans tipped his skull back ever so slowly, until he felt her weight shift backwards. Once she hit the opening of his throat he instinctively gulped, which caused him to jolt a bit in surprise. 

He felt the magical tubing thread along the front of his cervical vertebrae, felt the weight of her body tugging downwards, every little twitch of her tiny body. His fingers flew up to his neck, fingers ghosting over her form contained within himself, until he lost her progress under his clavicles.

It almost felt like his soul was gently bumped aside to allow her to pass through his chest, which left a calm fuzzy feeling. He felt a slight pressure at the top of his belly, then she spilled in fully. 

His soul fluttered like a caged bird, could she hear that? Feel it? He pulled the hem of his shirt up, making his magic transparent so he could check on her. 

“A-are you alright?” he asked, watching her reorient in the new space.

“Peachy! You did it, Sans.” She smiled up at him, utterly at ease.

Seeing that she hadn’t been harmed, his soul settled into a more typical rhythm. “I did, thank you for helping. Please let me know if you want out, alright?”

“Will do. Glad to see you’re calming down.”

“You could tell?”

“Can’t hide much from this perspective. I could hear how uneven your breathing was. Here, maybe this will help to wind down.”

What was she doing? Ooh, he loves the shocks he got when she moved. Her hands were on the floor now, she started to move her hands in circular patterns...? Oh.

Sans melted. That was such a nice feeling, who knew his belly was so sensitive? He dropped his shirt, letting his magic go opaque.

“That’s really nice, wowie. Is it ok if I move though?” He asked.

“Go for it. Lie down if you want.”

He did just that, getting under the covers. He felt her slide around, and once she seemed to resettle, she resumed her rubbing.

Sans purred, which she giggled at. He was feeling far too good to care, dignity be hanged. He laid a hand over where she rested, doing his best to run at where he thought her back was. He felt her lean into the indirect touch, which made him smile.

“Y’know, I can stay overnight if you want.” Lark piped up after a few minutes of silence (barring the happy skeleton sounds).

“I think I’d like that.” Sans replied, feeling pretty sleepy. “Are you sure you’ll be comfortable?”

“Oh yeah, no issue there. You guys are pretty cushy inside, despite the boney exterior.”

Sans chuckled at that. “Ah, good.”

She stopped rubbing (which he was a little sad about) and moved until he felt her weight go still by his spine. 

She fell asleep quickly, her weight going limp and heartbeat (which he could feel if he concentrated) slowed.

A very content skeleton followed his tiny friend into the land of nod not long after.

[something-tofightfor]

Too Late

Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader (Ink AU)

Word Count: 7403

Rating: R (language, aftermath of physical abuse of a female, talk of drug use)

Author’s Note: This is meant to be read after both Ink and Ransom. It’s kind of a filler piece, but it was necessary to getting to what I really wanted to get to: William getting put into his place. 

Summary: It’s been a little over two weeks since you were rescued from William. How’s you body healing? How’s your mind? ... How’s Logan handling it? 

He watched you as you slept in his bed, the golden rays of sunlight filtering in through the cracks in the blinds and illuminating your skin. She looks so much better. Your arm was out of the sling, but the other was still in a brace - less bulky than the first one, but designed to keep you from bending your elbow too far, too soon. You were on your back, head turned to the side so that your cheek was pressed against the pillow, and one hand was resting on your stomach over the sheets, fingers splayed. Logan knew that it was shielding the area that had been stapled and bandaged, though that wound, too was well on its way to being healed. So much better. 

 The sunburn had faded within a week, the gel that had been applied in the Mesa continually being used on your back, shoulders, arms and face in the days following your return to California. Sometimes you put it on yourself, but Logan was always quick to take over for the places you couldn’t reach, long fingers gently caressing the inked skin of your back and shoulders as you stood or sat in front of him, allowing him to touch you in the only way that was possible. He’d kissed you - plenty of times - but was always careful to keep both of you from getting carried away, holding your hands tightly in his so that he wasn’t more tempted than usual to touch you, always pulling away from you when he felt you leaning in or angling your head to kiss him more deeply or trying to pull your hands free. The disappointment in your eyes would have been mirrored in his own, but Logan was careful to hide that, too, not wanting you to feel worse about your situation than you already did. Soon. 

 He understood it - the guilt you were feeling for needing someone to rescue you, for everyone believing your story when no one had taken his seriously, for feeling like a burden to him, needing Logan to help you in the shower for the first week, and then continuing to need his help when it came time to do things like wash or brush your hair. But Logan never let you feel guilty for long, because he knew the impact of the emotion all too well, and knew how quickly it could consume you. He didn’t think that you’d follow his path down, and if you’d even hinted that that’s the way you were going, he would have intervened immediately. But Logan could see how hard you were fighting, how focused you were on getting through the pain and recovery with nothing stronger than the prescription Tylenol they’d given you, hiding the amount of pain that he knew you were really in. She’s not like me. 

 He also understood why you were fighting so hard to heal, and knew that that reason was why you were so willing to let him help you, to stay with him, even though it was embarrassing to need someone’s help as much as you needed his. But  I’d do anything for her, she has to know that. William had been flown home and was awaiting trial though it wouldn’t be a traditional courtroom case, but things couldn’t progress until you were strong enough to sit in on it and contribute your side of the story, which motivated you to focus on your recovery. 

 Logan had been with you when you deplaned in California, a car taking you to the Delos facility where you’d spoken to officials there, answering questions that hadn’t been answered at the Mesa, but since then, there’d been nothing, aside from a few meetings with your legal team to see how you were doing and to update you on their case status. You hadn’t left his house since you’d been back, and despite the circumstances, Logan was enjoying having you all to himself. Not for much longer. It’s almost time to…  He stood from the chair he was sitting in, stepping around the small desk and next to the bed, lowering himself and saying your name softly, one hand reaching out to cover yours. I don’t want to wake you, but I have to. “Hey.” 

 Your eyes opened, chest rising as you took a deep breath, and Logan felt himself smiling as you reached out for him, your fingers closing around his forearm, your own lips quirking up into a sleepy smile. “How long was I out for?” You swallowed, stretching and letting out a quiet hiss as the fingers beneath his tightened against your stomach. “Ribs still…shit.” You pushed yourself into a sitting position, hiding your wince with a yawn. “I didn’t mean to-”

 “You slept all day, pretty much.” He smiled at you, eyes moving over your face. “Must’ve needed it.” He heard you laugh, head moving up and down as you nodded. “You can go back to bed if you want, I just wanted to see if you wanted to…” He paused before squeezing your hand. “Juliet’s stopping over, and I didn’t know if you -”

 “Maybe, Logan.” He saw your eyes flash, heard you sigh. “I haven’t seen her in a couple days, it’s a lot to deal with. She…” You met his gaze, an apologetic look in your eyes. “I know why she’s acting the way she is, but I’ve already got one Delos taking care of me, I don’t need another one to hover.” No, you don’t. You yawned again, eyes closing, and Logan stayed quiet as you rolled your neck, a quiet ‘pop’ audible before you looked back at him. “I’m still so tired, Logan, I don’t want to -”

 “So.” He leaned in, one hand reaching up to push a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re tired because your immune system is shit right now.” He pressed his lips to your cheek, feeling you smile again before he pulled away. “The dehydration and sunburn did a lot of damage, and it’s going to take a while for you to feel better, even though the burn’s faded and other things are healing.” Logan waited, thinking. “But that’s where I come in. I’m makin’ sure that you’re eating and drinking what you need to, and that you’re not just sittin’ here without…” He felt his shoulders slump, remembering how quickly he’d lost weight, how weak he’d become, even after all of his visible injuries had faded. “Without a plan. You’ll feel much better soon, and I’m sure the doctor will tell you the same thing next time you see him.” 

 “I know, but I feel lazy, Logan, like I’m not doing anything but sleeping in your bed and laying on your couch and eating your food.” You turned your head to look out the window, lower lip drawn into your mouth. “It’s been two weeks, and I don’t… I should be…”

 “There’s no timeline for this.” He said your name again, one hand running through his hair, the other uselessly back on his lap. “You’ll get better when you get better, and if it takes a month, it takes a month. If it takes two, that’s what… that’s what’s going to happen. We - Delos can only do so much, the rest has to happen on its own. You’re doing everything you need to, and I promise you that once you get that brace off and can take a deep breath without feeling like someone’s punching you in the side, you’ll feel better.” You met his eyes again and he saw that you looked exhausted, the fatigue on your face unable to be concealed, even though he could tell you were trying. 

 “This isn’t me, Logan, I shouldn’t feel like this.” Don’t do this to yourself. 

 “I know. Believe me, I know, but you -”

 “I wish you didn’t.” You reached up with the arm in the brace, thumb stroking over his cheek. “I wish you hadn’t had to…”

 “No.” He leaned into your touch, feeling his lip curl as he spoke. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with this. I wish you didn’t know what it felt like to be…” He thought of the desert, the blinding sun, the burning sand beneath his feet. I should have taken him down before he did this to her. “But I need you to believe me when I tell you that I know what I’m talking about, and you will feel better soon.” Not soon enough. “I’m gonna make sure of it.” He kissed you then, leaning in to take your lower lip between his teeth briefly and applying a little more pressure than he had been, catching you by surprise. You reached out with both hands, one of them pressed against his chest, the other hand on his upper arm as he kissed you, his fingers tangling in your hair. You pulled back first, and Logan was relieved to feel you nodding as you laid your head against his shoulder, the weight of your body comforting against his. I’ve missed that. Missed her.

 “I know you will, Logan.” You sat up with him for a few minutes, the room silent aside from the sounds of your breathing, and then you spoke again, clearing your throat. “I think… I think I’m going to skip out on seeing Juliet tonight if that’s alright.” You pulled away from him, settling back against the headboard, one hand playing with the blankets on your lap. “I don’t… I don’t feel like trying to -”

 “That’s fine. I’ll just tell her you’re sleeping, I’m sure she won’t be here for long anyway, she’s gotta go home to Em, and… shes been trying to spend as much time with her as possible since …” He stopped speaking before he finished the sentence, not wanting to say William’s name in front of you. “Since she’s basically a single parent now.” 

 “It’s better that way,” you muttered before you widened your eyes and met Logan’s again, head moving back and forth quickly. “I didn’t mean that, I…” 

 “No, it’s true. Em’s better off without him and so’s Juliet. The whole world will be, actually, and when he’s …” Logan trailed off. Stop. She doesn’t need to hear this right now. “Doesn’t matter now. You don’t have to come down, it’s fine.” You relaxed against the wood behind you and Logan stood, looking back over his shoulder at you. “Think about what you want for dinner, and we’ll eat after she leaves.” Logan glanced down at his watch as you told him you would, feeling himself smile at the sound of your voice agreeing with him. She’s still got an appetite… that’s definitely different than me. 

 --- 

 They were sitting out on the back deck, Juliet’s long legs curled up under her body in the rapidly fading light, Logan’s stretched out in front of him as his eyes scanned the horizon. Juliet had been understanding of your absence though Logan also saw a look of disappointment cross her features, and after he’d poured two drinks, they’d made their way outside, sitting and talking about Emily for a few minutes before falling into a less than comfortable silence. What does she want to say? He studied his sister’s profile - curly brown hair loose around her face and blowing in the wind off of the ocean, one finger of the hand not holding her glass tracing the rim of it slowly, eyes downcast. “Juliet, what’s going on?” Logan couldn’t handle the silence anymore, and though his sister didn’t answer right away, Logan could tell by the way she reacted that he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. 

 “I just…” Juliet took a long drink, ice clinking against the side of the glass before she continued. “I can’t believe that this is…” She set the empty drink down, turning her upper body toward Logan. “It’s been two weeks, Logan, why isn’t she better… I need this to…” He felt himself stiffen, jaw clenching. What? “He’s just sitting in a cell, and she’s… are her burns all better? How’s her arm? Can… has she talked to…” 

 “What are you asking me, Juliet?” Logan sipped his drink, trying to collect himself without overreacting. “William is exactly where he should be for now, and she’s doing what she can to get into a position where she can testify, but it’s going to take some time, her arm’s still…” He paused, thinking. “You’re not saying you want him home, right? With you and Em, and -”

 “No, of course not, but he’d never… he’s never… he wouldn’t.” Logan laughed, eyes closing. He would. He did. Twice. “They won’t let me see the tape, or the Host files, or… they won’t let me talk to him, Logan. I just want to -”

 “Why? What could he possibly say that you’d want to hear, Juliet?” Logan felt the anger growing in his chest, filling it in a way that was similar to the feeling of hopelessness that he’d felt back after coming home from the hospital himself. Is that why you’ve tried to spend so much time with her? Why you’re so interested? “None of it would be true, it would all be more of the same, more of William trying to convince you that he couldn’t hurt anyone, that he… that it was just a narrative gone wrong.”

 “We’ve been married for years, Logan. He’s never hurt me, never hurt Emily, never even hinted that he could do anything like what he did to her.” Are you kidding me? Juliet shook her head, and Logan leaned in, seeing that she was holding back tears. “I know that he did this to her, but I don’t understand why, and I just want to understand, Logan. I need to know what made him -” Logan stood, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring down at Juliet, the look in his eyes hard. 

 “You know why he did this, Juliet. I tried to tell you when I… when he did the same goddamn thing to me, but you didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to believe me. You or Dad.” He laughed, the sound bitter. “You saw what he did to me, Juliet. Saw me when I came back from the park, when I was in the hospital, when I got home. You saw what he was capable of then, but it was easier for you to blow it off and take his word over mine. Why? What made it so easy for you to believe him, Juliet?” His voice was even but firm, and Logan began to pace, scratching the side of his head and then gesturing with two fingers, his eyes wide. “He fucking tried to kill me, left me to die in the desert because I killed a fucking Host, and you couldn’t -”

 “He was my fiance, Logan. I loved him, I wanted to b-” He felt something inside of him break, Logan whirling around and stopping in front of Juliet, both hands at his sides. 

 “I’m your brother. Your goddamn brother, and you would have rather believed him than me? Dad, I understand, but you?” He felt prickling in his eyes and rubbed at them with the back of one hand, willing himself not to cry. “I never understood it, you know that? Why William was there when I woke up, sitting next to my bed instead of you.” He watched Juliet straighten up, lips set in a thin line. “Why, after I lost my shit seeing him that day and the doctors had to sedate me again, you still didn’t believe me.” Logan swallowed hard, wrinkling his nose. “It’s been years, Juliet, since you watched me almost fucking die for the second and third and fourth times because I was so goddamn alone, and couldn’t handle living with myself because of what he did.” 

 “Logan, I didn’t… I don’t…” She gripped the arm of the chair she sat on, her eyes on his face. “You never…”

 “You didn’t think anything was off when I started using? When every single time you saw me I was out of my mind and on something? When I didn’t give a shit about Delos or what happened to me? You didn’t stop to think that maybe I was telling the truth - even just about one thing?” His voice rose, the words pouring out of him in a way that he didn’t understand - but didn’t try to stop. “When was I ever like that before, Juliet? Not even when Mom died, or, or when I lost that deal with the startup before Argos. None of it got to me, but one fucking trip into the desert with Billy was enough to -”

 “Logan, you sat in the sun for days.” She spoke quietly, her posture relaxing slightly. “We didn’t know what it had done to you, and when you came home, you were… different.” Juliet licked her lips, rubbing at her forehead with her fingertips. “I thought that keeping things as normal as possible would help you, that it would be what you wanted.” She stopped, letting out a small sigh, and it took Logan only half a second to respond, the tears finally falling. 

 “What I wanted? I wanted my sister. I wanted my father - wanted them to believe me when I …” He rubbed a hand over his face, his palm coming away wet. Fuck. “I wanted you away from William and William away from Delos, but you married him, Jules. You got pregnant, and everything changed. You didn’t believe me before, and then? God, there was no chance. I had no one.” 

 “You had me, Logan, you -” No. No, you don’t get to do this. 

 “He flaunted you, Jules. He’d… fuck, he made sure I saw the two of you together all the time, that when I was there he was all over you, but in his way, so that you didn’t suspect.” Logan sniffled, looking out over the yard and pausing. “I didn’t have you, because he had you, and he had you right where he wanted you. Especially after you got pregnant, and then… then after you had Em? I was down, Juliet. All the way. I saw what was left for me and Dad didn’t care and you didn’t care, and… and then I didn’t care anymore. What did it matter? No one believed me, all they saw was Logan the junkie, Logan the failure. William… William was… the solution to everything, even though he was really the cause of everything.” He took a breath, feeling his hands clench into fists at his sides. “When I woke up in that hospital the last time, and no one was there? It would have been easy to give up, and that’s what he wanted. Both of them, probably.” Logan paused. Should I say it? “Maybe even you, too. It would have been so much easier if I just… was gone, hmm? You wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore, wouldn’t have to wait for that next call, wouldn’t -”

 “How could you think that, Logan?” Her voice trembled and Juliet leaned forward, staring up at him. “You’re my -”

 “Don’t even give me that “you’re my brother” bullshit. That didn’t make you believe me before, what would have changed?” Logan laughed, rubbing both hands over his face, fingers dragging through his beard. “But I didn’t give up. I decided I needed to find proof.” He sat back down, elbows against his thigh as he leaned in. “Proof of what he did to me and how he hid it, proof of what he was capable of.” She gasped, but Logan was on a roll, continuing after pausing to take a breath. “And I finally found it, Juliet, and he must have known somehow, must have… figured out that he hadn’t hidden everything as well as he thought, because that’s why he did this to her. He thought she was helping me, thought she was -”

 “There’s no way that’s that’s the reason, Logan. He wouldn’t hurt -” 

 “It is the reason, Juliet.” What? 

 --- 

 Logan whipped his head toward the doorway, where you were standing, and you met his eyes briefly, taking the few steps across the patio to sit down next to the man before reaching out to take his hand. He’s right here. “That’s all he said to me - over and over, while we were in the desert. He wanted to know what I knew, what Logan had told me, what I was doing to help him.” You looked down at your joined hands, watching as Logan’s thumb moved over yours. “Why do you believe that he did this to me, Juliet, when you didn’t believe Logan? Because there’s two of us telling you that it’s what happened?” Your heart was pounding, but you knew that you needed to ask. You’d heard more of the conversation than you’d admit; their words carrying up and in through the open bedroom window, and after it became apparent that Juliet wasn’t going to budge, you’d climbed out of bed, painstakingly pulling on a t-shirt over your tank top and twisting your hair over one shoulder before heading downstairs. She needs to see me, she needs to hear this. 

 “I see you now, I saw you in the hospital, I heard it in Logan’s voice when he called and told me…” Juliet wiped beneath both eyes, staring at you without blinking. “I have no reason to doubt you.” 

 “You had no reason to doubt me either, Juliet.” Logan spoke quietly and in a tone that you’d never heard him use before. “I never lied - not to you, not to anyone, and when all I needed was someone to believe me? No one did.” 

 “Logan, I… you…” She stumbled over the words, sounding more and more unsure with each syllable. “How could I just…”

“Is that why you were so quick to take my side?” You reached up to touch the front of your shoulder through your shirt, fingers rubbing over the area that Logan had tattooed. I  trusted him. I still do. “Were you trying to make up for not believing Logan? You still didn’t want to think that your husband could do something like this, but…” Logan pulled his hand from yours, putting it against your back, up between your shoulders. “But the second time, there was no way to ignore it?” Logan said your name quietly, a warning in his tone, but you couldn’t stop yourself from saying one more thing, the words leaving your lips with a bite that you didn’t think you were capable of. “There’s no ignoring this. He did this to me just like he did this to Logan, and both times, he thought we’d die before anyone got to us to stop him... And he was OK with that.” 

 “He’s been under a lot of pressure at work lately, he must have just snap…” Juliet trailed off, looking down at her hands, where you saw that she was still wearing her wedding band, though the engagement ring was missing. Are you kidding me? “It could have been anyone, any one of Logan’s… you weren’t a target, it doesn’t make sense, he just…”

 “Jesus, Juliet, come on.” Logan’s hand slid down your back and then his arm wrapped around your waist, his fingers settling at your hip and tightening. “He told her - told me why he kidnapped her, just like he told me what he fucking wanted when he sent me off on that horse. There’s no question about it, he did this as a warning to me.” Anyone? She thinks it… “After I tried to tell you and Dad about what he did to me and neither of you gave a shit, I decided not to say anything until I knew I could prove it, and then… then she came along, and I couldn’t…” You thought back to the moments when Logan had been open with you, telling you in halting speech at first about what William had done and then opening up to you fully the night you’d both gotten tattooed, spilling the whole story. “She believed me, Juliet, believed that he did that to me, that there was a reason for how I acted, that  I wasn’t crazy, that… I had a reason to make the choices I did, and that every right to be focused on exposing him.” I did. 

 “Juliet, how many … people did Logan go to the park with between that first trip with W… with him and this last time with me?” Her eyes widened as she thought. “A lot, right? I don’t know how many, but it’s been a lot. I know that Logan likes to travel with someone, so…” You shrugged, wincing as you thought of Logan in the park with someone else, in the Mesa with someone else. They’re not important. Not anymore. “This wasn’t an accident. This wasn’t random. This was planned. He helped two men steal horses months ago. He knew what he was doing, and he was just waiting until I’d be there without Logan.” Saying it out loud made you feel sick to your stomach, but it was the truth and she needed to hear it. I’m done with this. “I understand wanting to believe in the man you love. I understand being in disbelief that he could do something like this to your brother, and I also get that Logan’s behavior following that trip made it even harder for you to understand.” 

 “It did. It does. But I… why you?” Juliet shook her head. “Even if you were helping Logan, what’s the motivation for my brother to spend days trying to find you? He wouldn’t want anything to happen to you because you’re close, but why not just call the recovery team and tell them to go to the location of the Hosts William was with? It would have gotten to you sooner, and…”

 “It was personal.” Logan pulled you closer, leaning over to kiss the side of your head briefly. “He was trying to scare me into stopping, wanted me to see what he’d done, what he could do, to know that I hadn’t been able to save her, to watch someone… someone that I love beg for their life.” Juliet’s eyes widened as Logan spoke, moving between both of you before they finally settled on your face, disbelief filling them. “Before it was about the company, about my reputation, because that’s what I cared about, but now? This time?” 

