#ill try to get the next chapters out tonight

[pedrosgrogu]

Born Too Late - Chapter 6

pairing/au: neighbor!joel x reader // no outbreak

Warnings: MDNI!! soft/sad joel, angst, tension, drinking, idk what else, let me know if i missed something.

Summary: you break off the situationship and the feelings after it are overwhelming, for both you and Joel.  (2.4k+)

a/n: idk what this is, i woke up ready to write and here we are. i feel like i suck at writing from both POVs so idk how frequently ill do it but i feel like it was necessary here. always a major thank u to my bestie raven for proofing and feeding the delusions and ideas. i love all feedback so if you have any, pls share.

p.s. there will be another thanksgiving chapter tonight hehe. 

Master List - Chapter 5

*Joel’s POV*

You can feel the door slam and vibrate through your bones. The sound of the sink dripping reverberates through the entire house. You stand there in disbelief; in shock. You hadn’t fallen so hard for someone since Sarah's mom, and boy did she fuck that up. Did you come on too strong? Was it the fact that you have a child? A million thoughts run through your head, but none make any sense. 

By 11:30, you’re on your 3rd glass of whiskey. You aren't drunk, but you're in a sweet spot of euphoria to combat the evening's prior feelings. You’re watching reruns of Bonanza and begin to doze, until the phone rings. You jump up, “maybe it's her” you think out loud. Answering with a burly “Hello?”, not even checking caller ID. “Hey brother. Bad news, Im down at county again got in a little-” “Goddamnit Tommy.” You say, standing up, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I know, I'm sorry. But if someones not here to get me within the next 30, I'm here all weekend.” Tommy says, sounding desperate. You don't say anything for a minute, trying to figure out if you should be his savior yet again or let him learn a lesson. “I'm on the way” you grunt, hanging up the phone before he can respond. You throw on your t-shirt and jeans from earlier, and they still smell like her. The sigh that escapes your mouth is guttural. Why do you have such strong feelings about someone you barely fucking know? 

You grab your keys and pull the door behind you; locking only the bottom. You look towards her house and notice the lights are all off, except her bedroom. You see her reading in bed, her hair still up and her Texans sweatshirt bunched around her. The last time you looked in her window, something very different was happening. She was on the verge of losing herself to you. You feel your jeans twitch and get in your truck. It rumbles to life and you peel down the street, praying you make it to county before midnight. 

*Reader’s POV* 

You slam the door behind you, and tears are building in your eyes. You pause, hoping to hear the door open and for Joel to come running after you, but he doesn't. You kick your shoes off at the door and head straight to your room, not turning any lights on. You sit in silence for a few minutes, unsure of what emotions are about to pop out next. You shoot Penny a text, not even thinking about the time in Ireland. 

You: Hey Pen, can you talk? 

You throw yourself on your bed, clutching your phone and holding back tears.

*ding* 

You pick up your phone, not sure who you want to text you more, Joel or Penny. 

Penny: Respectfully, do you know what time it is here?! 

You: I'm sorry Pen, I didn’t even realize. We can catch up tomorrow, just call me when you’re free. I’ll be home all day.  As soon as you hit send, the phone rings. 

“Hey Pen” you say, trying not to sound as upset as you are. 

“Yellow, what's wrong?” She says, yawning. 

“Nothing Pen, I just missed you!” You say, trying to sound cheery. 

“Girl, it's like 10:30 at your house, I know you weren't just up thinking of me.” 

So you spill. You tell her about how he spoke to you at the conference, and how he cooked you dinner. How he fucked you into oblivion again. By the end of your spiel, you’re in tears again. 

“Okay so from what I can gather, you obviously like him. Right? Sooooo why did we cut this off? I don't understand the whole “Ethical Misconduct” if you’re both consenting adults?”

You sigh, sniffling. “It's complicated. I truly don’t think anything would happen, but since his daughter is in my class, I don't want it to look like I’d be favoring her. I just feel stuck. I feel stuck because hello- he's hot but hello- I also don't know anything about him except his name, and how he fucks. I just-” Penny cuts you off

 “I think the best thing for you to do if you aren't going to pursue this, is to leave it alone. Don’t talk to him unless it involves his daughter. Don’t even look in his direction. I hate to see you so torn up over this, but if nothing can come of it, it's time to let it die.” 