 “Someone you… Logan, are you…?” Her brow furrowed. “You love her? But she’s….” You stiffened, feeling Logan do the same next to you. I’m what? “I thought this was just fun for you, that she was a distraction, that…” Juliet covered her face with her hand, taking a deep breath. “You’ve never been serious about anyone before, Logan, and I saw you guys on the yacht over the summer, you wanted me to tell you what I… but I didn’t think…” Your opinion of Juliet was shifting by the moment, and though you understood that part of her reaction was grief, it still hurt that she was talking about you as if you weren’t in front of her - and like it was impossible for Logan to feel anything more than physical attraction for you. 

 “I do. And William is a lot of things, but he isn’t stupid, Juliet. He watched me - watched us, and he… he saw it, and he knew I’d do anything to find her, because I know when it’s not a game in there, Juliet. The Hosts can’t hurt people in there, but people?” Logan stood abruptly, reaching his hand out to you, which you took without hesitation. “It’s a different story, and William knew exactly what he was capable of and what he wanted to happen.” 

 “But that doesn’t make sense, how would he… even if you hadn’t gotten her out in time, Logan, what would William have… a body is…” Juliet’s resolve was dwindling by the second, and though you tried, you didn’t feel sorry for her. I don’t feel anything. “He wouldn’t have killed her, he couldn’t have -” Logan moved before you spoke, using the hand that wasn’t holding yours to lift the hem of your shirt, your arms hanging at your sides without moving. You need to see. 

 “Yeah, Juliet? This doesn’t look like “couldn’t” or “wouldn’t” to me.” The woman gasped at the sight of your still healing abdomen, the scar tissue red and raised, tender to the touch. “Just wait til you hear the audio from this, wait until you hear your husband taking all his shit out on her, someone who only made the mistake of trusting me.” Logan let go of your shirt, stepping toward his sister. “You feel guilty that you didn’t see it? I get that. You feel ashamed that you married him and had a kid with him? I get that, too. But it’s nothing, Juliet, to the way I feel knowing that I left her alone with him knowing what the fuck he was capable of.” You sucked in a breath, head moving back and forth. Oh, Logan, no. Stop. “I know you, Juliet, or at least I thought I did, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you felt so fucking bad about not believing me that you’re trying to make up for it now by believing that this happened, but it’s not going to work. It’s too late for me to just pretend that I’m alright with the way you acted, the fact that you didn’t even consider that I could be telling you the truth when I needed you to.” Logan whipped his head back and forth, breath leaving him in a huff. “You supporting her means a hell of a lot, but you’re still… you still don’t get it.” 

 “Logan.” You finally spoke again, reaching for his arm, your fingers closing around it. “Stop. She doesn’t… it’s not a big deal.” It is, but this isn’t helping anyone. You understood where he was coming from, how hurt he had to feel at the way Juliet was trying so hard to understand what had happened to you and why while still making excuses for William. She’s got to be in shock, that has to… 

 “It does matter.” Logan turned to face you, his back to Juliet and one hand rising to your face, the tips of his fingers tracing over the skin of your cheek. “Because you matter, and your life matters and not a single goddamn thing about this is fair, but -” He licked his lips, nose wrinkling. “Her tryin’ to say she’s concerned and then turning it around and sayng there’s things we don’t know when it’s pretty fuckin’ clear that we do? They don’t get to do this again. They did it to me, and they won’t do it to you.” Logan, I don’t… it’s going to … he isn’t going to get away with this. “You’ll see, Juliet.” Logan’s eyes closed before he turned back to his sister, taking two steps away from you and toward the other woman, the fingers of his right hand running through his hair again before his arm went back to his side. “You’ll know, and then maybe you’ll finally believe that everything he ever told you and did for you and promised you and Dad was a goddamn lie.” 

 Juliet held her ground, her eyes on her brother and the expression he wore. It was determined, but it was also filled with sadness, and you thought that the two had never looked more similar. “Logan, I …” She closed her eyes. “I didn’t know that you felt…” Her eyes moved to you briefly and you watched as they filled with regret. “I’ve been… it’s…” 

 “You should go, Juliet.” He spoke quietly, voice firm. “I appreciate you comin’ to check on her, but I think it’s time for you to leave.” Wordlessly, Juliet nodded and grabbed her purse, turning away without even saying goodbye and stepping toward the patio door. You heard it slide open, but neither you or Logan moved, the only sounds coming from the faint crashing of the waves against the shore until you heard Juliet take a deep breath. Here it comes. But there were no words, and a few seconds later, you heard the soft click of the door latching shut as she closed it, and then you and Logan were alone again, the man still a few feet in front of you. 

 You stayed still, unsure of what your next move would be, but when you saw Logan’s shoulders slump, the man turning and lowering himself back onto the couch he’d been sitting on previously, you followed him, leaving space between you. “Logan, are you -”

 “Just give me a minute.” Startled at the way he spoke to you, you went quiet, lowering your eyes to your hands, which were resting on your lap, fingers interlaced. I… he’s never… “Please.” The followup question lacked the strength of his initial request, but you nodded anyway, confused, thoughts returning to Juliet’s surprise at the way Logan had declared that he loved you and her unwillingness to believe that it was true. Why would he lie about it? What would he have to gain? You frowned, closing your eyes. Why is is so unbelievable that he could… “She still doesn’t believe me.” He sounded defeated and your attention was immediately drawn back to Logan’s face, though the man wasn’t looking at you. “He did the same goddamn thing, and this time there’s no doubt, and she …”

 “She loved him, Logan. She probably still does, at least partly.” You shrugged, reaching over and putting your hand on Logan’s back. “You can’t just turn something like that off, even when the other person does something like… like he did to me.” You winced at the words. And what he did to you, too. “And I’m pretty sure she believes you, especially now with my…” He turned his head to look at you, eyes locked with yours. “But that doesn’t mean that she… that she can understand how he can be so different than the man she married.”

 “You’re defendin’ her?” He narrowed his eyes at you, tongue moving over his lips. “After she -”

 “Logan, she understands that he’s dangerous, that she can’t try to bail him out so that he can come home. She’s… in denial.” You dropped your hand, letting it hit the cushions. “But she’s not stupid, she understands what this means.” You took a breath. “She’ll have to divorce him, and that’s going to look horrible, but she’s also going to have to explain to Emily that her dad’s not going to be around.” Logan’s eyes widened. “She has a lot to think about, Logan, and it goes way beyond what he did to me - and even what he did to you, because she’s… she’s thinking about herself, about how she didn’t see it, about how she ignored it, about… about how everything in her life is about to change.” He shifted on the seat next to you, never looking away from your face. 

 “I’ve never talked to her like that, not in… fuck, not ever.” Logan paused. “And I’ve never wanted to, not even when I was usin’, when she was takin Jim’s and William’s sides, when… but now she’s questioning you, and your injuries and the way I feel about you and -”

 “Logan, we’ve only been together for a few months, and it’s gotta be a shock for her - on top of everything else - to hear that her brother’s changed his mind about being with one person and one person only.” He finally smiled at that - it was barely a smirk but still there, and you took it as a sign. “Sometimes I st-”

 “You questionin’ me too?” He leaned in closer, hands moving from where they’d been to rest on your thighs, grip tightening as he spoke. “Why’s it so hard to believe that I…” You cut him off by leaning in to kiss him, fingers curling around the bottom edge of his t-shirt. Pulling away reluctantly to take a breath, you opened your eyes to look at him, speaking carefully. 

 “No. I’m not questioning you, especially not after the way you’ve been with me since we’ve been back in California.” He raised an eyebrow, waiting. “You wouldn’t be doing all of this for me and to help me if you didn’t care.” Chewing on your lower lip for a few seconds, you continued. “Guilt makes people do a lot of things, but Logan, this is way more than that, and I think… I think she knows that as well as I do, and it scares her.” 

 “I do feel guilty, though, because he shouldn’t have…. It shouldn’t have taken this to be able to …” He looked lost - just for a few seconds - and then recovered. “But you’re right, this isn’t about guilt, it’s about needing to make sure that you’re doin’ alright and that you recover from this without doing what I did.” He lifted one hand from your leg and let his fingers trail up your bare arm, resting his palm on your shoulder. “Because I love you, and don’t want you to think that I don’t.”  He sounded vulnerable, but you didn’t let him pause for long before you leaned in again, resting your head against his shoulder and ignoring the pain in your side. 

 “She isn’t going to handle hearing what he said or seeing those videos well, Logan. She’s going to… it’ll kill her.” He stayed quiet, shifting next to you and putting his arm around you as he turned to kiss the top of your head. “But as soon as she does, there won’t be any doubt, especially since him telling Tanner who I was and what to look for and when to ride in is all on there.” Logan agreed with you, humming quietly. “That’s why it’s so hard to be around her, because every time it’s like she’s waiting for me to tell her this is all a misunderstanding, that by some miracle he isn’t a… a monster, and I can’t do that. Even if he didn’t…” You ran your fingers over your abdomen, feeling the wound through your shirt. “Do this to us, it’d always be there, and he can’t… he doesn’t get Delos. He doesn’t get your sister, and he doesn’t get to pretend like he’s not doing anything wrong.” Logan’s body went rigid next to you as you said your next words. “Even if you and I weren’t together or you hadn’t told me how you felt? I’d still see this through.” 

 You knew that if those things hadn’t been true, the likelihood of William choosing you would have been slim to none, but the man hadn’t had confirmation that Logan loved you; he’d only seen you and Logan together a few times, only had an idea of what you meant to the man sitting next to you - so there was still a chance. “But we are together.” Logan tugged on your shoulder, pulling you upward into a sitting position and forcing you to meet his gaze. “And I… you know how I feel, so…” He glanced down. “So there’s no reason to think about anything else.” You’re right. “I’m sorry that you had to hear that conversation,” he continued, saying your name quietly. “It shoulda been between me an’ her, because you’ve gotta focus on what comes next.” 

 “Stop.” You stood, putting your hand on your hip and rolling your eyes. “I can do two things at once, and her seeing - and hearing - me say these things now might make what she hears later a little less difficult to listen to.” 

 “It won’t.” Logan stood too, smoothly moving to walk behind you, heading for the door. “Nothing’s gonna make that easier for her, but that’s not your problem.” He too paused in front of the glass door, looking back at you. “You don’t owe anyone a goddamn thing.” Deciding to lighten the mood, you followed the man back into his house, taking a seat at the bar that separated his kitchen and living room and watching as Logan stood in front of the fridge, looking through the contents. 

 “You’re wrong, Logan.” Waiting for him to turn, you leaned forward, bending your good elbow and resting your chin atop it. Head cocked to the side, he watched you, amused. “I owe you a couple things as soon as my ribs and arms feel better.” He laughed at that, and you watched as the look in his eyes shifted back into one that you hadn’t seen in weeks. He’s been so careful, but it’s… he still wants me. “I wish it could be right now.” Logan stepped away from the refrigerator, keeping the counter between you as he leaned in, reaching over to grip the side of your neck, thumb settling behind your ear. 

 “You have no idea,” he whispered, leaning in as far as he could to kiss you, lips lingering. “No idea how much I want that, too.” He traced his tongue along your lips without warning, causing you to part them, and before you could react, Logan was kissing you deeply, his long fingers holding onto the edge of the counter the only thing you saw before your eyes shut. When he finally pulled back, the groan leaving his lips identical to the one that escaped yours, you watched Logan swallow as he straightened up, running his fingers through his hair and eyeing you. “But we’re gonna wait til you’re better, because…” He pressed his lips together, resting his elbows back on the countertop and eyeing you from a safe distance. “Because I won’t hurt you… or even risk it just to get off. It’s not worth it.” He’s talking about himself, about when he…  

 Anyone that looked at Logan would be able to make a lot of assumptions about him - about his character and personality, about what he expected from life - and many of them would be right, you knew. But as the two of you eyed each other across the gleaming granite, you knew that even more of them would have been wrong. No, you won’t. No matter how much I’d beg, you wouldn’t. Not with me. “I know.” It was only two words, but you caught the relief in his eyes, realizing that he’d expected you to fight with him. “Because the sooner I’m better, Logan? The sooner we can put that piece of shit where he belongs for the rest of his life… and go back to living ours.” You weren’t sure exactly what that meant - at least in terms of being with Logan, but you knew that it meant no more careful touches, no more barriers between your bodies when you kissed - and no more hesitation. “As long as that’s what you want.” Adding in the final sentence made you wince inwardly, but Logan’s smile was reply enough, the man quickly making his way to your side of the counter and moving behind you. “Logan, wh-”

 “Shh.” He wrapped his arms around you - carefully - crossing them over your chest and pulling you back against him, his head dropping down so that his lips made contact with the side of your neck. “It is.” You brought a hand up, fingers squeezing his forearm tightly and then raised it more, curling your fingers around the back of his head and dragging them through his hair. He didn’t need to say anything else because the way he was holding you said it all, and so you relaxed into his body, letting go of the conversation that you’d had with Juliet and focusing on Logan. 

 “Good.” He hummed a reply, kissing his way slowly across your skin, and you took as deep a breath as you could, eyes flying open at the realization that there was very little pain associated with the action. Logan mumbled an inquiry at your sharp inhale, his beard scratching against your skin, but he didn’t pull away and you shook your head slowly, fingers still moving lazily against his scalp. “Nothin’ Logan. Just starting to feel better, that’s all.” I’m going to be fine, and William’s finally going to get what he deserves. 

---

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[yourdeepestfathoms]

Forever a Family

Heavy angst

TW: Death, suicidal thoughts

———————

When Joan got the phone call at rehearsals, she didn’t really know how to react.

“Miss Joan Meutas, I am sorry to inform you that Bessie, Maria, and Maggie have passed in an accident.”

“...Oh, that’s terrible.”

Then she hung up and went back to practicing Get Down on her keyboard.

People handle the news of loss in different ways. Joan’s was immediate denial. If she didn’t stay on the line, if she didn’t hear anymore information, then it wouldn’t be true. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

There was a gentle touch on her shoulder and she looked up to see Jane staring down at her with worried eyes. She hadn’t even realized she was crying.

“Is everything okay, love?” Jane asked.

“They’re dead,” Joan whispered.

After that, Joan was sent into a spiral. She still didn’t really believe the news until the bodies were brought back to London and she saw for herself that her bandmates, her family, were really gone.

Maria died instantly upon impact with the truck that hit the car. The airbag broke her neck when it blew out, at least giving her a painless death. Bessie, who had been driving, got impaled straight through the stomach by a sheet of metal. She didn’t last long, but Maria was still alive when the ambulance showed up. Unfortunately, she would later die from severe head trauma on the way to the hospital.

The sight of their bodies never left Joan, even though that evening had been a blur. She remembered collapsing and throwing up, nearly choking because she was sobbing at the same time. Then she remembered jumping up and trying to grab them, trying to hug them or take their hands or rouse them, but she couldn’t get near.

That’s when it really hit home.

Joan was all alone.

Going home to an empty house that evening was...surreal. Joan looked through the dining room, the kitchen, the living room in sheer desperation, praying to see the other three waiting for her.

But they weren’t there.

They would never be there ever again.

Joan slept in Maria’s room that night. She curled up under the blankets, clutching her stuffed lamb close to her chest. All at once, the grief and pain and loneliness hit her and she began to scream and wail. She cried until her voice blew out and she could only mewl and whimper uselessly.

She didn’t fall asleep. She blacked out from exhaustion, crying as she fell unconscious.

—

The house was silent when Joan woke up. She rolled out of bed and trudged downstairs to find the ground floor empty.

That’s right...

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to cry again as she padded across the hardwood floor to get to the kitchen. She took her medicine, but didn’t get any breakfast. Even if she was hungry, she didn’t want to eat.

While walking to the couch, Joan heard meowing coming from the upstairs hallway. She crept up the steps to see Tippy-Toes meowing at Maggie’s bedroom door. She could only watching for a moment as he pawed and scratched, waiting for the woman to open up so he could play with the strings on her guitar. They liked making music together.

But it would never happen again.

“She’s gone, Tippy.” Joan said quietly, moving fully into the hallway.

The black and white cat looked at her before meowing again, scratching further at the door.

“Tippy,” Joan spoke again, “Tippy, stop. She’s gone. Maggie’s gone. Didn’t you hear me?”

Tippy-Toes doesn’t listen. Maybe he doesn’t even understand. Maybe he does and is denying it just as much as the guitarist.

“Stop, Tippy!” Joan cried, tears exploding from her eyes. “She’s dead, Tippy! Maggie is dead! Maggie is dead and she’s never coming back!!”

The girl’s knees buckled and she collapsed to the floor. A fresh wave of tears hit her and she sobbed loudly as Tippy-Toes’ meows pitch higher and higher. She cried with him until their wails turned into a full on death rattle that could probably be heard all throughout the neighborhood. The pain just grew and grew as the cacophony continued.

Tippy-Toes stops, eventually, but Joan doesn’t. He doesn’t understand as well as she does, but he knows something is wrong. He trots over to the girl and lays down next to her head, purring into her hair.

Together, they lie there, unraveling through the grief and misery.

———

It’s been a week since the deaths and Joan hasn’t come to any rehearsals or any shows. Most of the production team understands, but even they lose their patience for a girl suffering from loss after awhile. Some of them have considered her getting fired, which makes the queens angry if they overhear the plans.

The queens are the only ones who really care. They hurt from the deaths, too. Especially Aragon, who mourned her dear friend for awhile, but knew she had to stay strong for Maria. Anne, too. Cleves struggles with the loss of her girlfriend, but tried to act like she was okay.

Joan, however, couldn’t do it.

By the eighth day, the six queens decided the girl has had enough space and went to visit her. The door was unlocked when they got there- not exactly a good sign.

“Joan?” Jane called out into the dark house.

“Hey, Joan, it’s us!” Anne said next.

“We brought food!” Katherine added.

No answer.

The queens were half expecting the house to be a total mess, but it was actually very tidy. Nothing was broken or out of place. It was just very quiet and none of the lights were on, so dull grey light from outside was the only thing illuminating the rooms. Tippy-Toes, among many other cats, was asleep on the couch.

“Joan?” Jane tried again.

“Is she even here?” Cleves wondered out loud.

“Let’s look for her.” Aragon decided.

Cleves was the one who eventually found the girl. She was in Bessie’s room, huddled in between her many bass stands, just staring at one of the legs of the bed. She didn’t even raise her head when Cleves entered the room. It’s almost like she was...dead.

Six people surrounding the poor girl was way too many, so only Aragon, Parr, and Jane stayed inside while the others were sent out into the hallway.

“Joan?” Aragon called out, “Are you okay?”

Of course she wasn’t okay; what kind of question is that? She didn’t even look okay.

Joan was wearing plain black shorts and an oversized T-shirt (it was Maria’s). Her hair was a complete mess, tangled and matted, her eyes were bloodshot, and all the color was leached from her face. Her arms were littered with picked open scabs. She looked more dead than alive at this point.

“Joan?” Parr tried, hoping to rouse the music director. “Kid? It’s Cathy. Jane and Catherine are here with me, too. The others are out in the hall. Can you say something?”

Joan didn’t even budge. The only thing that was moving was the slight rise and fall of her chest when she breathed, but even that was hard to notice. Her being completely unresponsive made the three queens in the room with her even more scared.

Did she even realize they were there?

“Joan,” Parr extended a hand and set it on the girl’s shoulder. “Joan. Come on, hun. Say something.”

If Joan even felt the touch, she didn’t react to it. Parr drew her hand back to her side and looked at Jane and Aragon with a terrified expression.

“Darling,” Jane tried. “We-”

She stopped because she noticed Joan eyes snap over to her immediately. The rest of the girl’s body didn’t move at all, but her just looking at them was a good start. Jane smiled softly.

“Hello there, darling.” She said warmly.

Slight light returned to Joan eyes. She raised her head a little, staring intently at Jane.

“Bessie?” She called out in a weak, but hopeful voice.

Jane’s smile disappeared. She frowned pitifully.

“No, love. It’s Jane.”

All at once, Joan mood dropped. She curled further away and buried her face back into her knees.

“Bessie,” She whimpered, “Mum...”

Jane’s heart aches for the poor girl in front of her. Watching her silently cry for her other mother figure broke her even more.

The third queen slowly inched closer until she could squeeze Joan’s shoulder comfortingly. At that simple touch, the girl completely collapses into Jane’s arms, shuddering and shivering. Jane immediately pulls her into her lap and holds her protectively.

“I’m here, darling, I’m here.” She whispered in her ear.

Joan thin body was soon wracked with sobs. She clung to Jane for dear life, burying her face into her chest and just trying to imagine it was Bessie holding her, shushing her, telling her it was okay.

But it wasn’t.

It wasn’t okay and it wasn’t Bessie.

A wail of pure agony and grief ripped free from Joan’s throat. Her nails dig deep into Jane’s back, drawing blood, but the queen can’t care. It’s impossible to care when she was holding this poor, broken girl in her arms.

Joan cried herself out eventually. When she does, she blacks out from exhaustion.

She hopes she never wakes up.

———

Stepping into the theater didn’t feel right the next day. Not without Maria or Maggie or Bessie. This place felt so alien. Being there was wrong.

But Joan pushed forward with whatever courage and strength she could manage. She ignored the whispers, the stares, the coos of pity, and strides towards her dressing room. She passed the stage manager, who watched her hike up the stairs with an expression that was a mix of agitation and relief. Although she didn’t look back to make sure.

Whatever strength she had melted away when she stepped into the dressing room. Gazing around the space made her think back to all the things she and the other three ladies in waiting did together. All the fun conversations and dorky antics.

All the things that would never return.

“Joan?”

There’s a gentle touch on Joan shoulder and she whirled around to see Parr and Aragon standing there.

“Good to see you here, love,” Aragon said with a soft smile. Her eyes are still flickering with deep sadness for her dear friend, but she’s finding closure.

Joan wished she could do the same.

“Hi,” Joan whispered and her voice is so soft and weak. “It’s, umm...” She dips her head and hunches her shoulders in.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Parr said. “Don’t speak if you don’t want to. You’re still shaken up. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Joan nodded, feeling guilty. She shouldn’t be acting like this when Aragon and Anne and Cleves were probably closer to the other ladies in waiting. What gave her the right to think she deserved such a long break?

Without realizing it, Joan is stepping forward and hugging Aragon. The queen doesn’t even hesitate to hug her back, holding her tightly in her warm, strong arms.

“I miss her, too.” Aragon whispered, unintentionally fueling Joan’s guilt. “But Maria would want us to be strong for her. She’s watching over us now, you know?”

“Can you...talk to her?” Joan asked softly, almost sounding like a small child asking a silly question.

Aragon is quiet for a moment, tightens the embrace, then pulls Joan back by the shoulders so she can look into her eyes.