You mute the phone, letting out a sigh, and a whimper. You know Pennys right, and she only wants whats best for you. It's so fucking annoying being so far away from your best friend. You’d give anything to hug her right now.

“Hello?” she says. You unmute. 

“Sorry Pen, I'm here.” You look at the clock. 11:18. 

“Penny, I appreciate this, and you. I love you so so much, and I'm sorry for texting so early.” You say, giggling. “But I'm tired, and I want today to be over.” 

“I'm always a phone call away Yellow. Always.” 

“Love you Pen.” you say, hanging up. 

You stand up and walk over to your bookshelf. Running your fingers along the spines, you look out the window, and all Joel's lights are off. You find your favorite, pulling it out and rubbing your fingers over the etched title. “The Picture of Dorian Gray”. You throw your blankets back and crawl into bed, turning on your bedside lamp. The room looks warm, but you’re freezing. Your tears begin flowing again and this time, they don't stop. You miss your friends and your family. You miss having someone to come home to, regardless of who it is. 

It’s been a few weeks since you last talked to Joel and you feel the same as you did then. You’re craving his touch, and desperate for him to give you any ounce of attention. But he never does. If you’re ever outside when he is, he never looks your way. He doesn't smile, or wave. He keeps his head low and pretends you aren't there. 

Sarah has come over a few times after learning you were neighbors, to get help with homework and you don't mind it. Making small talk with her about her other classes, her interests, and her family. Today, she came over and brought chocolate chip muffins. “I made these with my dad and Uncle Tommy! If they’re bad, it's because Uncle Tommy put way more chocolate chips than the recipe called for.” She says, laughing. “I'm sure they’re great Sarah,” you say, grabbing 2 plates from the cabinet. “How is Uncle Tommy?” you ask, genuinely. You like Tommy. Based on the few times you’ve met him, he seems like a nice guy. Handsome like his brother, but not quite your type. “He’s good! He and Dad just started working on some big project so they’re gone late sometimes…” She trails off. “Sarah, you are always welcome to come hang out if it gets late and no one is home!” You say, trying not to sound too worried. She smiles at you. You bite into your muffin. “Sarah, these are DELICIOUS!” you say excitedly. “Thanks,” she says with a smile. “So how is your dad? I haven't seen him in a while, but the big new project would explain that.” Sarah sits her muffin down. “He’s okay. He went on a date last weekend, but the woman was kinda weird. She came early when my mom was picking me up and started a fight with her while I was standing there.” “A date?” you say to yourself, trying to keep your emotions together. “I'm sorry that happened, Sarah,” you say, looking at her intently, trying to gauge her feelings. “It’s whatever. They’re going out again tonight so I don't think it bothered him too much.” She says, taking another bite of her muffin. “Uncle Tommy told me we could go roller skating so I should get home to get ready. Ill see you at school next week!” she says, putting her shoes on. “Bye Sarah! Have so much fun, and I cant wait to hear all about it on Monday!” you say, as she closes the door. 

A date. A fucking date. 3 weeks ago he was practically begging you to cum for him and then stay the night, and now he's going on dates? What a fucking asshole.  

*Joel’s POV*

It's been 3 weeks since you last spoke to her. Sarah realized you were neighbors so she's been spending lots of time with you, it's how you get your fix. Tommy noticed your shitty moods and finally cracked what's wrong. 

“I knew you'd been seein’ someone! You ain't been that giddy since you met Sarah's mom.” Tommy pauses and begins again “Shes nice, the neighbor girl. What’d you do to fuck it up?” 

You grab his collar, picking him up. “Do not ever compare her to Sarah's fucking egg donor. EVER,” you grunt, throwing him down. “And I didn’t do shit. We just weren't right for each other,” you say, walking away. “Let me introduce you to Maria’s friend, Celeste. She's kinda crazy but she's a looker!” Tommy says, laughing again. You groan. “Tommy, I don't need you playing matchmaker” you grunt, slinging his work belt at him, “now get your shit and let's go, we’re gonna be late.”