“Not really.” She said, “But I pray to her every night and I just know she’s listening.”

“Can I do that, too?”

“Of course.” Aragon smiled slightly, “I’m sure she would love that. They all would.”

Aragon and Parr had to leave to the stage to get ready for the show, and Joan dreaded having to play without her bandmates.

She wept during the first introduction.

She wept during Heart of Stone.

She wept during the intro in the MegaSix.

What if they hate her now in the realms beyond?

That thought hit Joan like a sledgehammer near the end of the show, causing her to falter with her playing.

What if they curse her name?

She doubted they would, they were too kind for that.

They had given her everything and in return she had let her guard down for the last and final time. She should have gone to that meeting. She should have died, not them.

After the queens exited and the deps for the band, now the all-star cast members, started to walk off, too, Joan stayed rooted on her stool. Some audience members stared at her, raising their phones to see if there was an extra act.

She brought a hand to her gut, closed her eyes, and imagined what it would be like to find absolution in a blade. Plunge and drag and drag and drag until there was nothing left of her but shredded flesh and blood, but that would not be enough, not for her. It would not give her jet family back. It would not give her the shouts and the laughs and the boisterous cries at all hours of the morning and night. That was not what her family would have done if it had been her that had been broken in that car.

But she wasn’t strong as them.

Because at least they would have had each other.

She had none of them.

Joan didn’t really how loud she was crying until her shaking breath hitched so high it sounded like a squeak. She blinked through the haze of tears and scrubbed her eyes with her sleeve. Several audience members are still lingering in the house, watching her, so she dashed off and gathered her things, not bothering to change out of her costume. Jane called after her, but she didn’t answer.

Joan walks those streets, shocked by how the world keeps running and running while hers had stopped its run not so long ago.

She walks and walks, slower and slower as she is about to reach her destination: she doesn’t want to be there alone, she doesn’t want to accept that it happened, and that there is no one waking her up and telling her that it’s all a nightmare. But she’s there and, for a moment, her breath gets caught in the throat, a bundle of emotions that are finally finding their strength to come up and be heard.

She doesn’t want to be there.

The autumn leaves are dancing around her, a warm breeze is trying to offer a comfort that it seems to be invisible and unpalpable. There can’t be comfort. There can’t be reassurance. The pain is still too loud, the wound is still too raw: her heart and her soul aren’t ready to accept that there is a reason for what has happened; her mind is still trying to distinguish between reality and fantasy, between the soothing effect of a false illusion and the harsh truth of a world deprived by its most beautiful voices.

“Why?” She wonders but there is only silence replying her and that lack of words is an absence that stings more than she can accept.

“Why?”

She has wondered for too long but still nothing has come up and maybe it will never be answered because sometimes life is like that, a storm in the middle of a summer day and its lingering residues following her for weeks and months. Maybe one day she’ll stop asking herself that but, for now, it’s just all she can think about, over and over again.

It doesn’t make sense.

Nothing makes sense and it has been like that since she got that call, just a few words that had stumbled down her life and shattered it. She can still hear them in her ears, she can still feel the way her own heart had stopped beating as a black void had started to envelope her. She still feels like she’s down there, trapped in a nightmare that no one knows how to stop or break.

It doesn’t make sense.

There is regret in her steps. There is a baggage full of words that should have been said and things that she should have done. Maybe, if she had done them, nothing would ever happen.

Joan wishes she could go back in time. She wishes there was a way for her to erase all those tiny mistakes she’s made, all those times she wanted to reach out but, instead, turned her head away because it still hurt. Her friendship, her family was- is still- the most important thing and, yet, she let it slip away in fear of what the world would have said. Her image is everything and, yet, what is left now? There’s no image to defend, there’s nothing left because their death has destroyed everything.

So she wishes. She wonders and wishes that there was a way for her to save just a few lives.

Their lives.

There are still tears in her eyes. She wants to believe it’s because of the cold and the wind but it’s just a useless alibi. She lets them fall, not ashamed anymore because there is no one around to watch her. But she feels like a hypocrite, she feels like she doesn’t have the right to cry that loss because she could have done so much to prevent their absence.

To prevent their death.

She knows it’s the truth, no matter how many times people keep telling her that she’s done nothing to cause the happening. She knows it’s the truth, no matter how many people try to explain how, sometimes, she can’t save everyone. That bad things just happen to good people.

“I’m sorry.”

She knows it’s too late.

She knows that it’s useless because they’re not there to hear that word.

Maybe they’re listening, like Aragon had said. Maybe they’ve been watching her down from heaven, because that’s where they are now, those tortured souls hidden behind a smile and an endless laugh. She remembered it. She remembered Maria’s sweet voice, how it always went directly to her heart and pulled strings that never hurt. She remembers how Bessie’s face would lighten up, bright eyes that shone like daily stars. She remembered how Maggie’s laugh made her feel better, especially those days when the world was so set in destroying her balance and sanity. Sne was addicted to their laugh, their smiles, their voices. She craved them in ways that were so deep and powerful that, after a while, she stopped asking herself what magic they held. She turned to them, she made them laugh over and over because she was selfish, she was in pain and only that laugh, that smile, that voice could save her from the deepest and darkest waves.

Regrets don’t leave Joan, not even now that she’s standing in front of the consequences of her ignorance. It’s her fault. She kept telling herself as if this admission could absolve her sin. It’s her fault because she promised but it was always so easy to forget about it: there wasn’t never the need to- she has always been the one that needed help the most. She has always been the one fate had chosen to deal bad cards: her past, her family, those accusations and those stupid decisions.

And, God, they were always there when those were brought up from her first life. Bessie’s comforting words, Maria’s gentle touch, Maggie’s light hearted jokes to make her smile. The way they would come out and defend her, even when it meant to be the target of hateful attacks. The way they would just…be there in ways that were difficult to explain to the world that had never seen them in private.

Why didn’t Joan do the same for them?

Why didn’t Joan come out and defend Maria when all those voices wanted a piece of her soul? Why didn’t Joan come out and be there for Maggie, not only when those cracks in her voice were so out for everyone to hear and judge? Why didn’t Joan let Bessie know that those voices weren’t true?

Why didn’t Joan let them know that they were the purest souls she’s ever met?

“I’m sorry.”

Joan was sorry. She could have done more. She could have told them more. She could have spent more time with them instead of burying herself in work and sometimes not even speaking a word to them for a day. She could have said “I love you” more.

She should have known better.

Joan should have known better, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to face the truth. She didn’t want to realize that her superheroes might be needing a hero themselves and she was too afraid or too busy to be up to the task.

She depended on them and now she’s lost.

Alone.

Joan hears a whimper and realizes it’s herself. She hiccuped and struggled to breathe for a moment. She unlocks her phone as she fishes her keys out of her pocket.

It’s too late, but she remembers a picture she once took of them all. Maggie asked her to send it to her, but she never did.

The Unholy Trinity...and Bessie

Joey: Here’s that picture.

After a moment of loading, a selfie of Joan, Maria, Bessie, and Maggie pops up. Maria, beaming, has her arm slung around Joan’s shoulder, who was holding the phone and sticking her tongue out like a cat, and Maggie is at her side, grinning. Bessie was flashing bisexual peace signs beside Maria, smiling lovingly because of the deep affection she had for her girls.

Joey: I hope you guys like it.

Joey: Don’t worry about replying.

[caelenath]

Sweet Child of Thine - chapter 2

Chapter 2 of my pre-canon PRSPD story is up! Cross-posted AO3, FFnet, and caelenath.com.

Length: 1605 words Warnings: concerns child abduction Summary: Jay and Madelaine struggle through their first night with Sky still missing.  

2. zero night

Two PD officers were at the house when Jay arrived. One prowled around the perimeter while the other sat inside with Madelaine. As soon as Jay walked in, Madelaine jumped up and rushed straight into his arms.

"Gene has the entire force on alert," she said, cleaving to him as tightly as he held her. "And he's stopping by later unless we give him a good enough reason not to."

Jay wasn’t inclined to give him one. New Tech City's police chief was a good friend of the family and Jay wanted the chance to thank him personally for throwing the full weight of the department into the search. "All of SPD's on alert too."

"Is there someone trying to get back at you? Someone who might be involved in this?"

"No," he reassured her quickly. "At least, no one we know of. I promise I don't have any mortal enemies I'm hiding." He gave his wife another squeeze, then asked, "Can you show me what happened?"

Madelaine spared a look for the officer still sitting at the table, who said it was fine and busied himself with his notes, before taking Jay's hand firmly in hers and leading him up the stairs to Sky's room. She stopped in the doorway, however, as if she were afraid to go in.

"We got home from his swim class around three and I put him down pretty much right away because he was tired. Of course he fought it for a while before finally knocking out. Around five-thirty, I pulled out a snack for him, then started making dinner, figuring he would be up any minute and hungry. When I didn't hear a peep, I came up to check on him and he wasn’t here.  I looked in all the rooms, then in all the closets, thinking maybe he was hiding even though he's never done that before. I started getting scared when I realized I didn't hear any sound at all, no muffled scrapes or giggles, not even him breathing. That's when I really started turning everything over. I even looked in the laundry hampers and the washing machine. Both the front and back doors were locked, but even if he'd gotten outside, he wouldn't just run off."

Madelaine pressed a fist to her mouth as if trying to stop the rush of words, and Jay rubbed her shoulder soothingly. He looked around the room, trying to spot anything that seemed out of place even as he wondered at the same time whether he'd be able to tell if something was. He generally took for granted that anything in a three-year-old's room wouldn't be in the same place twice.

Against the far wall, in direct view of the door, was Sky's toddler bed with the solar system-print bedclothes he loved. Extra pillows and blankets were piled on the floor beside it because despite the railing guarding two-thirds of its length, Sky still somehow managed to roll out of bed sometimes when he slept.

"Did you move Sky's blankets?" Jay asked.

"No." Madelaine quickly glanced at the bed, then back at him worriedly. "Did I miss something?"

He wasn't sure. Keeping hold of his wife's hand like she'd done earlier, he went for a closer look. The space-themed blanket, covered with the same smiling planets and suns as the bedsheets, was spread over the lower half of the mattress as if there were still a child there to keep warm. Normally it got kicked into the corner or onto the floor not long after Sky fell asleep.

It really did seem like his son had simply vanished into thin air, and the thought sent an icy chill down Jay's spine.

* * *

The boy was clearly capable of communicating, but he had an utterly unique language filled with muddled or nonsensical words that Mirloc could not comprehend. The child nearly soiled himself before he figured out "potty" was a word for eliminating waste. During that harrowing endeavor to the washroom, Mirloc made an interesting discovery—a thin belt around the boy's middle that he had initially dismissed as part of his clothing. On closer inspection, he realized it was a shielding device, a sophisticated one that was light and sturdy but seemingly inactive. The fastening mechanism, in contrast, was a simple one that even an idiot—or a child—could unlock. What good was such a thing if it could be so easily removed?

"Boy." Mirloc gestured at the belt. "Why do you have this?"

The child looked confused. "I have to. When I sleeping."

"Why?"

"So I safe."

"Safe from what?"

"Falling things."

Mirloc wondered if this was another one of the child's lingual eccentricities. "What sorts of things?" The boy shrugged as if such details were unimportant. "If you do not tell me, you cannot go home."

Blue eyes widened and that little bow mouth quivered as the boy spoke. "Things in my room." He could not pronounce the letter 'r' properly.

The look on his face was as much fear as it was a plea, and Mirloc reconsidered his earlier thought. Perhaps this was not a lingual eccentricity, but a deficiency. The child was afraid because he did not know how to answer.

"Why do they fall?" Mirloc asked more patiently.

The boy held up an arm and Mirloc was startled when a rippling blue energy field sprang to life from his fist to his elbow. Immediately the device around the boy's waist activated and the field dispersed as quickly as it had appeared.

The shielding device was not for keeping things out, the mercenary realized. It was meant to keep something in.

When he first agreed to this job, he had only a name and an assurance from his old acquaintance that it would be short work, a quick nab and dash that should be no trouble for a creature with his peculiar talent. Then he discovered the name belonged to a very small boy whose father was a Ranger, and Mirloc figured the motive must have had something to do with that. It was dishonorable work at best, cowardice at worst, to exact one's grievances using a baby instead of facing the aggrieving party directly.

Now, however, he wasn't so sure the boy's father had anything to do with it at all. 

* * *

Jay awoke in the middle of the night alone. He and Madelaine had eventually drifted off separately on the couch after puttering around downstairs uselessly, too afraid to go to bed because then morning would come too soon. They couldn't bring themselves to concede the end of the day with their son still missing, but exhaustion set in and did it for them anyway.

What Jay had really wanted to do was hit the streets, follow every possible lead no matter how tenuous, and if those were lacking, he would physically comb the city, block by block, inch by inch, as many times as it took to bring Sky home. Neither plan was even remotely practical, but at least he would be doing something. The longer he sat here idle, the more suffocating the walls of his own house felt.

But he'd stayed because leaving Madelaine alone right now would have been horribly selfish. Plus, the other Rangers had already set up a 24-hour rotation in which two of them would be actively working on the search at any given time. Nate and Carmen had the current shift, and the morning one had been reserved for Jay because Nate knew that was the only thing he'd be doing come daybreak anyway.

Nate hadn't mentioned Cruger at all, which Jay took to mean the commander hadn't exactly approved of this diversion of the Rangers, but even if he'd explicitly forbade it, Jay knew his team would not have done anything less. For the ten thousandth time, he felt more grateful than he could ever say for whatever forces had brought his team together.

Jay staggered wearily off the couch and went in search of his wife. He found her in Sky's room, asleep beside the little bed, her head pillowed on the mattress and Sky's blanket gathered to her face. Despite how uncomfortable she looked, he hesitated to disturb her. This might be the only respite she'd had in hours, and the only peace she would know until their son was found.

He crept quietly across the room, thinking he might just lay down on the floor beside her, but when he knelt, he discovered she wasn't as asleep as he'd supposed. Her eyes opened and looked at him, red-rimmed and tired.

"He's never been away from us at night before," she murmured, as much to the blanket as to him. "Not once since he was born. Every time I looked, he was right here where he belonged. He was supposed to be safe here." She gripped the blanket harder. "What child isn't safe in their own bed?"

Jay reached for her hand and wrapped his fingers around hers to ease their wringing.

"I'm going out there," he said, which he honestly hadn't planned, but now seemed inevitable. Maybe he didn't know where Sky was, but their house was the one place his son definitely was not, and so he didn't belong there either. Wherever he went in the night, he would be closer to Sky no matter what.

Madelaine nodded and sat up. She pulled him closer, slid her fingers into his hair, and kissed him hard. She always thought Sky looked just like him even though their son had yet to grow out of his baby blondness.

"I know," she whispered.

[darylwillfightnatureforcarol]

Imprisoned Chapter 12

Description: Originally intended this to be the last chapter, but I'm planning an epilogue. It will be set a year after the events of the story.

Imprisoned

Their ride was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. They were both exhausted by the events of the night. Every so often Carol would look at him to smile sleepily. She was going to crash hard as soon as she got a pillow under her. He only hoped the revelations she had made to him won’t have changed in the morning. She seemed to be sure that wouldn’t be the case, so he had no option other than to believe her.

They didn’t encounter any walkers along their way, thankfully. They could have handled them, but they were both too tired to have to deal with the dead.

Upon their arrival to Alexandria, they were quickly allowed entry. They rode in, parking the horses just inside the gates. A stable hand came to fetch them, and Daryl thanked him before returning to Carol’s side.

She stood looking anxious with her bag slung over her shoulder. She was looking around wildly, taking in all the changes that had been made over the years.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked her in concern.

She gave him a weak smile and shifted her weight on the spot.

“I’m okay, just been a while, you know?”

Daryl nodded in understanding. She hadn’t been back to Alexandria since she had run away six years ago.

“Come on,” he said with a nod of his head.

She fell into step with him, still glancing around every so often.

“You guys have done a lot,” she commented as they came to a stop outside of a house. Namely, the house he shared with Michonne, Judith, and RJ.

He paused to look around himself, unable to view the place with the same wonder she was. He had lived here too long. He shrugged.

“We all did our part.”

Carol nodded and looked at the house they stood in front of.

“Is this your place?” she asked uncertainly.

“Yeah, I guess. Been staying here. It’s really Michonne’s place and Judith and RJ’s,” Daryl explained, while chewing his lip. He didn’t really think of the place as his home. It was just where he slept right now. He had learned many times that homes could be lost as quick as they were found. Better not to get attached to a place.

Carol followed him up the stairs and in the front door. He didn’t hear any sign of life so everyone must be in bed already. Not a strange thing considering how late it was.

Daryl paused at the stairs. One set ascended and one descended to his little basement room.

“Uh, there’s a spare room up there. Don’t know if the bed’s made up or anything, but there’s probably some blankets in there you could use.”

Carol frowned as he rambled.

“Where do you sleep?” she questioned with tired eyes.

“Uh, downstairs in the basement,” Daryl answered stupidly with a furrowed brow.

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother for you or anything, but I was hoping…” Carol trailed off, wringing her hands.

“What do you want?” he asked, cutting off her tirade.

“Can I stay with you?” she asked in a small voice. She looked like she was bracing herself for rejection.

“’Course. Come on,” he answered, feeling his face grow warm.

They headed downstairs and came to the simple door of his room. He opened it and indicated with his head for her to go ahead.

He jumped when he heard Carol makes a noise like a squeak. He followed into the room, looking for the sign of her distress. He relaxed immediately, seeing Dog jumping all over her, trying to lick her face. To her credit, she was laughing and petting the exuberant dog’s head and ears.

“C’mon, get off of her,” he commanded the mutt, wrapping his arms under Dog’s legs and pulling him away from Carol. Dog whimpered but pulled away from him to settle on the couch.

“He’s okay. He’s just excited,” Carol defended as she smiled fondly at Dog, who was panting happily.

Daryl just grunted in response, moving to the table to ditch his bow. He had left it on the cart at the Ball, with reluctance.

“This is nice. Very you,” Carol teased with a smirk as she looked around his small room.

He scoffed at her and pulled the jacket, that Aaron had made him wear, off. He tossed it on the back of the couch carelessly.

“Well, there’s the bed. Make yourself at home. I’m going to shower,” Daryl said to her, pointing out the unused bed on the opposite side of the room. He preferred the couch. It was easier to get up and go at short notice.

“Need some company?” she teased with a raised eyebrow.

Daryl’s face blushed red as it always did when she teased him. He huffed at her and shook his head.

“Stop!” he protested with a groan.

This set her off into her usual giggles.

He grabbed up a change of clothes and disappeared into his tiny bathroom.

--

He had showered longer than normal, enjoying the hot water soothing his tired muscles. Trying not to think about the woman who would be sharing his room. That was a normal thing. Trying not to think about Carol while he was in the shower. He found it disrespectful to her to think of her in such a way, but he could guiltily admit that he had slipped a few times. Every time had left him feeling a deep shame.

He was extra gleeful to rid himself of the uncomfortable clothes Aaron had forced on him. He tossed them to the floor of the bathroom, uncaring what happened to them. Aaron would be too hungover to give a shit in the morning anyway.

He donned a pair of sweatpants and a sleeveless t shirt. He didn’t wear these often. He mostly would sleep in his clothes, so he was prepared in case he needed to leave quickly. Tonight, he caved and decided to relax a little. Carol was here and everything felt right in the world, at least for now.

He re-entered his room, seeking her out with his eyes. He smiled as he saw her curled in a little ball on the bed. At first glance he figured she must have fallen asleep, but as he took more steps into the room, she sat up a little to look at him. She grinned at him as she looked him up and down. He blushed for what must be the millionth time tonight.

“Wow, and here I thought the shower was your sworn enemy,” she quipped.

“Shut up,” he muttered shyly as he shuffled over to the bed to sit on the edge. He looked at her and she had resettled down on the bed, looking at him from her place on the pillow. She smiled again.

“You look cute like this. Fresh out of the shower.”

“Stop,” he scoffed his usual response to her teasing.

“I mean it,” she reaffirmed with a softer look in her eyes. He didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. He just looked down, feeling his face burn.

He heard her yawn and he smirked as he turned to look at her again. She tried to cover it up uselessly. She gave him a sheepish look.

“Think it’s time for bed for you,” Daryl mused as he watched as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

“Not tired,” she tried to say but it was ruined by another yawn. She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, maybe a little tired.”

Daryl snorted at her childishness.

“Get some sleep. We can talk in the morning,” Daryl said, and he stood, ready to leave to head to the couch. Her hand on his arm stopped him.

“Where are you going?” she asked with a pout. Daryl stared blankly for a beat before recovering.

“To sleep on the couch.”

Carol frowned and tugged him forward. He stumbled a little, in his tiredness, catching himself with his hands in the edge of the bed.

“Stay with me?” she begged in a small voice. She hadn’t relinquished his hand and she had begun tracing patterns over it.

What else could he say?

“Alright,” he agreed, and she released his hand so he could get into the bed on the other side. His heart was thudding loudly in his ears and he felt stupid for being so nervous. They were only going to sleep. It wasn’t the first time he had slept beside Carol. But those other times, they had been surrounded by other members of their group. This was the first time where it was just them.

Daryl lay on his back, looking at the ceiling. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her for some reason. He figured it was the nerves that were going haywire inside of him. He felt and heard the blankets ruffle as she moved closer.

“Daryl,” her voice came from close to his face. He turned his head and there she was, almost nose to nose with him.

“Yeah?” he prompted, looking into her eyes. Hers flickered up and down a few times and after a minute he realised, with a shock, that she was looking at his mouth.

“Will you kiss me?” she asked in a child-like voice, full of vulnerability. Daryl swallowed heavy, feeling like his heart had leapt up into his throat to choke him.

“You sure you want that?” he couldn’t help asking. He kept expecting her to tell him that all her earlier confessions were blown out of proportion and she didn’t really want him. She licked her lips, once again looking between his own lips and his eyes.

“Yeah, I really do,” she said in a firm voice, looking completely sound of mind, despite her intoxication.

Daryl tried swallowing again and found he didn’t choke like he expected. He wet his lips, feeling himself shake. He looked down at her lips, noting how soft they looked. He closed the minute distance between them and brought their lips together gently.

It was barely a brush, but she sighed with a tiny smile. He pulled back a little to look at her, wanting to see her eyes, to know he hadn’t fucked it up. She looked happy, that was a good sign. Her hand came forward and brushed the damp hair from his forehead. She leaned in and kissed him this time, firmer in her touch. She coaxed his lips open with her own and brushed her tongue against his. He groaned deep in his throat and immediately felt embarrassed for the unwanted sound.