So much for Tommy not playing matchmaker. Its Sarah's weekend at her mom's and Tommy just informed you that Celeste is on the way. As long as Sarah’s mom is gone by the time she gets here, you think. You put on a pair of jeans, brown boots, and a T-shirt. “Sarah, your mom is gonna be here in 5 minutes, are you ready?” you yell down the hallway. “Yes dad, coming!” she says back. You grab your favorite flannel off the back of the couch. 

“Alright honey, I’ll see you Tuesday after school. I have a big day on Monday so you’re gonna stay with your mom for an extra night.” You say, hugging Sarah in the driveway. “I love you”. “I love you too dad!” she replies, opening the door. Before she can get in, a silver Lexus peels up the street and right into your driveway. Celeste. 

After an intense and fucking weird argument between your date and Sarah's mom, you both get into your truck. The silence is deafening. This woman is not your style at all, what the fuck Tommy? 

The date goes well, so well that Celeste asks to see you a second time. You agree, unsure why. She's not you, Yellow. But maybe it's what you need. A change of pace. 

While getting ready for your date, you realize you’re out of shampoo. Usually, you’d say fuck it, body wash can double. But you want to see her, you need to see her. So you throw on your sweats and head next door. 

You knock lightly, hoping not to disturb her. She opens the door and your nose is suffocated with her scent. Lavender and eucalyptus. Her hair is lying natural, wavy, and flowy. You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out. She looks gorgeous. 

“Joel? Hello??” she says, obviously annoyed. 

You snap back to reality. “Hey. I have a meeting tonight and realized I'm out of shampoo. Do you have any?” you now realize how fucking stupid that sounds. “Are you joking?” she says laughing. You smile. “No, I wish I-” She stops you, and her smile slowly turns into a frown. “You have some fucking nerve coming over here and asking me for shampoo, like we’re friends. You haven’t spoken to me in WEEKS. And then to lie about why you need it?” You look at her, dumbfounded. Like a deer in fucking headlights. “Joel, after your date, don't forget to go fuck yourself.” and she slams the door. Her words were sharp like a knife, cutting deep. You feel tears begin to well in your eyes and hear silent sobs through the door. You walk away before she sees you, also crying. 

You call Celeste and tell her to just come to your house, you don't feel like going out. Around 7:30, you hear a car door shut. She knocks, gently. You open the door and there Celeste stands. She's wearing a long-sleeved black dress, with black heels. Her hair is curled and bounces with every step. Again, she's beautiful, but she isn't you, Yellow. 

*Readers POV*

“Joel, after your date, don't forget to go fuck yourself.” you say, slamming the door in his face. You fall to the floor behind the door, letting your sobs escape. Not caring if he hears or not. What a fucking time for this to happen. Thanksgiving is in 2 weeks and Penny is stuck in Ireland doing research, your parents are visiting their friends in Spain for the holiday, and your siblings have their own families. You have never felt so alone in your life. 

You spent the next few hours moping around the house, waiting for Penny's call. You watched Joel's date pull into the driveway. Her and her fucking Lexus and her bouncy hair and her fucking heels. You head to the fridge to find whatever intoxicating liquid you see first, but then you have a better idea. If he can have fun, you should too. You take a quick everything shower, spritz your favorite all over, and throw on a mini dress with some black heels. You call a taxi and grab your clutch. 

The taxi pulls up a few minutes later. “The closest bar, please. One with music,” you say, and the taxi pulls off.

[strawberrystepmom]

canon au. cult leader!geto x f!reader. | word count: 762, reading time: 3 minutes.

“Did I ever matter to you, Suguru?”

In a different life, the fact you’ve even asked would have crushed the man standing next to you. In this imaginary reality, he’d ask how he could show you differently that he cares. He would reaffirm that the attention you spent almost a year of your life extending to him was worth it and helped him through the worst times he has ever experienced, but in this one he knows better.  

It doesn’t matter if you did or not. His feelings won’t change the fact you will never be his, your noble choice to do good far more important to you than any lingering feelings you may have for him.

“No, I guess you didn’t.”

The words taste worse across his tongue than any curse he’s ever ingested. He’s a liar, damned to hell for more reasons than just dishonesty, but he has to finally let you go; to let you walk back into a crowded club with tears blurring your vision because his words cut to your core. You told him years ago you fear being forgettable, someone people can let go of without a second thought, and it’s the sharpest knife he can press into you in some ill guided attempt to get the last word.