As much as he wanted her to never stop kissing him, he knew he needed to stop this. He pulled back reluctantly, hearing her sigh with disappointment. He gave her an apologetic smile.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know, you want to make sure I mean it,” Carol said with an understanding, but sad smile. “Just know that you better make it up to me when I feel exactly the same in the morning.”

She said the last with a sing song in her voice and Daryl chuckled at her.

“Yeah, sure. We’ll see.”

Carol yawned again and snuggled down into her pillow, facing him.

“Goodnight,” she mumbled, her eyes struggling to stay open. Daryl smiled at her.

“G’night.”

--

When Daryl opened his eyes groggily, taking in the bright sun that seeped through the curtains, he frowned. Why was he in the bed? He never slept in the bed. He started to sit up but quickly stopped.

There was a weight on his chest, holding him down. He looked down and saw the top of a head of silver. He sucked in a breath. Carol was laying on him! When did this happen?

Daryl lay stiffly, not wanting to wake her. For one thing she needed the rest, but also, he had no idea what to say to her. For all he knew, her confessions from the night before could have been nothing but an alcohol fuelled misunderstanding. That would tear him apart.

Maybe it would be better if he escaped now while she was asleep. That would give him time to think and her time to come to terms with her regrets of what happened. There was no way she could have really meant to kiss him.

He started to shift out from under her, trying not to jostle her as much as possible. He froze when she groaned and curled further into his chest. He held his breath, hoping she was just adjusting her position in her sleep.

“Daryl?” he heard a sleepy voice call. He winced. Of course, she was awake.

“Yeah?” he responded gruffly, feeling his nerves building up inside him.

“Do you have any painkillers?” she groaned, and he couldn’t help the laugh that burst from him. Her words succeeded in breaking through the tension he felt.

“Gonna have to let me up,” Daryl told her with humour in his voice.

“Mm, no, I like you being here,” she protested, and he felt her soft hair brush the underneath of his chin.

“Well, I can’t get ‘em with my mind.”

Carol sighed and then rolled aside. He immediately missed the weight of her on top of him. He pulled back the covers and started to get up, but he was held up by her hand on his wrist. He looked at her in question.

“Make sure you hurry back,” she ordered with a little smirk. She released him, and he was thankful for the moment to breathe.

As he took the steps required to reach the table where most of his stuff sat, he thought on her behaviour this morning. So far, it seemed like nothing had changed. She was still acting like she had before they had gone to sleep. Did that mean it wasn’t all due to the alcohol? He retrieved a bottle of aspirin and then grabbed a glass and headed to the bathroom to fill it up.

He moved quickly back to the bed and handed her the bottle and glass of water. She smiled as she took them from him, proceeding to open the bottle and shake out two pills. She swallowed them and chased them down with the water.

“Thank you.”

Daryl just nodded in response and sat on the edge of the bed. He couldn’t look at her again. He was waiting for her to say it. Waiting for her to tell him to forget about everything that had happened last night. That it was a mistake.

“Daryl,” she said in a coaxing voice. He steeled himself and turned to face her. She was giving him a little smile with an unreadable look in her eyes.

“I think you owe me something…” she trailed off, her smile widening.

Daryl frowned at her, not getting what she was talking about at first. Then it clicked. She had made a bargain with him that if she felt the same in the morning, he owed her a kiss.

“You really mean it? All of it?” he couldn’t help asking. Her expression softened and her smile was more sincere.

“I really mean it. I want you.”

Daryl had no idea where it came from, but suddenly there was no space between them, and he was kissing her with everything he had. He didn’t know if he made the move or she did, but he didn’t care right now. All he cared about was feeling her lips against his own and feeling her respond to his kisses with as much fervour and desperation.

[sweet-steddie]

All Wrong (g.d. & e.d.)

Requested: No ma’am!

Summary: Angst, believe it or not! Visiting the Dolans’ house after you get off early from work puts you all in an awkward situation.

A/N: I haven’t written angst for any fandom in a long ass time, so I’m definitely rusty! If you didn’t want angst from me, no worries. I have plenty of other fluffy requests just waiting to be filled and posted for you all to see! On another note, I’m still stunned every single day to see people reading and reblogging my work. I love you guys, wow!! Hope this one is just as fun as the other ones. Enjoy!

2k+

My tires come to a near screeching halt as I hastily pull into the lot in front of Ethan and Grayson’s house. I put the car in park and quickly do away with my seat belt, grabbing all of my essentials that are within reach and all but throwing myself from the car and shutting the driver’s side door with my hip. I can only hope that the boys are home as I approach their front door.

I had texted them about an hour ago, asking if they were down to hang out. Surprisingly, I hadn’t gotten a response from either of them. But, I chalked that up to them maybe filming for a video. Seeing their cars in the driveway now more or less confirms that theory. I had figured that if I showed up anyways and happened to arrive while they were shooting, I’d just chill out until they were done. Keeping this in mind, I knock lightly on the front door, careful to keep my noise to a minimum.

I wait for a few long seconds, tapping my foot somewhat impatiently. It occurs to me suddenly that there’s a spare key under the doormat and I don’t wait much longer before I’m bending over to retrieve it. I allow a few seconds more of a grace period before I jam the key into the lock, twisting it with practiced ease and shoving the door open. I tiptoe in and quietly withdraw the key from the door, pushing it to a gentle close behind me before walking a few strides to the living room and setting down all of the junk that I brought from the car on the nearest surface.

“Grayson?” I call out, shrugging off my jacket and letting it blanket my belongings on the couch. A few seconds pass with no response, save for the sound of music playing in the distance. It seems to be coming from the direction of the bedrooms. I roll my eyes, kicking off my shoes.

“E?” I try instead, once again, to no avail. I exhale through my nose, following the the music to its source, which appears to be Grayson’s room. I hum along to the music as I get closer to his door, tapping my fingers rhythmically onto my thigh before lightly twisting the doorknob and pushing the door open ahead of me.

“Hi - “ I begin, only to stop abruptly in my tracks, the air whooshing out of my lungs and my mouth hanging open around unspoken words. My greeting falls on deaf ears. Four pairs of deaf ears, to be exact. The scene unfolding before me includes a naked Grayson, nether regions obscured by the girl that’s fully sheathed on his length. Her features are impossible for me to decipher in my haze; all I can see is that she has long, honey blonde hair that’s messy from clearly strenuous activity. She’s laying on her back, taking every punishing stroke that Grayson delivers into her. He’s glistening with sweat, hard pecs prominent under the sticky sheen. His stomach visibly flexes with each roll of his hips.

Next to them is an equally naked Ethan, except he’s sitting with his back resting against the headboard, a brunette girl grinding sensually on his lap. Her palms are resting on the wall behind the bed and I vaguely register Ethan’s large hands cradling her, running up and down her back. Now that the door is open, I can clearly hear the sounds of grunting and groaning and moaning and creaking bed springs over the music that I heard from the living room.

“Oh!” I exclaim reflexively, still unable to look away. It’s like watching a train wreck. And speaking of train wrecks, I’m pretty sure that something equally destructive is happening in the depths of my stomach. It’s like two holes open up, one in my chest and one in my gut, as I watch my boys fuck into the nameless girls. At the sound of my exclamation, all movement comes to a halt. Grayson makes eye contact with me first. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Shit! I didn’t know you were,” he trails off uselessly, gaping repeatedly like a fish out of water, “when did you get here?” he settles on instead. I find myself physically unable to answer and, as we continue our intense eye contact, it dawns on me that I should probably look away or something out of courtesy. I decide to slap a hand over my eyes. There’s silence for a considerable length of time, the previously drowned-out music now the only noise consuming the five of us.

“Fuck, I thought you had work until 8,” comes Ethan’s familiar voice after a moment, tinged with shock and maybe a little bit of panic. My throat feels too dry to even produce much sound at the moment, but I give it a shot nonetheless.

“I got off early,” I respond meekly, realizing much too late that my choice of words is more than ironic in the current situation.

“Who is she?” I hear a female voice chime in this time and I almost visibly startle, suddenly remembering that the boys and I aren’t the only people in the room.

“Is she gonna join us?” the other girl asks and, by this time, I’m absolutely numb. Before the questions can advance, I interject.

“I’ll see myself out, I just. Sorry. Shit, sorry. I’ll just be,” I gesture behind me, not even sure with my temporary lack of sight if I’m motioning in the correct direction, “I’ll go.” I finally splutter out before removing my hand from my eyes, but keeping them closed as I grab wildly for the doorknob and pull the door shut with a resounding click. Once I open my eyes back up, I hastily spin on my heel and move as fast as my bare feet can carry me back to the living room, gathering my things back up just as quickly as I’d set them down when I arrived.

The sound of Grayson’s bedroom door reopening gets drowned out in my near-frantic haste to slip my shoes back on and force my arms back into the jacket that I’d previously shrugged off. I scan the couch for anything I might have missed, eyes too glazed over at this point to truly register my surroundings. I’m so hyper focused on making my escape that I jump at feeling a hand on my shoulder. I plaster on what I hope to be a look of nonchalance before I turn to face two anxious looking twins, both donning nothing but boxers and guilty frowns. Before anything can be said, I watch the blonde and brunette girls sweep through the area, now redressed, looking disheveled and more than a little disgruntled.

They waltz past Ethan and Grayson without so much as a word, implying that they must have been asked to leave, mid-fuck. The front door slams behind them and then, silence. No more music, no more creaking bed springs, no more nothing. I allow my eyes to journey around the room that I’ve seen a million times, scanning over the details as if it’s my first time visiting. Try as I might, I just can’t seem to face the boys; not right now.

“Please say something,” comes Grayson’s voice lowly after several wordless seconds. And that’s when I feel the telltale pinch behind my eyes. The stinging that follows is accompanied by a flood of tears welling up above my lash line. I bite the inside of my top lip hard enough to leave a harsh indent and leave my eyes watering from physical pain, instead. I clear my throat to no avail, cheeks still warm as my first tear spills. I swipe it away without a second thought, focusing intently on my shoes.

“Babe,” Ethan starts, beginning to walk towards me, but I put a hand up and he stops in his tracks. I take a deep breath in and look up at the boys with already bloodshot eyes. Up close like this, I can see Ethan’s neck and collarbones marred with love bites. Grayson appears to have a particularly prominent mark on his chest. I laugh humorlessly; nothing about this situation is funny.

“Why am I crying?” I ask rhetorically and, as expected, neither boy answers. They seem to be having trouble maintaining eye contact with me now. “You guys can fuck whoever you want, date whoever you want. I’m jealous for no goddamn reason.” I feel myself slowly getting worked up again.

“It’s not fair for me to be acting like this,” I continue, talking to myself more than anyone else at this moment. No one seems to know what else to say, so we stand in tense silence for a moment. I clap my hands together, gaining the boys’ eye contact for the first time since I began my outer monologue. “Well if that’s all,” I begin, leaning down briefly to pick up my keys, “I’m gonna head out.”

“You aren’t staying?” Grayson asks in the smallest voice I’ve ever heard issued from his mouth. His disheveled hair is a nasty reminder of what I walked in on and my momentary inclination to give in is gone without a trace.

“No, I’m not staying,” I declare, feeling so many emotions that I barely feel anything at all. That’s the last thing that’s spoken before I shuffle toward the front door. “I’ll put your spare key back,” I say without turning around, pulling the door closed in my wake and flipping up the doormat with my foot, dropping the key lazily onto the ground before kicking the mat back into place.

I unlock my car and get back in. The turnaround time between me leaving the car and coming back is so short that the car hasn’t even begun to heat up in the sun yet. I jam my keys into the ignition and start the car up, taking one more deep breath before the tears begin to finally fall at their own will. The strong front that I’d almost totally maintained while inside the boys’ house is a mystery to me, considering that I felt like I was deteriorating from the inside out ever since I set foot into Grayson’s room.

A few shaky, uneven breaths escape me as I peel out of the lot, making a beeline for my own apartment several miles away from here. I don’t bother to wipe my tears as they cascade continuously down my cheeks, knowing that there’s no use. My chest feels tight, a contrast against the empty feeling that had swept through it minutes earlier. When I reach a stoplight, I’m able to glance at the way my hand is fisted so tightly around the steering wheel that it’s beginning to cramp.

I reflect on my misery, justifiable or not. Grayson and Ethan don’t belong to me. They’re their own people and I feel like an idiot, assuming that they would remain celibate until I finally decided to partake in sexual activity with them. I realize that, over the time that I grew as close to them as I am now, I had internally concluded that their only means of pleasure were self-inflicted. The silly little make out sessions that I’d indulged in with the both of them were meaningless.

A part of me had always convinced myself that their kisses and lingering touches and pet names meant something. I had found solace in being their plaything and the title had never felt more fitting than now. I’ve always considered myself to be special in their lives. And maybe I am, in a way. But it was made abundantly clear today that, romantically speaking, I didn’t have a horse in the race.

I subconsciously complete all the right turns and stops until I’m rolling into the parking garage designated for my apartment building. As I swing into a parking spot and stop the car, I come to another crushing realization: neither Grayson nor Ethan has reached out since I left. The silence that they had maintained when I walked out of their house had translated to their lack of text messages or missed calls. Before they have a chance to prove me wrong, I power my phone off and throw it onto my passenger seat as if it had singed my hand. One recurring theme clouds my mind as I stare out of my window:  I was wrong about them. I was wrong about us. I was wrong.

[lexinthelibraryofdreams]

Home

Imagine:  -

Words:  4273

A/N: At some point I really didn’t know where I was going with this and some ideas came to me while I was writing, so some parts might be a mess. I also wanted this out last week but it got longer than anticipated, so... yeah

Warnings:  Spoilers for Jurassic World – Fallen Kingdom, if you haven’t seen it

You watched as Owen worked on the house, a cup of tea between your hands. Sitting on the bed of your truck, you let your legs dangle off the edge. “You should take a break,” you called out when he climbed down the ladder to get another board. He flashed you a grin. “If I take as many breaks as you do, this will never get finished,” he replied but walked over to you, taking his own cup and sitting down next to you. You leaned against him and propped your head up against his shoulder. He pressed a kiss into your hair before taking a sip of his coffee. “See? It’s nice,” you said and smiled. He hummed quietly in agreement and put an arm around your shoulders. 

The sound of a car approaching caught both of your attention and you turned towards your visitor. You recognized the woman a second after he did. Claire Dearing, former Manager of Jurassic World and Owen ex. You looked up at him with a questioning look but he seemed just as clueless as you were. “Wait here, alright? I’m going to ask what she wants,” he said and you nodded, pulling your legs up onto the truck bed and leaning against the side of it. 

You watched him as he talked to her. She looked concerned. Of course she was, you had seen the government’s decision regarding the dinosaurs on the Isla Nublar on TV this morning. Owen had been quite tense since then, only relaxing when the work started to clear his head. You understood, not only had it been an important part in his life but Blue was still there. One day, you had watched the videos and seen the pictures, finally seeing a glimpse of how important especially Blue had been to him. 

Now he was walking back to you, his brows furrowed and you slid to the ground, putting down your cup. “What’s wrong?” you asked softly and he sighed. “Claire wants to talk to me over a drink. Something about the island. It seems serious,” he replied and you nodded slightly. “Okay. I’ll clean up a little around here and wait for you home.” His eyes scanned your face, eyes unreadable. You gave him a smile and pressed a kiss on his cheek. “I know the two of you have a history but at least listen to what she has to say and then decide what you’re going to do,” you said and his face softened. With a mumbled “Thanks” and a peck on the lips, he joins Claire in the car and you watch them leave. 

You are sitting on the couch, watching TV, when you hear the door getting unlocked. Shortly after, arms snake around you from behind and you lean back with a smile on your face. “Hey,” he mumbled into your neck and you put your hands on his. “Hey,” you replied and then waited for him to sit down next to you. “Well?” you asked, “What was this about?” He sighed quietly and leaned against the armrest, pulling you down to lay your head in his lap. He was combing through your hair with his fingers for a moment before he spoke up.

“Apparently she has found someone who wants to found a mission to save several species from the Isla Nublar,” he explained and your eyebrows went up in surprise. “They need me to get to Blue. They want to bring all the dinosaurs they can save to another, private island.” You looked up at him and saw that he was fighting with himself. “I assume you’re going,” you stated after a moment. His eyes stopped drifting through the room and landed on your face, expression pained. “I don’t know, honestly. It almost sounds too good to be true. And I mean, maybe it is better that way? You know, since they are supposed to be extinct,” he said. 

One thing was sure, he didn’t really believe that. You reached up to caress his cheek. “Listen, Owen, I can’t take that decision from you. How about you sleep on it for the night and decide tomorrow?” He nodded slightly and leaned into your touch. You then sat up and stretched. “I’ll go to bed. You should get some rest as well,” you said and squeezed his hand gently before walking towards the bedroom.

You woke up in the middle of the night and rolled onto your back. Normally, you would just go back to sleep but you didn’t feel any weight beside you and when you reached out, you felt smooth and cold sheets. Flicking on the light on your nightstand, you looked at the empty side of the bed with half-closed eyes before sitting up and pushing your legs off the bed. On your way out you grabbed your fluffy bathrobe from the open bathroom door and pulled it on. Just like you imagined, you found him on the balcony. Your eyes flicked towards the kitchen clock.

2:34am.

Pulling the robe closer around you, you stepped up to the door frame. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep?” He looked up at you, cheeks and nose slightly reddened by the wind and chilly air. His hair was a mess, as if he’d tried to sleep. You waited for him to make some space on the bench, then sat down and pulled your legs up onto the seat. “What’s wrong, Owen?” you asked and took his cold hands into yours. He looked at you with that unreadable expression again but you already knew what this was about. “Look, if you have to go, you have to go. I know you well enough to tell you that you would regret it if you didn’t.” There was a hint of wonder in his eyes. “You would be okay with that?” he asked, voice quiet and you brought a hand up to cup his cheek. “That’s what you do, when you love someone, Owen. You’re on their side, no matter what. And I know that this is what you need to do. So stop arguing about it with yourself.” “But what will you do?” he said, taking your free hand in his own and rubbing his thumbs over your fingers. “I will wait until you come home to me.” He smiled and pressed a kiss to the palm of your hand that was still caressing his cheek. “I won’t be gone long, I promise,” he replied then and you returned the smile. “I know. Now, come on, let’s go to bed. You need some sleep if you want to do this tomorrow.” You took his hand and pulled him back inside.

He left early, with you still asleep. He pressed a kiss to your hair and left you a note with a promise to return soon. Claire seemed both surprised and satisfied to see him and introduced him to the other members of the expedition. He spent most of the flight in silence, thinking about your conversation last night.

I will wait until you come home to me.

Your voice was ringing through his head. Home. For a long time, he felt as if he didn’t have that but with you by his side, he found it. And he would do everything to come back to you. Claire’s voice disrupted his thoughts. “Did your girlfriend try to convince you not to come?” He looked at her and shook his head. “No. The opposite. She said, I should go or otherwise I would regret it. And she was right,” he said and Claire looked pretty surprised at that. “Oh,” she mumbled. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back, looking out the window. “She seems like a smart girl,” the woman added and he couldn’t hide a small smile. “Yeah. She is.”

What no one accounted for was the fact that they would be betrayed in the end. When the effects of the neurotoxin started to wear off, the volcano had already erupted and he could see lava creeping closer at a steady pace. It felt like a miracle, when he was able to move in literally the last second. The rest of the escape from the island was hectic, everything went by in a blur, the promise he made to you pounding through your head. He was only able to gather his thoughts on the boat, once they had been able to stabilize Blue. Claire was looking at him with sympathy in her eyes, as if she knew what he was thinking. “You’ll be back with her soon,” she said and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. He looked at her and nodded, thankful for her support. “But first we have to get off this ship.”

You checked your phone for any sign of Owen before shoving it back into your purse. Your boss didn’t like people meddling with their phones during work. With a sigh, you grabbed your tablet, knocked on his door and entered. “I wanted to give you your schedule for tomorrow,” you said as he looked up. He then nodded and you looked down at the screen. “First, the meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Fowler from nine to eleven, then lunch with your mother at twelve thirty. I made a reservation at Giovanni’s, like you asked. In the evening, the interview with Mr. Edwards scheduled from five to seven thirty. Also, Alexander Martin called while you were in a meeting earlier, I told him he could get ahold of you between three and five tomorrow.” He nodded and dismissed you. With another sigh, you cleaned up your desk, more than ready to go home. Whispers from your colleagues and approaching footsteps made you look up. To your surprise it a familiar face made its way over to you. “If that isn’t Y/N,” he called out with a smile.

“Eli Mills,” you said, genuinely surprised. You scanned him quickly, noticing his expensive looking suit and watch immediately. “That’s... not what I expected, to be honest.” He laughed and took your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. Clearing your throat, you pulled it back to leave it hanging uselessly by your side. “What can I do for you, Eli?” you then asked. The two of you knew each other since high school and since then he had tried to go out with you. You had always rejected him, not feeling comfortable with his huge ego and materialistic tendencies. Still, you always had remained friendly.

“I wanted to ask if you had anything to do this evening,” he said and you raised an eyebrow before starting to check up the contents of your purse. “I’m in a relationship, Eli,” you simply replied and he huffed. “Now come on,” he said and leaned forward, “for the old time’s sake. Today, I’m fulfilling my biggest dream and I want you to be there. As an old friend of mine.” You were skeptical but you knew, as much as he did, that you couldn’t say no for long. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I don’t think I own anything fancy enough to wear.” He smiled, knowing he had cracked you. “No problem. I got something for you.” Of course he did. With a sigh you closed your purse and shouldered it. Maybe this would redirect your thoughts from worrying about Owen. You didn’t know about the status of the island since you had spent your entire day in the office. He offered you his arm but you shook your head which he took with a laugh.

You watched the impressive manor approach with wide eyes. “Where exactly are we, if I may ask,” you said and he smiled proudly. “Lockwood Estate. I work here and I will be hosting quite an unusual auction here tonight.” You looked at him from the corner of your eye, wanting to ask what was being sold but you already knew his answer. Wait and see. How you hated that sentence. So you accepted your fate and allowed him to lead you to the house once the car had stopped. An older woman awaited them and introduced herself as Iris. She took you away to a dressing room of some sorts. “Mr. Mills picked out this dress for you,” she said and gestured towards a dress hanging on the side of the room divider. You raised an eyebrow. It was in a dark blue-ish gray and the rather impressive cleavage and back cutouts were covered in mostly sheer lace of the same color. You weren’t sure if that made it any better. Still, you stepped behind the divider and got changed, only no noticing the slit on the left side of the skirt. Once you had it on, it was as if it had been manufactured for you. Fortunately, the intricate lace designs in the front part of the lace cutout covered you better than anticipated. When you stepped out behind the divider and noticed a little girl behind Iris who was introduced to you as Maisie Lockwood, Benjamin Lockwood’s granddaughter.