“I’m glad to finally know.” 

A chance encounter in a club closes out a chapter in your life you thought you’d stay suspended in forever and your stomach turns, your hands idly resting at your sides while your thoughts race. From “does your boyfriend know you’re out dressed like that?” to turning your head with a grin that swiftly fell as you weaved through the thick crowd to end up out here. 

You sniffle and what’s left of his heart breaks, wondering for a moment if he can’t take it back. If he can’t replicate the grin of his former best friend, jovial and wide enough that you believe he’s joking. He could toss you a sardonic, bitter chuckle and you’d roll your eyes but who would it help? 

It’s not like you’re going to return to him, it’s not like he can undo this.

“Thank you for being honest,” you mutter quietly before turning on your heel to leave.

Words sit heavily in his mouth but they disappear with each step you take, putting distance between the two of you before you glance over your shoulder. He’ll try not to remember the look in your eyes while they dance over the entirety of his form as though they’re seeing who he really is for the first time. 

He’ll fail and it’s why he accepts that tonight you’ll return to Satoru, begging for affirmation that you aren’t as worthless as you feel and he’ll almost certainly give it to you, eager to please with sweet words and teases. Reassurances you aren’t nothing, that you’ve made a mark on his life he won’t soon be recovering from. The boy with the silver spoon has become the man with a gilded tongue, the one who always inevitably gets what he wants.

God knows Satoru has wanted you for long enough, since you first stumbled into his life at fifteen, it’s only right he gets to have you now despite Suguru’s selfish wishes that you stay affected by him forever.

He’ll fail and that’s why he knows he will return to the compound, a failed scouting mission in the city under his belt, but he’ll slide into someone’s bed regardless. There’s a woman who looks enough like you when the lights are low he can pretend, it’s the reason he recruited her in the first place, a poor imitation of the real deal. He can press his hand over her mouth to keep her from speaking pleasured babbles in a voice that doesn’t belong to you and he can close his eyes and pretend the smack of skin on skin is yours on his. He’ll ask her to flip over to her belly so he doesn’t have to look at her but he can imagine that the hair that’s a shade too dark to belong to you is still yours, looped around his fist while he fucks all of his angst into her, pretending he’s another man living another life.

Your retreating footsteps continue and his traitorous mouth opens, gasping quietly enough it doesn’t grab your attention over the sound of pouring rain and thrumming music behind the entrance to the club, and he closes it wordlessly, grateful he’ll never have to see you look at him like that again.

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #56: Else

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: recovery and lots of it, angst, sickfic, accidental emotional whump, fear of starvation, vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee (turned caretaker), reunions

Whumpmas in July Day 18: "Or else"

i'm sorry for being so slow with k&j chapters! i'm going to try to be quicker with them in the future. here's one people have been waiting for for a very long time!

-

“You’re sick.”

Jim blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“You’re sick,” Kane repeated, taking another sip from the bowl. One of his last bowls before he was to start finding his own elsewhere. “I can taste it.”

“What? What kind of sick? Is it serious?” Jim asked with increasing urgency. Kane could see it in his eyes: he knew fear, and he hated to see it in Jim.

He wanted more than anything to reassure him, but he couldn’t lie. “I-I don’t know?” he admitted. “I don’t know much of human illnesses. You seem… fine?”

“Shit. Shit shit shit.” Jim grabbed his coat. “I’ll be back soon. I gotta… go to the doctor, or something. Door,” he warned.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll be okay! You can’t even feel it! You’re a healthy young man!” Kane assured him, ducking into the kitchen.

“Thanks for warning me!” Jim’s voice was laden with nerves. A flash of sunlight made Kane shiver, and he only returned to the living room when it was gone.

Kane knew what this meant: Jim would likely not finish out the week. This was his last meal given. He would have to go to vampire territory tonight, or else he would have nothing to eat come tomorrow. He had to find blood tonight, or else he’d starve. He’d go back to that horrible, empty state, always wanting, always in pain.

He knew Jim wouldn’t really let that happen, but it wasn’t fair to rely on him for blood forever, either. Kane had taken enough, with and without permission. It was Jim’s turn to rest.