The next hour passed in a blur and soon you were left alone in the room, all dressed up. You looked at yourself in the mirror. Suddenly, everything felt ridiculous. “Fuck. What am I even doing here?” you cursed under your breath, not noticing that Eli had approached from behind. “Keeping me company, I hope.” You turned quickly, noticing his appreciating glance down your body, before his eyes went back up to your face. “Gorgeous as always. Now, shall we?” This time, you took the arm he offered, even if your only reason were the guests you had heard downstairs. He led you down into a big room and the suspicions came creeping back. It was awfully dim and empty in here. Many rows of chairs positioned on either side of mysterious rails that led to a gate. Most of the guests looked sketchy if not dangerous but you did your best to keep a straight face while you walked with Eli to his seat next to the auctioneer. What the hell did you get yourself into?

The blood was pounding in your ears and you didn’t listen to what was said when the auction started. The gate opening caught your attention and the following sight caused your blood to freeze. It was a dinosaur. And suddenly everything clicked into place. The sponsor. Eli’s secrecy. He knew you’d never agree with what he was doing here. Then another thought jumped through your mind.

So wouldn’t Owen.

Ice-cold fear spread through you as you tried to spot him in the room even though you already knew it was pointless. Your sudden change in demeanor caught Eli’s attention and he looked at you, a satisfied expression on his face. “What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked, voice low so it wouldn’t catch anyone’s attention. “The sponsor,” you only replied, eyes glued to the cage and the miserable creature inside it. “What?” he questioned with half a laugh. Now you turned to him, not even trying to hide your feelings. “You are the sponsor Claire told Owen about. Right?” He didn’t have to answer, the sudden change in his face told you all you wanted to know.

“I have to get out of here immediately,” you mumbled and stood up but he gripped your wrist, pulling you back into your seat again. His grip was almost bruising when he leaned in, putting his free hand onto your knee. “You aren’t going anywhere. This is everything I ever wanted and you are going to share this moment with me. If you object, my guards are armed and I won’t hesitate to give them the permission to shoot. And I have a gun myself. So you might want to do as I say,” Your entire body tensed under his touch and you swallowed harshly, slightly sinking back against the backrest to which he nodded with a smile. “Good girl. And once this is over, you won’t need that Owen guy anymore. I’ll provide for you,” he added. You only stared forward blankly as one animal after the other was sold.

Owen was looking down into the auction room, a sick feeling in his stomach when he saw the tiny cages. Then his eyes fell onto a figure in the front of the room, right next to that asshole, Eli. To his shock, you sat there, right next to that monster. “What is she doing here?” he asked, voice a mix of several emotions. You looked beautiful, yes, more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. The dress you wore fitted perfectly, your hair was styled neatly and you actually wore makeup. The expensive jewelry gave the outfit the final touch. Still, he couldn’t understand what brought you here. He never imagined that you would be okay with something like this. “She’s an old friend of Eli,” Maisie said. “I think they know each other for longer. He has an old photo of her on his desk but he never talked about her before.” Owen looked at the girl, when Claire state,” Well, I don’t think she’s having fun down there.” His gaze went back to you again and he noticed that she was right.

You looked uncomfortable, sitting extremely straight with tensed shoulders. Your hands were balled into fists, knuckles white and your nails probably cutting into the skin of your palm. He also noticed that you were white as a sheet and when Mills reached up to caress your cheek, your jaw clenched as you tried not to flinch. He would kill that guy.

Suddenly, his attention was pulled back to the next cage and his stomach twisted. “What is that?” he whispered, staring at the monstrosity the called Indoraptor if he understood correctly. He looked at Claire who looked just as concerned. “We can’t let this thing get out of here,” he said, determination in his voice and she nodded in agreement. “I might have an idea,” he added, when the elevator dinged behind them.

You stared at the thing inside the cage. If you were afraid before, now all you could feel was indescribable terror. That wasn’t a dinosaur, it was a monster. The demonstration of its skill – if you could call it that – to follow audio signals cause bile to rise in your throat. “What have you done?” you asked, looking at Eli in horror. His eyes were trained on the notebook on his lap where every transaction was depicted. “I have created the ultimate weapon,” he said, undeniably proud and without looking at you. “You make me sick. You’re a monster, just like the thing you created. Owen never would have agreed to something like that and if he finds out,” you said but he interrupted you, glare ice-cold. “Well, he won’t. For the safety of our operation, a few members of the expedition had to be left behind on the island when the volcano erupted.” He didn’t even have to say it, you understood what he meant either way. Every emotion, the anger, the fear, the disgust, they crumbled away, leaving a hollow space behind. “No,” you whispered and your eyes started to burn with tears. That was just impossible. He had promised to come home. He promised.

Then all hell broke loose. The elevator on the other side of the room opened and a dinosaur attacked the crowd. Eli promptly took your arm and started to drag you out of the room. Still dazed from the shock of losing Owen, you stumbled after him without complaints, trying not to break your ankles in the goddamn heels he picked out for you. Then a voice broke the trance you were in.

“Y/N!” Owen called over the chaos and your head whipped around. There he was, slightly dirty and definitely exhausted but he was there. Alive. Suddenly Eli pulled you close to him, the gun now in his hand. “Don’t come near us. We are going to leave now.” After the emotional turmoil you had just gone through, your mind was surprisingly calm and rational. A white hot fury settled in and for the first time in your life you were thankful for wearing heels. With an angry scream, you rammed the heel of the shoe into his foot and he howled in pain. Then, you jabbed your elbow into his stomach and somehow managed to smack the gun out of his hand. It went clattering across the floor and you immediately ran over to Owen who embraced you. He smelled like fire, sweat and dirt but you didn’t mind. “Thank god,” you mumbled. “I thought I lost you.” Again, tears threatened to spill and when one slipped, he gently wiped it away. “I promised to come home, didn’t I?” he asked and you nodded. “Come on now, let’s go.” He took your hand and pulled you back to where he came from, away from the chaos but you stopped him. “Owen, that thing,” you said, gesturing towards the cage but he shook his head. “We’ll handle that later. Right now, let’s get you out of here.”

You hesitated but then nodded, allowing him to drag you out after you pulled off the pesky high heels. You met up with Claire and Maisie. Everything seemed to happen in a blur. Somehow, the Indoraptor broke free and chased you through the manor, through display rooms and onto the roof. Owen and Maisie were dangerously close to the edge of the roof you were on, the creature creeping closer. Your brain short-circuited and you took the shoes you were still carrying around, throwing one at his head. “Hey! You ugly bastard! Why don’t you come over here,” you screamed at it. It turned to you, slowly approaching, the glass dangerously creaking under its weight. Your eyes shot to Claire who somehow had gotten her hands on the rifle used in the demonstration. She exchanged looks with Owen and just as the Indoraptor tried to get to you, she used the laser to divert its attention to him. Now time seemed to stop. You watched Owen roll off the roof in the last second, the glass breaking under the weight of the creature. Instead of it falling down, you watched in horror as it managed to grab the center beam and pull itself up again.

It went for Owen again and with desperation, you threw your second shoe at it. It turned towards you briefly and you swallowed. You could feel the glass under you shaking. If anyone moved, you would definitely fall. Your eyes met Owen’s. He had fear written across his face. Fear for you. Just as the Indoraptor started to move, a screech caught everyone attention and out of nowhere, Blue flung herself at the monstrosity, shattering even more glass and pulling the other one down with her. You wanted to breathe but then the floor you were standing on was gone. With a panicked scream, you tried to hold on to the metal beams. They were slippery from the rain and your fingers were cold, so you could barely hold on.

When you felt your fingers slip from the metal, a warm hand grabbed your forearm, catching your fall. Wide-eyed, you stared up at Owen, ignoring the pain flaring through your shoulder from the abrupt stop. He pulled you up and onto the solid part of the roof, immediately wrapping his arms around you once you were safe. You were outright shaking, if from the shock or the cold or both, you couldn’t tell. He brushed your wet locks out of your face and whispered into your ear, rocking you back and forth as your hands grabbed his shirt. “It’s alright,” he whispered into your hair,” I got you. It’s over.”

“So, you sure I can’t help you with anything else?” Claire asked and you smiled at her. “Yes, I’m sure. Will you come visit us sometime?” She nodded, smiling as well. “Of course. I’ll call you,” she said. You hugged her and then watched her leave, leaning against Owen who wound an arm around your waist. Maisie tucked on your sleeve and you looked at her. “What’s going on, sweetheart?” you asked her. “Can I go and eat some ice cream with Iris?” she asked and you nodded. “Of course. Just don’t stay away too long,” Owen answered and she agreed, running back inside.

After the chaos at the Lockwood Estate three months ago, Owen and you had taken in Maisie and hired Iris again, not because you couldn’t look after the girl but because you wanted to leave her something familiar and because you thought Iris deserved better than what Eli had given her. Of course, you couldn’t pay her as much as Lockwood had but she seemed fine with everything as long as Maisie was there.

By now, you were already working on adopting Maisie, a decision that was quickly made. Claire had agreed to visit regularly, since Maisie had taking a liking to her as well. Owens hand started to absentmindedly draw circles on your slightly protruding belly and you smiled. “Looks like you can start with an extension for the house once you’re done with the main structure,” you joked and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Yeah, but ‘til then, there’s still some time,” he agreed and took your hand. You looked down to where he interlaced your fingers and smiled, watching your engagement ring sparkle in the light. After a lot of struggle, both of you finally were home.

[izzy-b-hands]

Årsgång På Metall-Chapter Two

So Chapter Two is really late lol. But it is here. And Chapter Three will be here sometime later today, after I get some sleep and a shower. 

For now, please enjoy the fruits of my labor--it was really fun getting back into writing this one, so I hope you guys like it. 

Link to Chapter One, in case you haven’t read it or because it has been forever since I posted it: http://aboutthatmelancholystorm.tumblr.com/post/169018669101/%C3%A5rsg%C3%A5ng-p%C3%A5-metall-chapter-one

Though I will say, sorry and RIP to mobile users if the ‘cut/read more’ feature doesn’t work. I don’t mean to make you scroll for eternity, this is just what happened this time lol.

The very next morning, the Keep Skwisgaar Safe plan began.

“There ams things to prepares. Lets me up,” Skwisgaar mumbled into Toki’s neck.

Toki held him tighter, having the advantage of already being awake and laying properly in the bed. Skwisgaar was flopped against him, half out of the bed, and exhausted from his constant research and preparations.

That alone was part of what made it all so frightening to Toki. Skwisgaar didn’t trust the Klokateers with the research, or do much else other than help prepare the trip for them. He kept waiting for the usual ‘world’s best guitarist’ attitude to come out, and for him to refuse to do something. Or to demand a break from the pace he was working at. Something, anything diva-ish in nature.

But it hadn’t come out at all. He realized this must have been what it was like for Skwisgaar before the band—doing all his own work, willing to get his hands dirty doing whatever he needed to do. Granted, he didn’t mind watching Skwisgaar get filthy while they chopped firewood, or observing his repairs to his guitar (watching his hands do all of that was downright erotic.)

It was so strange all the same—a side of Skwisgaar that he’d known existed, but that he figured he’d probably never see. Yet here it was, and now he wanted to make it go away. To have his Skwisgaar back—the arrogant asshole who let him into the band, who begrudgingly became his friend, then not so begrudgingly his boyfriend.

“Lets me up, don’ts bes an asshole,” Skwisgaar grumbled, pushing and prying uselessly against the arm Toki had wrapped around him.

“Ams not an asshole, just wants to cuddle,” Toki murmured. He knew it didn’t sound convincing, but he was too focused on figuring out his possible next steps to make it sound better. Like, what if Skwisgaar managed to get up? Should he just tackle him, try and lure him back to bed somehow, what?

“Yous heart ams beatings too fast,” Skwisgaar said. “What ams wrong?”

“Nothing,” Toki replied.

“Yous ams a terrible liars,” Skwisgaar muttered. “What ams your problem?”

He was right. Lying wasn’t going to work. Truth probably wouldn’t either, but he could at least give it a shot.

“Everythings you reads about this ritual, alls the things you tells me about it—it scares me,” Toki didn’t mean to whisper, but it came out as one anyway. “People don’ts do this ‘Year Walk’ anymores much, right? So I thinks, ‘why ams that?’, and I thinks--”

He paused. Couldn’t let the tears fall. Couldn’t completely fall apart, not with Skwisgaar acting the way he had been. Someone needed to have their shit together.

“I thinks it ams because they lose people. People who sees things and don’t wants to come back homes, or who ams stolen by whatevers ams out theres, or who sees that their futures ams goings to be bad, and so theys kills themselves so it won’t happen,” Toki continued. “I don’t wants to lose you.”

Skwisgaar was quiet.

Toki couldn’t bring himself to look at Skwisgaar. He stared at the cabin wall, and let his arm go limp so Skwisgaar could push it away.

“Ams sorry,” Skwisgaar mumured, his voice hoarse.

Toki sat up and turned to Skwisgaar.

Tears were pouring down Skwisgaar’s face as he sat up. “I didn’ts thinks about it likes that. Didn’ts thinks you would cares if--”

“If yous was gone? If somethings happens what ams terrible and tragic and leaves me heres all alone?” Toki asked. “You ams so stupids sometimes. I loves you—of course I cares. I wouldn’ts bes here otherwise.”

Skwisgaar was quiet again.

“I wants the albums to bes good too. But if you ams not here, wes don’t haves an album. Please don’ts does this,” Toki let the tears fall now, half sad at the thought of losing Skwisgaar, but half happy that Skwisgaar was listening and understood. They’d all joked that years of evading the deaths that had befallen their fans and business partners and family had started to soften them up. But maybe it had—and maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

“I haves to,” Skwisgaar replied. “Just this once, to sees ifs I can, to sees what ams out there when yous does it.”

Toki choked back a sob. How could he say that now, that he had to?

“But, maybes wes can do it differently. I don’t knows what wills happen if wes change it—wes can only try,” Skwisgaar said. “Yous could comes with me. Do the rituals with mes, and wes go outs and does the walk together. Plus, then wes both gets materials for the album.”

Toki slipped a hand over Skwisgaar’s—his hands were always so cold. “Thought you needs someones back heres in case somethings happens.”

Skwisgaar nodded. “Normally yous do. But wes ams not normal—ams guitar gods. Wes can’ts be killed by just anyone.”

“Yous ams,” Toki corrected.

“No—you ams one too. Just ones that needs to practice more,” Skwisgaar smiled.

Toki’s heart was beating fast for an entirely different reason now. Skwisgaar had never included him in that definition before. “So—wes does this togethers then?”  

Skwisgaar nodded. “Wes either dies outs there togethers or comes back and drinks and writes new music.”

Toki nodded. It wasn’t exactly how his Keep Skwisgaar Safe plan was supposed to end—ideally, it would have ended with them staying in bed and fucking the day away, and no ritual at all on New Years Eve. But if the ritual had to happen, then this way would be better than the alternative.

“Wes shoulds gets up then, gets things ready,” Toki sighed, and moved to leave the bed. “What ams lefts, yous haves beens doing so much already.”

Skwisgaar’s now free hand crept over his shoulder and pulled him back down to the bed. “Nothings, actually. Was just sayings that so yous would lets me gets up. Wes gots four days of nothings to dos until the nights of the ritual.”

“Ams that my new nickname? Nothings?” Toki grinned.

Skwisgaar moved to straddle him and frowned, clearly confused.

“You ams goings to be doings nothings for four days—who else woulds you bes talkings about?” Toki continued.

Crying out of pure, overwhelmed love and emotion during sex was usually only Toki’s thing—but it was weirdly nice with both of them doing it at the same time. And it distracted from the idea that they both might die out there in the woods, cold and terrified. But at least they’d be cold and terrified together.

Four days later, walking was an interesting exercise for both of them, and they had hickeys in places that would have made their mothers blush (if either of their mothers had actually been decent mothers, of course.)

“Nows wes fast—plus nos drinkings, and it ams supposed to bes no seeings anyone else but--” Skwisgaar shrugged as they dressed in the darkness of the bedroom. He’d insisted on keeping all the lights off, apparently another part of the ritual in some places.

“Wes ams already breakings the rules, wes coulds have a little drinks,” Toki replied. They’d never been this sober for this long. But in between all the research and work, Skwisgaar hadn’t had time for drinking, and Toki hadn’t really thought of it until now. Even on Christmas, his only concern had been that Skwisgaar be forced to eat and bathe at some point. Celebrating and drinking just hadn’t made the list of worries.

“Wes don’t wants to bes drunks if there really ams...things outs there,” Skwisgaar said. “Ams goings to feels fucked up as it is, with no foods or drinks.”

Toki found himself only able to nod. After all, he didn’t really know for sure what they’d be facing. Sure, he knew of some of the creatures that had been reported during others’ ‘year walks’, hell, some of them had their own version in Norwegian and other Scandinavian folklore so they weren’t any great surprise to read about, but he’d never envisioned actually having to ever face any of them. As a kid, they were just scary stories his parents told him to keep him in line.

Now, they might be real.

“Wes can’ts talk, cans we?” Toki asked as they settled into the living room.

“Ams not supposeds to,” Skwisgaar replied. “Wes probablys coulds though. If wes ams alreadys screwed withs breakings the rules, how much worse cans it get?”

They didn’t talk anyway, cuddled up on the couch. It was easier to just sit in the darkness somehow.

For Toki, it was because he didn’t want to admit that he was gradually becoming more and more terrified. But one of the rules was, you couldn’t be scared, couldn’t show it—to be scared and show it was to essentially declare yourself a free treat for the creatures.

He didn’t know if Skwisgaar was quite as scared as he was, but he knew Skwisgaar’s hands were shaking as they wrapped around his.

Midnight came quicker than he expected. They pulled on coats and boots and hands and gloves in silence, before finally heading out.

He’d forgotten how many of the stars were visible, somewhere further away from city lights and the ever present security lights of Mordhaus. It was beautiful, but he knew better than to break the silence they needed to keep for the walk. He settled for squeezing Skwisgaar’s gloved hand as tightly as he could as they started into the woods.

There were a few places they’d agreed to go, and a few they’d agreed to avoid, based on what information Skwisgaar had gleaned in his research and what time they’d had to discuss it all while they fucked.

Churches and graveyards were supposed to be extra spooky, but also could offer a glimpse of things to come with only the risk of a Church Grim being present.

Rivers and lakes nearby were to be avoided if possible—most of the articles called the creatures by their English name, the brook-horse. Granted, it was supposed to take children, but they’d both figured there was no need to risk finding out if it would make an exception for them.

Huldra were going to unavoidable most likely—they couldn’t go into the forest otherwise, which would have made the whole thing kind of pointless, since Skwisgaar had discovered the nearest church and graveyard were within the woods. Mylings and the Night Raven also seemed potentially unavoidable—they might run into them, they might not. There was no way to be certain.

Toki felt the fear start to slowly melt as they walked. If he didn’t think about the potential to disappear forever, it was a nice walk. Cold, but they were both used to that. For Toki, it had been terrifying nights left in the punishment hole—and he knew Skwisgaar had spent nights as teen alone in the woods, to get away from his mother.

The trees rustled as they continued on through the brush, and for a moment the thought of trolls flashed through Toki’s mind. Sure, no account had mentioned them, but who was to say they might not be out there?

Skwisgaar suddenly tapped him on the shoulder with his free hand and pointed.

Just a few feet ahead, there she was. A huldra, gorgeous as could be (but still nowhere near as gorgeous as Skwisgaar, of course) was watching them. She was saying something—nothing Toki could understand. It sounded like a song, not a language proper they could translate really. But her meaning was clear enough: follow me.

Skwisgaar shook his head, and they turned down a fork in the path, away from her.

The song turned to a shriek, and Toki could hear the whoosh of air as she raced past them. If the folklore and accounts were true, they might be okay as long as they kept walking. Stopping and trying to fix the offense during the walk seemed like it might only worsen the issue.

She dashed in and out of their path, but they kept on. Finally, she stopped in front of them one last time and growled, before taking off into the trees.

Toki let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. If every creature was like that, then maybe they could do this. And it was inspiring—he already had a riff in mind for a song inspired by her shriek. He only hoped Skwisgaar would like it.

They slowed as they joined the tail end of a funeral procession. Towards the front of it, Toki could see a head of silver long hair, one of blonde and silver hair, one of greying brown hair, and another of grey and curly hair. Which meant Pickles was...he didn’t want to think about it, even as he stared at the coffin atop the shoulders of the Klokateers in front of them.

“He lived a hell of a lot longer than he should have,” Nathan’s voice echoed in the quiet of the forest. “Especially after--”

“Wes don’ts needs to talk abouts that again. Wes haves the scars to remembers it by,” a version of Skwisgaar’s voice rang out next. It was clearly older, thought Toki couldn’t place an exact age for it. It was strangely comforting to his ears. If this vision was true, Skwisgaar still had plenty of years left.

“Still, gotta give him kudos for it. Can you imagine how pissed off he is right now, wherever he is?” Nathan chuckled.

“Yeah—dying of old age in hisch bed like a normal dildo, inschtead of an overdosche or schomething,” Murderface’s voice showed his age more. Toki knew he’d hate to hear it, but he kind of sounded like a male version of his grandmother.

The procession reached the graveyard, and they hung at the back of the group as the Klokateers set the casket down by an open grave.

Suddenly, the casket popped open as the group turned and stared at them. A very dead, very gnarly-looking Pickles sat up in the casket.

“Seventy-five,” he croaked. “The water will not kill you.”

Toki looked to Skwisgaar, who only shrugged. They’d both read how some of the visions might not be one hundred percent clear on their meaning. They’d have to talk over what it might mean later, if there was a later.

Suddenly the group was gone, and they were alone in the graveyard.

A song started up from one of the graves, slow and melodic, but very clearly the riff Skwisgaar had been playing with for weeks.

It was Skwisgaar’s turn to squeeze Toki’s hand, as the song continued, well past what Skwisgaar had written down back at the cabin. Toki knew Skwisgaar was probably trying to memorize it, and he wished he’d checked to see if it was against the rules to bring pen and paper for things like this. Too late now, of course.