Still, the fear of hunger never left him. It was a part of him now, permanently, no matter how much he fed.

And this meant one thing. The thing he’d been putting off and dreading since Jim set him free.

He would have to go to vampire territory and talk to his parents. He knew already that it would not go over well. Father would be either furious or crushingly disappointed that he’d allowed himself to be humiliated by humans, and he wasn’t sure which was worse. Mother would undoubtedly be the latter. He wondered, not for the first time, if they preferred him ‘dead’.

It shouldn’t matter. He knew now that they weren’t… good people. He could see that. He had a new family of sorts, now that Jim had taken him in.

But Jim wasn’t his legal next of kin, and Jim wasn’t the one he had to ask if he wanted his money returned so he could buy blood.

He could always get a job. But it seemed ridiculous to do when he had money sitting right there, and he would likely be found by his parents at some point anyway. There was no avoiding it forever.

Kane drank the bowl down quickly.

-

It was a flu, apparently. Nothing life-threatening, but it set Jim’s anxieties alight. His parents had died of illness, he explained.

While Kane had managed to catch it early, Jim started to devolve within a few hours of arriving home.

Kane knocked on his bedroom door. “Jim? Can I come in?”

“Ugh. Yeah,” he agreed.

Carefully balancing the tray, he entered. He found Jim curled up in bed, looking miserable.

“I’ve brought you lunch.” He’d been practicing his human food skills. He was still quite afraid of the stove, so though he used it when feeling especially brave, he mainly stuck to things that didn’t require cooking. He’d written down several combinations of foods that humans found appetizing, which could often be served in between slices of bread as a ‘sandwich’.

But he needed a tray instead of a plate, because despite his strength, he simply didn’t have enough hands to carry the six cups of water circled around it.

“Lotta water,” Jim noted weakly, grabbing a glass and taking a sip when Kane brought it close. His hand shook, the liquid threatening to spill. Kane watched it close, ready to steady it in a heartbeat if Jim needed him to.

He spoke gently, like he was worried speaking too loud would break Jim in his fragile state. “...Like I’d mentioned, I don’t know much about human illness. Most of what I know comes from you. I just remember… you wanted a lot of water, last time.”

He thought about that time a lot. How he was so close to losing Jim, because he was too proud to listen.

“Ah. Yeah.” Jim wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I remember.”

Kane set the tray down. “I should have taken better care of you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I mean–I shouldn’t have had you in the first place, but I did, and you were my responsibility, and I didn��t care for you like I should have.” A hint of tears in his eyes, he took Jim’s unusually-sweaty hand. “I’ll do better this time. Anything you need, I’ll be there.”

That earned a small smile from Jim. “Guess it isn’t so bad being waited on. ‘Specially because you can’t get sick, right?” The smile faded. “…Right?”

“I can’t,” Kane assured him. “You don’t need to worry. Just rest, and I’ll take care of anything you need.”

Jim huffed an almost-laugh. “You really changed, man.”

-

Liz did come over to visit come nightfall, which was good, since despite his promises, Kane had to leave. He didn’t like the thought of leaving Jim alone at night. He knew it made him scared, and Jim deserved to never feel afraid ever again. She brought a container of soup, a yellow liquid with colorful plants and large white orbs floating in it.

He waited, patient, until Liz emerged from Jim’s room. “Liz?”

“Hey. Thanks for looking after him,” Liz said.

“Of course!” The praise spread warmly through him. “There’s, um, something I wanted to talk to you about, if you have the time? Advice, I suppose.”

“Shoot,” she encouraged, flopping over on the couch.

Kane took a deep breath. “So, um, I assume now is a good time to start getting my own blood.”

“Yyyyeah.” Liz shot a glance to the stairs leading to Jim’s room. “I’d say that’s about right.”

“Blood… isn’t free. I have the money–had the money, but I’ve likely been assumed dead for many years. I’ll need to go to my parents to get it back,” he explained. “My parents are not kind people, I’ve come to realize.”

Liz raised an eyebrow, but politely refrained from making any comments about his former obliviousness. “You think they won’t give it back? Isn’t there, like, laws? This can’t be the first time this has happened with vampires, you guys are too good at not dying.”

“No! No, that’s not it, they’d give it back. It’s just, um, they’ll be… quite upset with me, I think. Especially my father.” He sighed. “I didn’t want to talk about it with Jim. I was worried he would feel pressured into giving me more blood than he’s comfortable with. I don’t know. It shouldn’t be as big a deal as it is. I’ve been through so much worse, I don’t understand why this is so terrifying. I suppose I’ve just never failed this badly before.”

“Hey, you made it out of five years with those monsters, alive. Bet there’s not a lot of vampires who could say that,” Liz pointed out.

“Ah, that’s just… not how Father would see it,” Kane said vaguely. Humans were supposed to be the weak ones. The fact that it took him five years to be freed, and he couldn’t even do it himself, would make him an utter embarrassment in their eyes.

And it was all because he couldn’t use persuasion. Everything they’d always believed about him, proven true.

Liz pursed her lips, lost in thought for a moment. “I don’t remember my parents that well,” she admitted. “I know yours suck pretty bad. I don’t think you have to admit more than you need to, right? Like, do they even need to know where you’ve really been? You could just make something up, for the sake of keeping the peace.”

“Make something up…” Kane murmured. He shook his head. “I’m not a very good liar. They’d see right through me. It’s fine, actually, the more I talk about it, the more I realize I’m being a bit ridiculous.” He forced a laugh. “It’s one uncomfortable conversation and then I can come back home.”

“You’ve got this.” Liz patted him lightly on the back, a modification from her usual clap she’d learned tended to scare him. “You’re tough.”

Kane certainly didn’t feel ‘tough’.

“Thank you. It was nice to at least… get it out of my system. Oh, and congratulations. Jim told me about you and Laken.”

Liz smiled. “After what happened, I just knew I had to say something, you know? If they could just be taken from me at any moment. Stuff happens. People die. I didn’t want something to happen to one of us before I could tell them how I feel.”

She stood. “I can give you one more night’s worth, maybe two. If you need some time to think about it and all.”

Kane startled. He and Liz had grown far more amicable over the past months, but he hadn’t expected this from her.

Maybe he should have. It wasn’t the first time. He thought of Jim, on that first night, vehemently denying Liz’s offer to provide blood, vowing to do it himself.

“...Thank you. That means so, so much to me. It’s alright, though. I’ll go tonight,” he decided.

“Good luck. We’ll be here when you get back,” she promised.

And that was all he really needed, in the end.

Kane got up, heading to the door with a quick glance back to make sure it was alright. For the freedom he’d earned, he hadn’t gone more than ten feet from the house since he’d returned with Laken. But of course, Liz made no move to stop him. “I’ll see you soon.”

-

The night was as beautiful as ever, even in the cool autumn air. He liked it better this way, in fact. It made it more comfortable to wear more clothing, the long pants and long sleeves and jacket he liked, especially when he ran. When he went this fast, he hardly felt the cold, and his mind was occupied elsewhere.

What if his parents made demands of him in exchange for their help? What if they expected him to return to vampire territory, to isolate himself out of the way in a socially-acceptable manner? Now that he’d tasted true companionship, he almost couldn’t bear to give it up. And what about Jim? Ever since Laken’s abduction, he’d been more scared at night. The very least Kane owed him was his protection.

His petty worries disappeared the instant he realized he could hear a vehicle coming closer.

Kane ran faster, opposite the sound. He’d likely been pushing fifty miles an hour before, and could make sixty if he tried–but he was out of practice, and the vehicle was faster.

A glance behind him showed moonlight glinting off a silver crossbow.

“I have permission!” he wailed as the off-roader gained, heart threatening to burst from his chest. This couldn’t happen, not again, no. Jim and Liz wouldn’t even think to look for him until a day had passed, a day that could easily be spent baking in the hot sun. “Liz Lieberman granted me permission to cross! Please, I didn’t do anything! Mercy!”

“Kane?” an unfamiliar voice called. The vehicle caught up to him, but there was no attack. “Oh shit, it’s you!” the driver said. “It’s so dark, I almost didn’t recognize you from the picture Laken showed us. Thanks for bringing ‘em back.”