Skwisgaar led him out of the graveyard, and towards the church they could see in the distance. A closer look revealed it to be something very old, and almost definitely abandoned.

Except for the Church Grim, staring them down from the stairs at the church entrance.

It looked like a goat, for all of a second at least. Then there was the cracking of bones and some unsettling squishing sounds as it grew and stood up to be something like a man with a goat’s head.

It met them at the gate to the church, and Toki held back a gasp as it placed a hand on each of their heads. It was way taller than he’d been thinking any version of the Grim might be—at least seven feet. And none of the reports had mentioned this happening.

Then there was a sound like a gunshot in his head, and he could see a vision—himself and Skwisgaar, at the altar. It had bits and pieces of the ‘perfect wedding’ they’d each told one another about—the braids down their backs and small black flowers intertwined in their hair that Toki had wanted (he would never deny that he wanted some of the really cheesy romantic shit) and the black and red candles dotting the aisle and altar that Skwisgaar had mentioned wanting.  They’d both laughed off that version of a wedding—at the time, it had seemed unlikely to happen if only because neither one of them had proposed and neither of them were in a rush to when they were happy as they were (and had been together long enough to fall under common-law in most places.)

But it looked perfect in his head. And they were smiling and happy in it, wearing the black metal rings Skwisgaar had once designed during a night of drinking, complete with engraving in silver—the phrase ‘I love you’, in Swedish on Toki’s ring and in Norwegian on Skwisgaar’s ring.

The vision exuded love—even the rest of their bandmates were smiling in the vision. Pickles had his hands occupied—one holding onto Charles’ hand, and the other holding onto Nathan’s. That wasn’t surprising—they all pretended they weren’t all fucking, but it wasn’t a secret to anyone who spent a night at Mordhaus. And  they could be disgustingly cute with each other, the latest being Nathan carefully carrying both Charles and Pickles to bed after a long night of recording, while humming a lullaby under his breath. Granted, the lullaby was a black metal song, but that was a lullaby to him.

Murderface was alone, but he didn’t seem upset. Toki noticed a ring on his ring finger, and wondered A. who’d fallen in love with Murderface, and B. why they weren’t at the wedding as well. But he didn’t have time to question it, as he felt the weight of the Church Grim’s palm leave his head and the vision went away with it.

The Grim stood in front of them, hands now held out with a ring in each palm.

Toki tried to ask what he wanted to ask with just a look to Skwisgaar as he took the ring with Norwegian engraved on it from the Grim.

Skwisgaar nodded, and took the other ring from the Grim. They yanked off their gloves as quickly as they could, and placed the rings on each other’s fingers as the Grim watched and nodded, seemingly pleased.

They watched the Grim go back into the church as they pulled their gloves back on, whatever job it had been assigned for their walk apparently complete.

As soon as it was gone, Toki pulled Skwisgaar into a kiss. He wasn’t sure if that particular interaction counted as another breaking of the rules, but he didn’t really care. The ritual seemed to be adapting for their rule breakage anyway.

Neither of them could stop grinning as they pulled away and continued down the path. If the rest of the walk was like this, it would be a breeze.

The thought of course, immediately jinxed them, as Toki had figured it might.

Suddenly, the sounds and lights of war surrounded them. Constant gunfire, screams, and the roaring of something very ancient. It was terrifying, for more reasons than Toki could count. But perhaps the most unsettling was the view of him, Skwisgaar, and the rest of the band—bathed in red light, and striking down soldiers without even having to touch them. He couldn’t tell exactly who they were fighting, or why—but the vision again didn’t give him time to ponder it much more.

As quickly as it had come on, it was gone, and they were back on the quiet trail. Skwisgaar let go of his hand, and instead wrapped an arm around his shoulder to draw him close. Toki was grateful for that, after seeing what they had.

The splashing of water broke them both out of their reverie, and Toki realized with a held back gasp that they were right by a river.

Skwisgaar’s just slightly longer steps spurred them both on faster, even as the sound of hooves came about on the trail behind them.

In the distance, Toki could hear a baby crying, and he wished desperately that another fork would appear in the path.

There was nothing to do except go forward, or risk the brush without any semblance of a path. It was a split-second sort of decision, one that normally Toki would have wanted to discuss. There was no need though, as Skwisgaar seemed right on the same page, pulling Toki with him into the brush.

They broke into a run, as best they could through the mess of moss and branches and snow, until the hooves and crying were far behind them.

Skwisgaar pulled him into a hug, and as nerve-wracking as it was to not keep moving, he hugged back as hard as he could. It was evident in Skwisgaar’s eyes that he wanted to talk, and probably had a lot to say—but they weren’t done yet.

Snow and brush crunched beneath their boots as they stumbled around in search of another path, again hand-in-hand.

Finally, a stone path appeared in front of them, far too well-maintained to be real. But it was all they had, and Toki knew the sun had to be coming up soon—and by then, if the various legends and folklore had it right, they either had to be in a church or back at home to be safe. He wasn’t sure what was considered more safe, but if he had a choice he’d rather they be back at the cabin rather than sharing the morning with the apparently harmless but still creepy Grim in the church.

The path, of course, didn’t lead to the entrance of the forest, but to a huge nest. It was filled with rotten eggs the size of boulders, and bones—bones that were much too small to belong to any adult.

Skwisgaar squeezed his hand again, and Toki remembered what little lore they’d amassed on the Night Raven. It all seemed to boil down to: don’t be a naughty child that could be stolen by it, don’t look it in the eyes, and don’t touch it. Easy as those three things should be (particularly the first), he still wasn’t keen on having to face the creature.

In a flap of giant wings, it was there, and they didn’t have a choice. Skwisgaar had yanked the edge of his beanie down over his eyes, but Toki got a glimpse of the bird as he reached for his own hat.

The Night Raven squawked in surprise and fear.

He could understand that. According to legend, he should have died upon viewing it. But he felt fine.

The Raven continued to squawk and splutter, until it began to gag up a vile black fluid. It pointed a wing in apparent accusation at Toki, but he only shrugged. Wasn’t his fault the legend wasn’t flowing the way it had for others here, or that he apparently had the ability to kill the Raven just by looking at it.

It finally fell silent, then turned to ash. As soon as it did, Toki pulled Skwisgaar’s hat back off of his eyes.

Skwisgaar was well-beyond puzzled, that much was clear by the look on his face, but the explanation would have to wait.

Toki pulled him off the stone path and back into the brush, hoping that they were nearly at an end. They had plenty of material to use at this point, or he did at least.

He could see the edge of the forest, but just before they could reach it another vision took them over.

It was...strange. In how simple and utterly boring it was. The band was in the living room, settled on their usual couch, with the news playing.

“Dr. Rockso, the clown who did cocaine, found dead in Miami of an apparent...everything overdose? How can you OD on everyth—I’m being told by my producers to continue the broadcast despite this...quirk, in the story. More to follow on this story at eleven,” the female newscaster disappeared as Nathan turned off the TV.

“Thank fuck you got over that creep. Thank fuck he’s dead,” Nathan said.

Pickles nodded. “I mean, he didn’t even show up to your wedding. What a fuckin’ tool.”

“Even if he had, he woulda ruined it,” Murderface scoffed. “Can’t we juscht be glad he’sch dead and move on with our lives?”

The vision version of Toki pressed a kiss to the vision version of Skwisgaar’s forehead. “Yeah. Yous ams rights. Can’ts believes I wasted so much times with him—I hads somethings betters to helps mes cope right here.”

“That is disgustingly cute, cut that shit out,” Pickles said.

“Yous boughts Nathans and Charles roses today, Pickle. Ams that not also disgustinglys cutes?” Skwisgaar asked pointedly.

“Yeah, but Nathan and Charles are disgustingly cute, so they deserve disgustingly cute things. That’s just the way shit works, don’t ask me,” Pickles replied.

The sounds of their playful ribbing of each other faded out with the vision, and suddenly the cabin’s front door was right there, with the sun coming up just behind them.

They dashed in and Skwisgaar slammed the door shut behind them, locking it and pushing an end table in front of it for good measure.

They sat in silence for a beat.

“Wes maybes needs a naps, then wes goes over this?” Skwisgaar asked.

Toki nodded. It was both wonderful and weird, being able to talk again. He’d gotten used to the silence, in a way.

“A nap sounds goods; that was...” Toki shook his head. He really did need sleep.  

Skwisgaar took the lead again as they stripped off their outerwear, then stumbled into the bedroom and onto the bed.

If it wasn’t for the rings still on their fingers, Toki figured he could have passed it all off as a hallucination.

But it was all fucking real, and it was going to make for a kick-ass album.

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, here is a list of bottom Louis fic recs where Harry and Louis are already in a relationship. There are a lot of good ones for this list, so this is only part one of the list - part two is here.

Happy reading!

1) Precious Little Diamond (I’ll Give It All To You) | Explicit | 2044 words

Alpha!Harry/omega!Louis PWP written for this textpost: Established relationship H/L with alpha!Harry just popping his knot in omega!louis and it’s his favourite part; just laying down and cuddling as they mate but louis just wriggles around in his lap until he can grab his xbox controller and starts playing video games with Harry still inside him and Harry’s like “??!?????!???!!!???” And louis’ like “oh shush it takes forever” and scores a goal on the game

2) Tie You Up and Make Me Scream | Explicit | 2166 words

AU where Harry teases Louis and it becomes a game until they cant handle it anymore and escape to have tent sex while the rest of the boys are in the other tents.

3) True North | Explicit | 2575 words

Note: This fic is locked and can be read by AO3 users only.

Altered-canon non-au set between November 2012 and January 7th, 2013.

4) What’s Yours Is Mine (What’s Mine Is Ours) | Mature | 2982 words

Prompt: Something about Louis always waiting until the last minute to pack his bag for tour so one time Harry does it for him and then they’re thousands of miles away by the time Louis figures out Harry hasn’t actually packed anything useful. Whether it’s because Harry is just genuinely useless at packing for other people or because he wants Louis to be forced to wear his clothes is up in the air. Also Louis refusing to wear Harry’s clothes out of pure spite until Harry makes it up to him.

5) Double Dog Dare Ya | Explicit | 3411 words

The one where the boys play some truth or dare and Harry has a one track mind.

6) A Touch Of Your Love | Explicit | 3856 words

Harry’s physical training has been intense. He wakes up before the sun to run. He spends long hours in the gym boxing and lifting weights.

Louis usually likes working out with Harry when they’re on tour, and even now he enjoys going on a run or boxing a bit with Harry. But Harry hasn’t seemed to stop moving since he accepted the role in Dunkirk. And it’s not that Louis always needs to be the center of Harry’s attention, but he very much wants to be.

7) It’s Your Soul That I’m Caught In Yet You Don’t Hear Me Call Your Name | Explicit | 4433 words

The one in which Harry goes out for a run in the early morning rain without telling Louis and Louis wakes up alone, cold and needy.

8) Hook’s Intention | Explicit | 5156 words

Harry hadn’t realized what, exactly, being the Captain Hook to Louis’ Peter Pan would entail.

9) But I Want You | Explicit | 5200 words

After their successful night at the VMAs, Harry can't keep his hands off Louis for long.

10) A Gentleman’s Arrangement | Explicit | 5205 words

Harry has been in the countryside, Louis has been trapped in town awaiting the London season, and three months apart is far, far too long.

11) ‘Cause Lately I’ve Been Waking Up Alone | Explicit | 5667 words

“Ow ow ow ow,” Harry continues cursing, hopping back and forth on the balls of his toes and trying uselessly to cradle his dick.  Louis’s eyes fall to the sink, where he can see a torn-open package and what looks like a sheet of instructions.

“Clone-a-Willy?” he reads out loud, not sure he’s reading right.

...or, Harry gives Louis a very special sex toy for an early birthday present, and Louis uses it on Skype when Harry's in LA.

12) Power Inside | Explicit | 5861 words

Louis wrinkles his nose and pokes Harry again. “You want a baby,” he repeats.

Again, Harry frowns. “Uh, yeah, Lou, I want a baby. So do you.”

Where is this even going. Harry honestly has no clue.

Abruptly, Louis stops frowning and practically throws himself off of Harry, splaying himself out on his side of the bed, arms spread wide. “Okay. Let’s make a baby, then.”

Can eyebrows get permanently attached to a hairline? Harry has a feeling he’s going to find out. “You do realize - ” he starts.

“Yes, Harry, I realize,” Louis says, stroking his fingers over the inside of his own thigh, ruking his shorts up. “You gonna shut up about it and give me a baby or am I gonna have to go out and find someone else to fulfill my deepest desires?”

He’s a nutjob. He’s a complete nutjob. Harry’s in love with a complete nutjob.

13) We’ll Stumble Through Heaven | Explicit | 6504 words

Louis likes to be a good boy for his alpha.

14) You Drive Me Wild (You Know You Do) | Explicit | 6632 words

Their management informs them that they have an interview right before the ARIAs, and it isn't until he's in a suit, seated on a couch between Liam and Zayn, that he gets the idea.

The interviewer, Angus, smiles at them, right before the cameras roll on, and a metaphorical light bulb goes off inside Louis' head. He's perfect. Well, not as perfect as Harry, but enough. He's attractive, attractive enough to drive Harry crazy, and he doesn't even think of the consequences of his actions, just decides right then. It's all Harry's fault anyway. Louis should be allowed to have a little fun.

15) I’m Broken, Do You Hear Me? | Explicit | 6957 words

Louis starts acting weird and distant around Harry, and it takes Harry a little while to put together what's wrong. When he finally does, he's determined to help Louis see just how much he loves every piece of him.

16) Back Where I Belong | Explicit | 7217 words

Harry’s trying to have a conversation with Nick, who he hasn’t seen in nearly three months, but the way Nick’s eyes keep darting over his shoulder every few seconds is quite distracting.

It’s ironic, because at least a quarter of the reason that he’s even talking to Nick in the first place is because he needs a distraction. He’s all too aware of exactly what’s going on behind his back.

Nick is the one who finally brings it up. “Do you think he’s doing it to spite you?”

“He’s definitely doing it to spite me,” Harry answers tightly, resisting the urge to crane his neck around so he can see. He clutches his drink a little tighter, trying to keep his tenuous control over his own movements.

17) Call Me Shallow But I’m Only Getting Deeper | Explicit | 7367 words

The one where Louis is a brat so Harry spanks him with a riding crop.

18) Rated R | Explicit | 7635 words

Louis gifts Harry with a surprise sex tape, and it accidentally makes its way into Harry's family Christmas party. Ridiculousness ensues.

19) Under the Vanilla Sky | Explicit | 8006 words

Who the hell wears a hat like that on a yacht?  That's one of the things Louis thinks when he sees Harry from across the deck of the most expensive, ridiculous boat he's ever been on.  He also thinks he'd like to get closer.  Just to see what's under those aviators.  Just to verify that, yes, in fact, those white swim trunks might be a little see-through when wet.  Just to see if someone could really be that hot in real life.  On a yacht.  In the Caribbean sea just off the coast of St. Barts.  

Here's what really happened on that yacht.

20) Love To Make Him Moan | Explicit | 8106 words

Note: This fic is locked and can be read by AO3 users only.

They fuck like they're sex starved, when they're really, really not.

21) Give It Up To Me | Explicit | 8134 words

"You're going to end up making me come with all the boys in our lounge," he finished, his tone softening the longer he spoke.

"And?" Harry murmured, placing his palm over the crevice of Louis' arse, keeping the plug nice and tight inside of him. "What if I wanted you to?"

22) Love Me in Between the Future and the Past | Explicit | 10991 words

Set during the 2013 VMAs.

Harry's scared of history repeating itself.

23) Read You For Some Kind Of Poem | Mature | 11969 words |  Sequel

He likes to imagine that he’s always aware of Harry’s eyes on him, but the spark that flashes across his body at how often Harry licks his lips while looking at his throat doesn’t feel like something he’s explicitly and consciously acknowledged before, but it feels familiar. Usual. Right.

24) In A World Apart | Explicit | 11973 words

During their off time in LA, Harry is reminded just how much he loves Louis.

25) End Of The World Tonight | Explicit | 12069 words

“You remember when you told me that you wanted to live with me for the rest of your life?” Louis asks. His voice trembles a bit, exposing exactly how much he hates what he’s about to do. How much he wishes that he wasn’t about to do it.

“I remember,” Harry says. His expression is a little lost, like he thinks that they’re about to have a fight and he’s not sure what they’re supposed to be fighting about. Louis closes his eyes because he has to, has to take a second to regain his courage. He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep suffering, can’t keep killing himself trying to hide this. He’s ready. He’s been ready for a long time.

26) Know You Got That Thing (That I Like) | Explicit | 15798 words

In all the ways he thought about their reunion going, watching Louis finger himself open was not on the list.

27) 210 Days | Explicit | 16341 words

Harry is in the army and Louis is back in New York. Together, they get through Harry's six month leave by sending a series of letters back and forth. They've done it before, and they can do it again.

28) Temporary Tattoos, Hotel Hearts, Horizon Homes | Explicit | 17965 words

Note: This fic is locked and can be read by AO3 users only.

Louis is just 18 and ends up in 2015 for one day at Harry’s request, one day to make sure his spirit is strong and hopeful enough to take him to the X Factor and end him up where he’s supposed to be. Aka, the one where Harry makes sure Louis knows how amazing he is.

29) Can’t Fool Me | Explicit | 30162 words

AU where Louis hates fraternities and would never be into a frat boy. And one of these things is definitely not a lie.

30) Drowning In Your Eyes | Explicit | 45140 words

The Pirates of the Caribbean inspired au where Harry is a fierce pirate who holds the heart of a beautiful merman.

31) Such Good Luck | Explicit | 66205 words

Louis smiles at Harry’s words, leaning into his touch. “Tell me again.”

Smiling, Harry takes Louis into his arms. Pressing gentle kisses to his face, Harry murmurs, “In six months’ time, I will have my twenty-fifth birthday.  On that day, my portion of the inheritance will become legally mine. And I plan that very day to announce to my family that I have found love.” Harry chuckles as he runs his lips lightly along Louis’ cheekbone. “That, in fact, I found love when I was twenty-one years old, and that I have loved and been loved every day since.”

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[banashee]

 "I will sit on you." - "...You have very beautiful eyes." or: Oh My God Clint Please Shut Up

 Truth be told, they probably jinxed this by thinking the mission would be a quick and easy in and out. Just collect the data, get the hell out and get home.That is not how it goes.

 On their way in, neither Bucky or Clint have any trouble. They get inside the warehouse unseen, and the one guard that they come across falls unconscious from a strategically shot tranq arrow before he can even realize what is going on.

 It’s easy to see this as a good omen and even though neither of the two says a word about it, it’s clear that both of them are thinking the same.

 They even make it far enough to collect the data they need, but of course, things are never this easy even when it seems that way.

 Just when they are headed out, the two of them get company. As it turns out, the Bad Guys Of The Week caught wind of what was happening after all, and they fight dirty, but so do Hawkeye and the former Winter Soldier. For a split second, it looks like they might succeed - but then someone shoots a cloud of gas into their faces.

 ‘Thank fuck I’m wearing a mask and goggles’ is what Bucky thinks, and it is ture - whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to affect him.

 Clint, on the other hand, gets a complete faceful of the stuff. He is coughing and choking on it, his eyes are watering and everything around him gets fuzzy - he stumbles to the side, the arrow in his hand uselessly clattering to the floor. Clint barely realizes that Bucky pulls on him, trying to get him the hell out of there.

 Gunfire echoes in his ears, and Clint is stumbling again - before he can even do anything, he finds himself thrown over Bucky’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

 Clint is pretty sure that he should be passing out soon, but this is not what happens - nothing about this whole thing seems to be predictable after all. And of course, it is just his bad luck - why did he think this would be easy again?

 He can’t stop himself, but he just starts giggling - somehow, everything is suddenly very funny.

 Miraculously, Bucky manages to get both of them out and to the jet. Thankfully, SHIELD medics are already waiting there, and Bucky tells him what he knows as quickly as possible.

 As it turns out, the gas contained drugs, but as far as they can tell there won’t be any permanent harm. The general giggliness and unfocused, loopy will wear off soon enough, but there is that thing about the… increased honesty, that concerns them. Clint answers questions about his well being completely voluntarily, which just doesn’t happen with him under normal circumstances.

 Clint Barton will tell you with a straight face that he is completely fine with a limb about to fall off - no way in hell he would disclose any personal information to SHIELD medical unless absolutely necessary.

 From what they can guess, the drug was probably designed to use while interrogating someone, chemically forcing them to tell the truth. Which, in turn, tells them that those people in the warehouse had bigger plans than they initially thought.

 But that is none of their concern right now - other people will investigate this further, and in the meanwhile, Bucky is very much busy in trying to keep Clint from getting up from the stretcher - he might be out of it, but he is determined.

 “Clint, stop. Do no. Get Up. From this stretcher. Again.” Bucky pushes him back down, using just as much force as he is comfortable with - he wants to keep Clint down, not actually hurt him.

 “I swear, I’ll sit on you.” he threatens, and is absolutely serious about it. Clint just looks up at him, and another giggle fit hits him. Bucky sighs - this is going to be a long flight home.

 Clint gets a grip on himself a little while later, still smiling lopsidedly and looking up at Bucky like he is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. It’s probably the drugs, he thinks, but then he says, completely genuine,

 “You  have very beautiful eyes.”

 There is a smile on his face while he says that, and under different circumstances, this would have made Bucky incredibly happy. Sure, he’s got an ever evolving crush on Clint, but goddammit, they don’t need to discuss this right after a mission with one of them kooky on drugs.

 “Thank you.” he replies, and pushes Clint down once again and tells him,

 “Seriously, I will sit on you. Stop trying to get up.”

 Instead of an answer, Clint gets a hold of Bucky’s hand - the flesh one. He pulls him closer, and he willingly goes. Bucky let’s Clint hold his hand, because it seems to make him happy, and does his best to ignore the fuzzy feeling in his stomach.

     ‘Dammit Barton, you’re lucky you’re cute    ’ he thinks, but instead of voicing any of that, Bucky asks,

 “Happy now?”, which is met with an enthusiastic nod from Clint.

 “With you? Always.”

 Aw, feelings, no.

 Surprisingly, Clint falls asleep for a good amount of time,  which is honestly a relief for everyone - himself included.

 He is a little more clear after waking up and not nearly as prone to giggle fits anymore - small favors. His tendency to chatter away and speak nothing but the truth, however, is still very much present. It ranges from insulting another agent's admittedly ugly haircut to shamelessly flirting with Bucky, and when he starts talking about classified mission details, he is actually clear enough to press both hands over his mouth in an attempt to shut himself up.

 One call to Fury later, Clint is brought home to the tower, is ordered to isolate and call for medical assistance if needed. They don’t want to take any chances in him blabbing about highly classified SHIELD business.

 Bucky is not happy about this - he is aware of the security risk, but putting a guy who just got drugged with an unknown substance   into isolation doesn't seem like a good idea to him. He might be biased here, but he really doesn’t want to leave Clint alone. Bucky knows for sure that he himself wouldn’t do too well if their places were reversed, but he can’t really ask Clint about that now. He pulled out his hearing aids and put a gag on himself in an desperate attempt to stop talking - as amusing as it was at the beginning, Bucky feels truly sorry for him.

 Upon arrival back home, it falls on Bucky to explain the whole thing to their teammates while Clint makes a frantic dash to the private elevator to get away from other people.

 Only when he arrives back in his apartment, he feels secure enough to take the fabric off of his face and does so with a sigh of relief. Finally safe.

 This whole thing wasn’t pleasant. Breathing in this shit in the first place was painful, no questions asked, and then… A whole lot of fuzziness and - oh god, he’s spent a good amount of time hitting on Bucky. Damn it. He really hopes that this doesn’t make things weird between them, because as loopy as he’d been, it doesn't make his feelings any less real.

 No one knows how long it is going to take for the effects of the drug to wear off, and Clint is already bored.

 Usually, he’s perfectly happy with a fews days all alone, no big deal. He’d even spent longer without human interaction, although that had been due to major mental health funks and not his own active choice.

 Now though? He’d been looking forward to hanging out with the team and maybe some alone-time with Bucky to talk. The two of them had been dancing around each other for long enough, and it’s about time they do something about it. But now, Clint can’t see either of them for who knows how long, until the damn truth drugs have worn off.

 With a frustrated sigh, Clint makes his way to the bathroom, stripping off his clothes on the way and leaving them in a trail on the floor until he reaches the shower. The hot water is like a godsent, and Clint spends a lot more time here than he usually would, since he doesn’t have to be anywhere.

 When he steps out of the shower and dries his hair with a towel, a strange sadness starts to settle deep in his chest - damn it. He was hoping it would take a while to set in, but as it turns out, as much as he likes his alone time, Clint very much likes the option to be able to see people. Now, he doesn’t have that choice.

 He spends a significant amount of time laying face down on his bed and cursing this mission.

 “Milk run my ass” he grumbles, and almost jumps out of his skin when someone hammers against his front door and a second later, his phone blinks with a text message:

 “We ordered Pizza for you, it’s at the door. Hope you’re okay!”

 This actually makes him smile - it’s a sweet gesture from his friends, and he is actually looking forward to it. And really, when he opens his door, DUM-E is standing there with a pizza box in his claw, waiting patiently and beeping in adoration when Clint gently pats the robot’s arm.

 “Thanks, buddy. Good job!” He is honestly surprised DUM-E didn’t drop anything.

 Clint puts on the TV and eats his own pizza, trying not to think of how everyone else is probably downstairs, enjoying the night as a group. Instead, he texts back:

 “Thanks guys, you’re the best ♥” and sends it off before he can overthink anything - it seems that texting kind of works, although even there, his current lack of filter is clearly visible. He never sends heart emojis to anyone, so what the fuck even is that? He sighs, shaking his head and burrows himself deeper into the couch.

 This is how his days are going - get up, shower, eat, nap, watch some TV. Not interact with anyone - this is fine.

 It is not fine.

 After a week of mostly texts to and from Clint and very little else, Bucky is fed up and decides to do something about this. It’s been a while, and he figures that at least the majority of the effects should have worn off by now. He is no doctor, but he is way past giving a shit.

 So this is how he finds himself knocking on Clint’s door one evening, and he picks up the shuffle from inside.

 It sounds like Clint paces a bit before deciding whether or not he should open, so Bucky knocks again, more intently this time - the door opens moments later.

 “Hi! Human contact, thank fuck!” Clint says, and his smile looks more than a little forced.

 “Indeed. You look like shit, which is why I’m keeping you company.” Bucky steps into the apartment and doesn’t resist when Clint wraps himself around him in a tight hug. He holds on tight with both arms and doesn’t let go until Clint does - which takes quite a few minutes. He must have been starved for touch, and Bucky thinks he should have done this much, much sooner. SHIELD be damned.

 Clint practically melts into the embrace, not just because he’s missed human contact in general, but especially Bucky. The two of them have grown close over the last few months.

 “I’m so glad you’re here, I really missed you.” the words are muffled against his shoulder, and followed by a more silent,

 “Ah fuck. I’m sorry, my filter's still missing apparently.”

 “Never knew you had much of a filter to begin with, doll.”

 Clint pulls away a little bit. Not entirely, just enough so they can look at each other.

 “You really don’t mind? I know I’ve been running my mouth but, uh…”

 The two of them are still touching, and Bucky has his arms wrapped around the other man's waist, holding him close and can’t help but smile.

 “For the record, I actually quite enjoy you running your mouth. You said some really nice things to me after that mission - specifically my eyes and my ass by the way.” Clint blushes a bit at that, but he doesn’t deny any of it - not that he wants to. Bucky grins at him and then grows serious when he continues,

 “You said more so than usually, which… Well. Obviously I won’t hold you to anything you say or do under the influence of this, but if it is something you want, I’d like to be with you. You mean a lot to me, Clint, and I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

 “Not your fault - I could have said something, too. And this isn’t the drugs talking, I promise. But yes, I’d love to be with you. I - you mean a lot to me, as well.”

 Their lips finally meet, and the two of them hold onto each other as tightly as humanly possible. Hands are wandering, brushing through hair, feeling beard stubble and fist into clothes. It feels good, it feels right, and Clint can’t remember when he last felt this happy. It must have been a while.

 “What if I say something I shouldn't?” Clint asks later, when the two of them are cuddled up on the couch with the TV running. Neither of them really watches the show. They’d rather spend their time together touching, kissing and talking.

 “I’ve got two hands to cover my ears with and noise cancelling headphones. We’ll be fine.” He leans forward to drop a kiss on his forehead, but Clint just blinks, and suddenly explodes.

 “Headphones! Of course! I spent the last week all lonely and shit because no one at SHIELD could think of motherfucking headphones?! Thanks Fury, you son of a bitch!” he rages on for a short while, then drops back down to the couch, face hidden in Bucky’s shirt.

 Cautiously, he runs his fingers though the dirty blond hair, unsure if the explosion is over or if this was just the start.

 But Clint remains where he is, holding onto Bucky and trying his best to calm down again - he is angry, of course, but most of all, sad. He’d been craving human interaction, someone to talk to or a hug - anything really.

 Coming home from a mission, especially when he’s hurt, always leaves him feeling some kinda way. It is a lot easier to deal with when he’s got company. If things went differently, he even could have spent the last week cuddled up with Bucky or doing other fun things that don’t require much talking.

 Instead, he’d spent the aftermath of those events alone in his apartment, bored, lonely and anxious. Sometimes, he really fucking hates his brain.

 Clint takes a few deep breaths, then he grouches,

 “I’ll be having words with them. Fuck this shit.” and holds onto Bucky just a little more tightly.

 “We can do that once they clear you for debrief.” he kisses his hair and nuzzles into it, inhaling the scent of his shampoo - sandalwood-something?

 Holding Clint feels so good, and Bucky is glad that they finally got their shit together, to be able to do this.

 Pulling his head up from the other man’s chest, Clint scoots a little more upwards, until they’re close enough to kiss.

 This, they figure, is a pretty good way to spend their time.

[scullys-right-eyebrow-txf]

Chapter 37: ...Two Steps Back

Thanks for putting up with all the angst! We'll get through this!

Takes place after the events of 'This Is Not Happening.' For this little story, Mulder was buried close by, not NC. Also, I know the timeline doesn't make a lot of sense. CC's timeline is so screwed up that I'm just doing the best I can!

Thanks so much for reading!!

Scully had only been back at work for two weeks when she was forced to take a couple of days off for Thanksgiving. Truthfully the holiday had snuck up on her. She and Mulder always seemed to be on a case during Turkey day. She lost count of how many times they ate dry, cold turkey in road side diners in Podunk towns. Actually, the more she thought about it, it was kind of nice.

 With half of the family being on the other side of the country, the Scullys never went big on Thanksgiving, and since her husband’s death, Maggie Scully had taken to gathering with a small group of friends to celebrate the day. They cooked more than they could ever eat, leftovers always made their way into Mulder and Scully’s refrigerators, and they spent the rest of their evening watching favorite old movies.

 Scully was invited every year and every year she declined, this year being no different. Maggie had argued that she shouldn’t be alone, but Scully convinced her that she really just needed the day to rest after her return to work. She’d be fine.

 Skinner, unsurprisingly, also worried about her and actually invited her along to his yearly meet up with some old army buddies and their families, but she convinced him as well that she’d be fine.

 The Gunmen had plans to eat loads of tacos, drink a lot of alcohol, and play Dungeons and Dragons until the wee hours of the morning. Scully was welcome to join them, minus the drinking of course, but she was quick to decline. She told them that all she wanted was her bed and a good book. She’d be fine.

 Doggett was traveling to upstate New York to visit his mother, and thankfully did not try to invite her along, but he did inquire about her plans, if she’d be alone. She assured him that she was good, she’d be fine.

 But when Thanksgiving came, Dana Scully was not fine.

She wasn’t even sure how she ended up at the cemetery.

 It wasn’t planned. Her intentions were true; she just wanted a low key day alone to relax, but it wasn’t to be. Scully woke with tears in her eyes and sorrow nestled in her soul. Her heart literally felt heavy. She felt a weight on her chest that made it hard to breath.

 She didn’t know how she was back in this state. Things had been going relatively well. She still cried, she still mourned, but suddenly she was feeling like she had in the days right after his death. Like there was no hope. Nothing to live for. Like she had died too.

 Scully barely remembered putting on yesterday’s clothes and driving to the cemetery, but here she was collapsed to the ground in front of his headstone, heaving sobs emitting from throat. It was her first time to return since the funeral and all she wanted was to lay on the damp grass and cry, to sink into the ground with him.

 She wrapped her arms around her belly as feelings of guilt joined her despair. How could she think these things? She had their child to consider, but for the moment all she wanted was to be with him. She needed to be strong, she needed to pull herself off the ground, but her sorrow was paralyzing.

 How was she supposed to live in this world without him by her side? How could she be both mother and father to this child? How could she continue to exist without the other half of her heart?

 Scully, so lost in her grief that she no longer had the ability to sit upright, crumbled against the headstone, her face pressed against its cool surface. Her fingers covered the letters of his name, clawing uselessly against them as if she could hold them, hold him in her grasp.

 After what could be minutes or hours, her sobs finally dissipated and her tears were no longer constant, but she had no strength to stand. She felt a presence beside her and a hand tentatively touch her shoulder.

 “Dear child, are you alright?”

 Scully slowly turned her head to see a tiny, white haired woman beside her. This woman was much older than her own mother, but she could tell from her touch that this woman was a mother herself. She saw a sadness in her eyes that she could see in her mother’s eyes, in her own eyes. This woman was a widow as well. It was funny, she had never thought of herself as a widow until that moment.

 “I’m okay,” Scully said, wiping her eyes with her coat sleeves. She took the old woman’s offered hand and carefully stood up. “I’m okay, I just…” she didn’t know how to finish the sentence as another tear made its way down her cheek. Her grief couldn’t be put into words, but she had a feeling that this woman understood all too well.

 “You’re sure?” the woman asked, her hand still on Scully’s elbow in support.

 Scully noticed that in her other hand, the woman held three perfect sunflowers. In the middle of November. There had to be a story about that.

 Scully nodded. “Yes, thank you for checking on me but I’m okay. I’m just going to go home.”

 The woman smiled sadly and rubbed Scully’s arm. “I know that if feels like you won’t get through this, but you will.” With one more smile, she turned and made her way further into the cemetery.

 Scully looked to Mulder’s grave and touched it one last time before sighing and making her way slowly to her car. She got behind the wheel and wiped away her remaining tears as she caught sight of the old woman in the distance, placing her sunflowers reverently on a gravestone.  

 ***************************************************

 Scully seemed to drive on autopilot to Mulder’s apartment. She hadn’t been there since the memorial, but it seemed like the right place to be. She was shocked to find the place spotless. It didn’t take her long to discover the card from a cleaning service on the kitchen table and she had no doubt that it was the doing of her mother.

She walked aimlessly from room to room before finding herself in front of the answering machine. She hadn’t heard his voice in a month, so she pressed play. She laid on the worn leather couch and continued to press play for an hour, drowning in the sound of the voice she longed to hear more than anything in the world.

 The apartment was paid up for two more months, but as she wallowed in her despair, she decided no more. The additional rent was already a strain on her finances, and no matter how much she prayed it would, keeping this apartment would not bring him back.

 Determined, she strode into the bedroom and threw open the closet door. Her goal was to pack up the contents, but instead she found herself haphazardly pulling clothes off the racks and throwing them to the floor. His clothes, her clothes, nothing survived her rage. Next was the dresser. With a sound somewhere between a sob and a scream, Scully emptied them all onto the floor as well. His blankets and pillows went next and she was about to take her destruction out on an innocent lamp when she broke.

 With a wail, she slid to the floor, a discarded comforter softening her descent. She once again lost track of time as she wept on the cold hardwood, surrounded by Mulder’s belongings. She was beginning to wonder how it was humanly possible for a person to cry that much. How did she have any tears left in her?

 Eventually Scully heard noises from the other room and a sharp gasp from the doorway. “Dana,” her mother whispered and was by her side in an instant. “Oh, sweetheart,” she simply said, pulling her into an embrace.

 Scully, relieved to realize that she was no longer crying, melted into her mother’s protective arms.

 “Dana, you worried me. I went by your apartment and you weren’t there and you didn’t answer your phone. Sweetie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you on your own.”

 “It’s not your fault,” Scully assured her. “I had a bad day,” she admitted with a hitch in her voice.

 Maggie held her daughter on the floor for some time before her body began to protest. “Let’s get you home,” she said, kissing her forehead.

 Scully didn’t put up a fight and allowed her mother to help her downstairs to the car. The ride was mostly silent until Scully had the courage to ask a question that she’d had for several months now.

 “Mom,” she asked hesitantly, “do you remember the last conversation you had with Daddy?”

 Maggie looked at her sadly before turning her eyes back to the road. “No,” she said softly. “It was just a normal night. We did our normal nightly routine and went to bed. And then he was gone. It was nothing special.”

 Scully nodded, unsurprised to find her eyes once again filled with tears. “I wish it had been like that for us,” she said softly. “I wish that it had just been a normal night. But it wasn’t. We had been fighting. We were both pretty mad. We put it aside when we said goodbye at the airport, and I told him that I loved him. And he said it back, but I can’t get over the fact that the last time we were together, we were mad at each other. I wish I couldn’t remember,” she said with a sigh.

 Her mother reached over and held her hand the rest of the car ride home. There was nothing she could say that would take away her daughter’s pain.

  The next day, Scully returned to Mulder’s apartment and put everything back where it belonged.

[ksjknj]

25 namkook htx you i ow e u me lif

pls still love me even tho this is super late and probably shit

namkook +25. My nightmares are usually about losing you

tw: nightmares, drunk kiss(es)

Jeongguk was just a kid when the nightmares first started.

Just a small kid with big eyes and wild imagination, dreaming about colourful monsters living in his closet, real big and scary in the silence of his dark room, seemingly the scariest thing in his tiny head.

They got bad maybe once every few months, mild enough to forget about them once he woke up, rare enough for his parents not to notice.

He still remembers the monsters that used to haunt him, but they seem like nothing in comparison to the demons he has to fight now.

Not that often, not anymore, but whenever it happens it’s bad enough to wake him up, haunt him for hours afterwards, even in broad daylight.

It doesn’t happen often anymore, but whenever it does it’s about Namjoon.

Byulyi’s flat is pitch black when he opens his eyes, erratic breath fanning over his chapped lips. Sweat soaked bangs are sticking to his forehead in that nasty way, oversized shirt damp around his armpits and on his low back, glued to his skin. His mouth tastes like shit, remains of vodka still clinging to his teeth, tongue dry like sandpaper.

The body on the couch above him stirs, the blanket slowly falling from its shoulders.

Jeongguk stills, mouth falling shut as he presses a hand over his sweaty face, trying his hardest to keep quiet.

His breath is loud in his ears, chest tight with how fast his heart is beating. He can feel it in his throat, swallows dryly as he blinks in attempt to get rid of the white spots in his vision.

It’s silent for a while, weak moonlight coming through the windows shining onto the unmoving form, bright enough for Jeongguk to make out the line of wide shoulders.

Just as he sits up, Namjoon groans. Groans too loud to be asleep. Rolls over and slowly cranes his neck to look at Jeongguk, eyes glistening in the white light.

They stare at each other, unblinking. Jeongguk can’t look away, not when Namjoon’s eyes are so wide and bright, so alive in the comparison to the nightmare he’s just had.

Namjoon groans again as he rubs at his face, almost falls off the couch when sitting up. He mumbles something under his breath, low and quick and too soft for Jeongguk to hear, then reaches forward to place a hand on his shoulder.

Jeongguk’s mind is still spinning, eyes uselessly focused on Namjoon’s lips, fingers tugging at the loose fabric of his torn shirt.

Namjoon’s cold body lying on the beach still vivid in his head, his face so pale in contrast to the gold sand. Waves washing onto the shore hitting his face, his eyes, running into his mouth and nose.

All so real and vivid it almost brings tears to his eyes. His chest only tightens more with Namjoon’s face right in front of his, oddly blue in the middle of the night with no real light source around them.

Makes him want to reach out, touch his face, find his pulse. Make sure he’s still breathing, still alive, still there.

The horrible fear from the dream still lasting, won’t leave him alone. Keeps him in that odd cloud high above everything, almost as if he’s looking at himself from the outside.

That heavy feeling so strong in his stomach it makes him nauseous.

“Hey,” comes then, barely a whisper. Namjoon’s hand on his shoulder moves, rubs soothing circles if a little clumsy. Heavy with reassurement and care, helps to ground him. “Hey,” Namjoon repeats, this time a little louder, his voice all raspy and deep.

Jeongguk thinks it’s a nice voice. “Guk, you okay?”

He takes a deep breath and jerks a nod, looks at his lap while doing so.

Aside from the soft snoring coming from Byulyi’s room, the apartment is quiet, wrapped into that night calm. Jeongguk can’t help but focus on his quick breathing, Namjoon’s calm one.

“Fine,” he mumbles eventually, nodding again. The reassuring rubbing doesn’t stop, only travels to his back, smoothing the line in between his shoulderblades, moving to the back of his neck.

He shivers when Namjoon’s rough fingertips brush against the short hairs there, hums when fingers bury into his hair and scratch at his scalp in that familiar way.

Always has been like this, ever since they met. Comfortable, simple. Despite him being the youngest of the group, despite three whole years separating the two of them.

Jeongguk has always felt safe in Namjoon’s embrace, always welcomed and loved.

But now he’s making Namjoon worry, and that’s never been his intention. “Just a nightmare,” he says into the silence, automatically tilting his head to the side. “S’fine, hyung. Go back to sleep.”

It gets him a hum, but Namjoon doesn’t attempt to pull back. Keeps running his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair, gentle and careful, as he always is. Eventually, he leans closer, close enough for Jeongguk to smell the alcohol on his breath, along with something obnoxiously sweet. Traces of cologne still cling to his skin, irritating on the nose but reassuringly familiar at the same time.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks, words slightly slurred and soft at the edges, but it makes sense because it’s the middle of the night.

It’s the middle of the night and Jeongguk is keeping Namjoon from getting his much needed sleep.

He shakes his head, sleep heavy in his bones yet again, muscles exhausted and ready to pass out.

“Nah, it’s good,” he says, but keeps staring at Namjoon’s eyes, bright in the odd light. Mesmerising almost, but Jeongguk is too tired to think about it.

Fingers in his hair still, eventually being pulled back.

“Want water?”

“Hyung, you don’t have to.”

“Do you?”

And he finds himself saying yes, yes I do, because his mouth is dry and his throat even more so. Finds his chest growing warm with the fondness and care in Namjoon’s voice, lips quirking upwards at the small gesture.

He lays back down and closes his eyes when Namjoon turns on the flashlight on his phone, too bright and blue in the darkness of the room. He pulls the covers over his shoulders, now shivering in the damp shirt clinging to his skin, beads of sweat cold on his temples.

“Here,” Namjoon says once he gets back, Jeongguk blinking open to look at him. His face is glowing in the fabricated light, dimple deep and visible even this early in the morning. He sits up with some help from Namjoon, chugs down the entire glass, then drops face first into the pillow.

Namjoon stifles a laugh behind his hand, eyes glistening with amusement.

“Thank you,” Jeongguk mutters as he rearranges the pillow under his head, trying to make out Namjoon’s face in the blackness.

It doesn’t work.

His breathing is still erratic, heart beating like crazy. That ill feeling still heavy and persistent in his bones, impossible to shake off.

There’s rustling coming from the couch above him, but Jeongguk focuses on Namjoon’s breathing instead - deep and even and slow, tries to breathe in sync with him.

It helps, even intervals calming him down, lulling him to sleep. Exhaustion slowly tugs him under, deeper and deeper until all he can make out is faint noise in the background, soft fingers in his hair.

The line between dreams and reality is smudging, and he can feel himself drooling on the pillow, all cold and sticky.

“What was it about?” comes from somewhere far away, but so close at the same time.

He can’t open his eyes, just shrugs and rubs his cheek against the soft fabric, exhaling deep and loud.

“They’re usually about losing you,” he mutters, slowly embraced by nothingness.

Yet another Friday at a joint in Itaewon, some random place that Yongsun chose because she liked the vibe.

“What vibe,” Jeongguk mutters now, nose scrunched in annoyance as he looks around. Their tiny table is wobbly under the weight of too many beers, way too many people shoved into the ugly booth dressed in worn leather. There’s shouting all around them, their food still stuck in the kitchen, although it’s been more than an hour since they ordered.

He’s caught between a very drunk Wheein and an even drunker Taehyung, currently attempting to flirt right through him.

Reminds him of when they nearly fucked on Jimin’s bed once, months ago, just because they got a little too drunk and a little too horny.

Probably would have, if Hyejin weren’t there to drag Wheein home, leaving Taehyung a whining mess on the bed.

Hyejin, who’s currently sitting on the other side of the table completely unbothered, manicured nails tapping against the tabletop as she explains something to a rose cheeked Yoongi.

All of them so drunk, but Jeongguk just wants his food.

“Yah, that’s some - some good shit,” Taehyung says to his cheek, Wheein giggling from the other side. He squeezes his eyes closed, ignores their warm breaths on his skin. “Should show me sometime.”

He’s pretty sure they’re talking about an art project she did, but Taehyung’s tone suggests much nastier shit.

Nastier shit that Jeongguk doesn’t want to have anything to do with, so he excuses himself and climbs over Wheein’s lap to go on a search for the toilet.

The small restroom is dark, lit only by a rather green bulb right above one of the sinks. It colours Namjoon’s cheeks an odd purple, eyes glistening when he looks at Jeonggguk from where his hands are completely covered in soap.

“Hyung,” he mutters, surprised to find him there. “Thought you were outside.”

“Was,” Namjoon mutters, dimples dark and deep even in the weak light, his lips curved into a slight smile. “Left Hoseok-ah to his business.”

He’s not sure he wants to know, but, “What business?” still escapes his lips when he walks to the other sink and turns the tap.

Water is cold against his fingers, a bit too icy, but he barely notices when Namjoon’s cheeks are so pink in the reflection in the mirror.

“Daewon came,” Namjoon says and sighs. When he glances up, their eyes meet in the wide mirror. Jeongguk looks away, ears heating up for no particular reason. “She seemed better.”

“That’s good,” Jeongguk mutters, staring at his hands under the water. Paper towels rustle when Namjoon dries his hands, humming a melody under his breath.

When Jeongguk looks up he’s still there, leaning against the sink, staring at him. They both look away when their eyes meet, but Namjoon lets out a short giggle, incredibly loud in the quiet of the restroom.

Music is blasting from the outside, bass barely muted by the old wooden door. Jeongguk wishes to just stay there instead, in the calm and quiet of the four walls, just him and Namjoon and that comfort that always seems to be present.

Always so comfortable and nice, even when he finds Namjoon’s gaze a bit too intense sometimes, when his fingers get all jittery for no reason other than Namjoon saying something incredibly deep and embarrassing.

Real inspirational too, most of the time.

Uses big words to share his experiences with the rest of them, and Jeongguk finds himself mesmerised by how interesting it all is, how smart and thought through.

Wishes to be more like him, aspires to be a better person.

When he wipes his hands clean and bins the wet paper towels, Namjoon clears his throat. Their eyes meet over the dimly lit space, Namjoon’s glistening with something unusual.

“Have they stopped?” he asks. Jeongguk’s eyes widen, lips curving downwards in confusion.

“What?”

“The nightmares.”

The word echoes around the room, needs a while to sink in.

It hits him like a train once it does.

He blinks once. Twice. Stares at Namjoon who’s looking right back at him, smiles shyly after a couple of seconds too long, then looks to the ground.

He’s still staring when Namjoon rubs the back of his neck, slowly realising the silence is getting a little uncomfortable.

“What?” he repeats, feeling real dumb. Has no idea how Namjoon knows about his nightmares when he hasn’t told a living soul, when he keeps it all inside, bottled up until it occasionally explodes.

Explodes and causes him to get really drunk, dance until morning hours, get fucked until nothing matters anymore.

Explodes and breaks shit, because it’s easier to deal with the frustration and helplessness that way.

Explodes and cries into his pillow in the middle of the night, Jimin sleeping on the other side of the wall.

He hasn’t told anyone, because he can handle them. It’s not a big deal.

Not a big deal, but Namjoon still frowns and says, “About me,” which causes Jeongguk to freeze on the spot, still staring at the smooth line of Namjoon’s neck.

He forces himself to look away.

Heartbeat is loud in his ears when he swallows, throat incredibly dry.

“I don’t have nightmares about you,” he says, fingers tangling into the hem of his shirt. He runs his fingertips over the seams, biting his lip until it starts bleeding, metallic taste spilling over his tongue.

Neither of them move, enveloped into an odd silence. Distant buzz of people chatting fills the space between them, but Jeongguk can only focus on Namjoon’s breathing.

“You - you told me that night,” Namjoon says eventually, and when Jeongguk looks up he’s playing with his fingers, staring down at them.

“What?” he says, feeling even dumber than before. He tries his hardest to come up with a better answer, but his brain is pulling a blank.

Can’t think of a single thing to say.

“You don’t remember?”

“I dunno.”

“At Byulyi-noona’s,” which hits something. Causes him to squint, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. Barely remembers it all, weeks ago by now.

“Back in April?” he asks as he rubs the back of his neck.

Namjoon jerks a nod, says, “You woke up in the middle of the night with a scream.” Pauses, shakes his head, and takes a deep breath. “Told me.. Said your nightmares were about me.”

Jeongguk’s throat feels tight, but he forces a laugh. Sounds all strained and fake, caught between four walls, between the two of them. Tastes real bitter, because this is Namjoon, someone he trusts the most and never lies to, but he laughs again and shakes his head.

“No, hyung. I was.. Probably still drunk, you know how it is,” he says. Namjoon’s eyes are on his for just a second before he looks away, pulls a funny face, then breaks into the tiniest of smiles.

Forced.

Jeongguk feels sick with the knowledge of it being fake. Not honest like they always are with each other, not genuine, because Namjoon knows he’s lying.

But Namjoon still nods at him, rubbing at his cheek.

“Yeah,” said softly, barely loud enough with the background noise. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Letting him get away with it, letting it go, because Jeongguk doesn’t want to talk about it.

It leaves something heavy in the pit of his stomach, tension hanging loud in the air between them. Jeongguk doesn’t dare to move, stares when Namjoon pockets his hands, looks at himself in the mirror, fixes a loose strand of hair.

He stares when Namjoon nods again, his reflection offering another forced smile. “I better go.”

“Yeah,” says Jeongguk this time, whispered into the empty space Namjoon leaves behind.

After the third drink Seokjin shoves into his hand, Jeongguk feels a bit wobbly.

The living room in Hoseok and Seokjin’s apartment is small and currently packed to the brim. Their small circle of friends expanded as soon as Taehyung dragged along some of the drama kids, which no one seems to mind.

Doesn’t mean the living room has gotten any bigger, resulting in too little space for the large crowd of people.

Jeongguk doesn’t like the bodies rubbing against him, the feeling of being trapped, so he finds himself wandering outside to get some fresh air, leaving the heat and the noise behind the glass door of the balcony.

Outside, Namjoon is leaning against the wall, slope of his nose shining in the moonlight. He looks at Jeongguk when the door slams shut, offering a small smile that causes his dimples to pop out.

Jeongguk smiles back, plops himself down between some potted plants, and glances at the city below.

“Getting a little crazy, isn’t it?” Namjoon asks, voice low and even. Soothing in comparison to the loud music inside, rather pleasant after the few drinks Jeongguk has had.

“Just. Too crowded?” He plays with his piercings, leans back until his head hits the wall. “I like the others, though.”

“Yeah, they’re nice.”

Leaf of one of the bigger plants brushes against Jeongguk’s cheek when he tilts his head to the side, making him giggle. He runs his fingers over the shiny green surface, a little magical in the darkness of the night.

“Cute,” he says, dropping his hand back into his lap, and closes his eyes.

“Yeah, you are.”

Namjoon is staring at him when their eyes meet, both quickly looking away. Jeongguk’s insides twist, cheeks heating up.

The giggle that escapes Namjoon’s lips colours his cheeks an even darker colour.

They sit in silence, their breaths along with the occasional breeze weak in contrast to the bass blasting through the wall. Tiles are cold against Jeongguk’s ass, colours on the street bright and colourful. They flicker from orange to pink to blue, then back again.

All so beautiful on Namjoon’s face, dancing on his shiny lips. He doesn’t realise he’s staring until Namjoon suddenly clears his throat, stands up, and disappears back into the apartment.

He comes back with a bottle of wine, cork already gone, and drinks straight from the bottle as Jeongguk watches.

He reaches for the bottle eventually, Namjoon easily giving in, unwrapping his long fingers from the neck so Jeongguk can take a swig.

Namjoon’s profile is shining blue now, the slope of his nose smooth and mesmerising.

“Hyung?” he mutters and gets a hum in reply. “Got a smoke?”

A pause, then, “It’s bad for you.”

Jeongguk shifts, pulls his legs closer until he can hug them, and rests his cheek against his knees. Says, “Yes or no?”

Something changes on Namjoon’s face when he turns his head to look at him again. Eyes getting softer at the corners, lips curving up, albeit just a little. The bottle gets pushed away, a pack thrown his way just a moment later.

Jeongguk struggles with opening it, fingers clumsy with alcohol in his veins. He eventually manages to get one in between his teeth, but fiddling with the lighter isn’t any easier.

It gets Namjoon to huff a laugh, shaking his head as he takes the lighter from his fingers to light the cigarette for him.

“Here,” he mutters, still staring when Jeongguk takes the first drag. Still staring when he blows it into the dark night, white smoke getting lost in the wind.

Namjoon’s adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, colours clinging to the sweat on his skin.

The air between them shifts, but Jeongguk can’t tell why. He feels the odd tension, forcing him to turn away with Namjoon’s intense stare still burning hot on his skin, setting his insides on fire. He looks to the sky, the round moon so bright, and takes another drag.

Smoke twirls around his nose, slowly disappearing into the night.

The burn at the back of his throat is familiar, pleasant. It reminds him of years ago, back when it used to be just him and Jimin and Namjoon, just the three of them and a broken bench behind the school building. Hidden away in the corner, covered in graffiti and used gum, but still their favourite.

Would always meet there after classes, share a half empty pack of smokes Jimin had stolen from his father, and waste their time.

An ugly habit that was, but one that tied them all together.

More of a ritual than an addiction, Namjoon had always said.

More of an excuse to meet daily, chill for hours when they were supposed to be doing their homework. Sitting there until it got dark outside, street lights slowly flickering on.

Talked of nothing in particular, all dumb talk. Even dumber boys, but Jeongguk still remembers how safe and loved it made him feel.

Oddly connected to it all now, smoking again. Still the same brand, even after all these years. It sticks to the roof of his mouth in that nasty way that he’s always loved, the taste strong on his tongue.

“Why these?” he asks, waving the pack around. Namjoon follows the movement, smiles a little. His eyes are half lidded and dark, all mysterious.

“The memory,” and Jeongguk gets it. Knows how it is, would probably still smoke if he weren’t a broke student.

Before he can properly think about it he raises his hand, offers the lit cigarette to Namjoon. It hangs in the space between them, their eyes locked, but none of them moving.

Then Namjoon is leaning closer, but he doesn’t take the cigarette from his fingers as Jeongguk expected him to, just wraps his lips around the butt and breathes in.

His lips are warm when they brush against Jeongguk’s fingers, sending a shiver down his spine. They start a fire in the pit of his stomach, burning bright and hot.

He swallows thickly, neither of them breaking eye contact.

Namjoon doesn’t move back, just releases the cigarette and blows the smoke through his nose. Then he licks his lips, eyes momentarily dropping from Jeongguk’s eyes.

“Guk,” he says, rough and raspy. Jeongguk just hums. “Tell me - tell me if I’m getting this wrong.”

Then he’s moving close and closer, into Jeongguk’s space. Craning his neck up, tilting his head, a hand coming to rest on Jeongguk’s thigh, heavy and burning to the touch.

When their lips brush, Jeongguk’s fingers lose the grip on the cigarette. His eyes fall shut, Namjoon’s lips warm and thick and gentle against his own.

It’s careful at first, but as soon as he takes a fist of Namjoon’s shirt there are fingers on his neck, climbing higher and higher until they’re buried in his hair. Tugging him closer, causing his lips to fall open, their tongues sliding together.

Neither of them notices the cigarette burning Namjoon’s jeans.

The sky is painted different colours. From blue to pink to yellow and orange, all mixing together on the skyline, sun a big ball of fire dancing on the horizon.

Jeongguk has a hard time looking at the setting sun when there’s Namjoon sitting next to him, their thighs pressed together.

“Guk-ah?”

“Yeah?”

“How about those nightmares?”

A lazy smile stretches over his lips when he turns to look at Namjoon, tracing the colours dancing on his face, deep pink high in his cheeks.

Their eyes meet, Namjoon’s wide smile matching his.

And the colours in his eyes so beautiful Jeongguk thinks he could look at them for the rest of his life.

He smiles, looks down to grab Namjoon’s hand, and says, “I have you now.”

[varietyofwords]

Addendum, Part Twenty-Three (Chicago P.D.)

Title: Addendum

Chapter: Twenty-Nine In a Day (Part Twenty-Three)

Fandom: Chicago P.D.

Rating: T/PG-13

Author’s Note: “She’s Got Us” (3x22) another rare episode from S3 where I didn’t feel like another scene was truly necessary, but I came up with this little scene after rewatching the moment where Jay says “There’s such a thing as having too much empathy. You leave nothing for yourself.” and tells Erin he wants her to sleep rather than care less. This addendum is set at the conclusion of the episode after the scene at Molly’s.

The clatter of her cell phone against hard wood startles her awake; her whole body jerking at the sound and sending her left arm smacking against the padded armrest of the couch. It takes her a moment to awaken, to blink through the sleepy fog of her mind and realize where she was.

She hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights in the apartment as it had still be light out when she arrived home after finishing up the paperwork to release Polly to her aunt and uncle, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the changes in conditions. To recognize the green trench coat draped over the armchair to her left; to register the buzz of the cell phone preceeding the knock at her front door.

Her limbs feel foreign -- sleepy and legarthic thanks to the fading of the adrenaline that kept her upright through a shift on patrol, a stint waiting at the hospital for their witness, and a series of moments chasing down leads -- as she pushes herself off the couch, and she doesn’t bother to raise a hand to her mouth to cover the yawn that escaped as she pads over to the door. Her fingers fumble with the deadbolt; her brain barely registering the fact that she probably should have stopped to check peephole over the sound of the ringing cell phone.

And her eyes end up blinking rapidly when she manages to unlock the door and yank it open letting the light from the hallway outside her apartment floods in the entrance to hers. Centering and focusing when a shadow makes a step towards her and those instincts time in the academy and years on the force have fine tuned and honed.

“Hey,” the voice from the shadowy figure greets, and her whole body relaxes at the sound. Another yawn escaping as she pushes the door open further, as she adjusts her stance so the light from the hallway illuminates her boyfriend’s face rather than blinding hers. “Did I wake you?”

“Hmm,” she murmurs with a sleepy sigh letting the tone of her voice, the inability to really focus, and the lethargic movements of her body be her answer. He had, in fact, awaken her, but she dismisses his apology with a shake of her head because she hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Because she had her own apology to make -- one that would explain why Jay was blowing up her phone and banging on her door.

“I’ll go change,” she mutters releasing her grip on the opened door and turning away from him. But a hand shoots out, a finger snags onto the back pocket of her jeans, and a soft voice sounds rather dubious about her plan as he informs her that she shouldn’t bother unless she wants to make it in time for last call at Molly’s.

“It’s that late?” Erin questions glancing down at the watch on his wrist. It is far too dark for her to see the numbers, and she is far too sleepy to get her eyes to focus on the watch, even if it wasn’t. But she registers the slow nod of his head, the crease across his brow, and the concern in his eyes, and she accepts that what Jay is telling her is true.

That she didn’t just come home under the guise of chasing of her clothes -- because the extra set she keeps in her locker at the district had been hand delivered by Jay to Med -- and fallen asleep on the couch. Rather, she came home and passed out and completely blew off her plans to meet up with him at Molly’s. To unwind after a particularly rough case with a beer; to, hopefully, hear about some good news about how Roman’s medical hearing went and whether or not he and Burgess would be paired back up on patrol in a few weeks like Platt planned.

“Sorry,” she replies twisting back around so she’s facing him, so his grip on her back pocket falls, and she offers him a sleepy, half-smile as he tells her that it’s okay. That he figured she probably went home and crashed.

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” Jay tells her taking a step backwards into the hallway and, this time, it is her hand that reaches out and her finger that snags on the gap puckering between two buttons on the front of his shirt.

“Stay,” she says, and the gruffness of her sleepy voice proposes it as more of a statement rather than a question. A statement he answers by stepping towards her, by following her back into the foyer of her apartment so there is enough room for him to slam the door behind them. He stops to remove his boots -- a movement she anticipates by releasing her hook on his shirt and padding over to where her cell phone sits next to her keys -- but she only has a moment to blink wearily at the three missed calls and one text -- all from him -- before Jay’s hands are on her waist. Before he’s tugging the cell phone out of her hand and telling her to get some sleep.

She doesn’t bother protesting, and she’s too tired to make comments with suggestive smirks about him becoming so bossy all of the sudden. So, instead, she moves wordlessly through the living room and into the bedroom with Jay on her heels.

Lethargic fingers make quick work of her belt and shimming off her jeans while Jay sweeps pillows off the bed -- words asking why she has so many muttered under his breath -- and pulls back the sheets. And then they trade rolls; his deft fingers working on undoing the buttons of his shirt and the belt holding up his jeans while she crawls into bed and works on fluffing up the single pillow he’s left her with. Barely manages to keep her eyes open and her head off the pillow long enough for him to slip under the sheets and lay down beside her in the bed.

Months of doing this, of sleeping beside one another night after night dictate the rest of their movements long after her eyes flutter close. Her body instinctively rolls into his -- the little spoon to his big spoon -- and his left arm curls around her waist as he helps pull her closer to him. Hot breathes curl around her ears as his breathing steadies, as her cheek buries into the pillow being propped up by his right arm and her eyes begin to flutter shut once more.

“Polly get off with her aunt and uncle okay?” The question is murmured into the crown of her head; the words lost into the mess of short, light brown hair brushing up against his face. And the tears that had threatened to spill over when she said goodbye to Polly return to the corner of her eyes as she manages to croak out a verbal agreement to his question, as silence fills the bedroom of her apartment once more.

“I,” she whispers after a moment, after the desire to sleep has started to leave her body as reminders of what they saw this time yesterday begin to resurface. “I told her that she was one of those people who I didn’t have to worry about. That no matter where she goes, everything is going to be okay.”

The response to her statement comes with the slide of Jay’s hand across her stomach so that his fingers rest of her leg instead of against the mattress, so that his fingers can rub small circles onto the exposed skin of her leg rather than dangling uselessly. And a soft kiss is pressed to the back of her head -- the contact causing her eyes to flutter close once more -- as Jay whispers assurances that he is sure that’s true.

“It’s no Wisconsin frozen custard,” he says after a moment where a tear has slipped down her cheek, where she can feel his body tighten behind her as he tries to find the right comment to make her feel better. “But St. Louis’ is pretty decent.”

There were a lot of things about St. Louis that he found pretty decent -- the zoo, the Arch -- and it had been his comments about the city that she had fallen back on when Polly asked if she had ever been there. Because Jay had been there as a kid -- more than a couple of times, apparently -- and he had always talked about it as a nice place. Had made a couple of not so subtle hints that maybe they should take a weekend down there, if she wasn’t up for dealing with mosquitos the size of birds up in Wisconsin.

“That fancy condo come with a frozen custard shop? Cause then you might learn what dry cleaners are,” Erin questions softly, and her lips tip upward into a smile for the first time since he brought her that combo. A smile that is rewarded the stilling of his hand against her leg and an exasperated huff of air behind her head.

“You gotta focus on the view,” he reminds her, and she hums noncommittally in reply because that is exactly what the builders of these new, tiny ass condos springing up across the city want him and every other potential buyer to do. To focus on the view instead of the lack of a bedroom or a toilet right next to the stove. To take out big loans in order to enjoy a view they’ll -- he’ll -- never to get see because they’re -- he’s -- too busy picking up overtime to pay off said loans.

The quiet filling the apartment is occasionally interrupted with the sound of a car rolling down the street outside her apartment, with the reminder that she may not have a view but she does have a neighborhood. The sounds of which dim at this time of night, and her eyes to grow heavy with sleep once more as Jay resumes tracing circles with his thumb on her bare leg.

“Did you see Roman?” She mumbles as she remembers part of why she was supposed to hit up Molly’s with him. The words are heavy and staccatoed thanks to the lethargy, to the strain of twenty-nine hours done in a day settling in, and her question is met with a sleepy yawn and a chuckle in reply.

“Yeah, there’s gonna be a sequel to that Roman-Burgess-Ruzek horror movie.”

Jay’s reply causes her to groan, to forget about sleep in favor of rolling over so her left shoulder is pressing into his chest and she is able to look at his face. To quirk an eyebrow in a silent instruction for him to elaborate and then prod him with the tap of her toe against his shin when she realizes he can’t see her in the dark.

“Overheard him telling Burgess that he’s being pushed out to some desk job,” he informs her, and her shoulders immediately sag with disappointment at what he’s saying because while she figured that was coming, that his recovery was taking longer than the Ivory Tower would be okay with, Roman is good police. Someone she wouldn’t mind working Violence Reduction Duty with, if Jay’d rather spend the time taking a shower rather than raking in a dollar a minute. “He asked Burgess to move to San Diego with him. Said he loves her. Probably.”

“He said that?” Erin asks; the incredulous tone of her voice squeezing out any sign of sleepiness. And Jay nods in reply, curls his finger around her hip when concern begins to twist her features and her limbs away from where she lays cuddling with him.

“You can call Burgess in the morning,” Jay reminds her. The edge to his voice, the concern seeping in clues her into the look on his face currently being obscured by the darkness. Tells her that he’s looking at her the exact same way he looked at her back at Med when he wanted her to get out of there, to get some sleep instead of waiting for Polly.

And this time she reaches up to brush her hand against the stubble on his cheek, tilts her head back so she can press a kiss to the underside of his jaw because she doesn’t want him to worry. Doesn’t want him to think she’s willing to wreck herself -- more than she already has today -- or willing to blow him and his concern off -- like maybe she did a bit this morning, like she did on accident this evening -- after he worked hard to keep her on track, to keep her fed and supported and aware that she was caring and carrying too much.

“I will,” she informs him before rolling back onto her side, before scooting backwards so his body can curl back around hers. And then she lets her eyes flutter close, buries her head into the pillow, and lets out a long yawn as his fingers resume their tracing movements on her skin. “But, right now, I’m gonna care less and sleep more.”