Kane slowed, just a bit. “What?” he squeaked, tears streaming down his face.

The hunter in the passenger seat elbowed his partner, making quick movements with his hands that Kane could not understand. A signed language of some sort, he assumed. Though he didn’t know much about such things, other than that spoken orders under persuasion often didn’t work on humans who utilized it.

“Uh, my partner wants to know if you’re good? Like, you’re alright?” The driver asked. “Did we scare you? Sorry. Just, uh, you know, gotta be quick with the other guys. One second wasted and you miss ‘em, and that’s someone’s whole life, y’know.”

“Oh. Um, yes, you’d–you’d frightened me. I’m sorry.” Kane wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for. “Am I… free to go, sirs?”

“Yeah! Yeah, you can go… sir? Shoot, don’t let us keep you,” the hunter assured.

The one in the passenger seat made more hand-signs, waving him goodbye after. “Nice to meet you!” the other translated, finally driving away.

Kane picked up speed again and didn’t stop until he was sure he’d left the border far behind. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

He was so close to going back to the pain. If they hadn’t recognized him, he would have been skewered with silver–likely soon killed, not tortured, given they were from Liz’s guild, but still, he would have died in pain. No matter how hard he breathed, he felt like he couldn’t get enough air, and he wasn’t sure if it was that he’d been sprinting for too long or the sheer horror.

He wanted Jim. He wanted Jim to hold him and tell him everything was alright, that he was safe, that no one was going to hurt him. But Jim was miles and miles away, and could not help him here.

And he couldn’t cry on the ground forever. He was burning moonlight, and he needed blood.

Kane forced himself to his feet and wrapped his arms around him. If he squeezed his eyes tight, he could pretend he wasn’t alone, for just a moment.

After a minute like that, he started running once more.

-

By the time Kane reached his parents’ estate, he’d mostly calmed down. It was hard to feel as though hunters would ambush him out of nowhere when he went deep enough into vampire territory to see buildings and people. Any hunter here would be apprehended in seconds.

He touched the gate, brass-coated, though he knew there was silver underneath. There seemed to be some sort of electronic device attached to it, a new addition since his last visit, but he wasn’t sure how to use it. He could climb it, or simply shout, and one of the staff would likely hear him. If he wanted to be extra polite, which he did, he could simply stand here until someone came or went and ask to be let in.

And then that would be it. Kane would be standing face-to-face with his parents. He would accept Father’s ire without complaint. He’d had worse, he reminded himself, even when it came to the comparable. The hunters had spit on him while calling him worthless, ground his face into the floor while forcing him to decry himself as beneath them. It had been so much worse.

His hand shook against the gate.

You’ve really changed, man.

Had he? If he was still back here, ready to take whatever judgments his parents threw at him, debase himself and eagerly beg for their forgiveness, had he really changed? There were humans in there. Captive, hurt humans who he could never in a thousand years be able to free if he tried, locked away in their quarters. What happened to all his regrets? His vows that he would never associate with anything of the sort again?

What would he have done differently here before, if he’d realized back then everything he knew now?

Kane left.

-

It took him a bit to find it, he hadn’t been to this town before, but it wasn’t far, and he knew the address.

There was a different kind of dread this time. If he was rejected here, it might be even worse than his parents. But as he rang the doorbell, he knew this was what he had to do.

The man who answered looked almost exactly the same as the last time he’d seen him, thirteen years ago. The same dark skin, perfect hair, typically garishly-colorful shirt.

Bellamy’s eyes went impossibly wide, as though he’d seen a ghost.

“Kane?”

taglist in reblogs, chapter 57 coming july 30th :)

edit: sorry i was wrong about july 30th. it's coming thoooo i promise

@whumpmasinjuly

[kel-lance]

JJK Mafia Au (JJK x Reader) PART 1

Warnings:

- TW: Dead dove dont read (DDDR) Minors do not interact (MDNI): SA, Physical Assault, DubCon, NonCon, Mindbreak, Public Humiliation, Breeding, Ownership, Gaslighting, Multiple manipulation, RWORD, PTSD, a lot more toxic sh.

Premise:

Reader lives in a city where the two biggest gangs keep things line until the third gang showed up. That had nothing to do with you though, until dumb luck just happened to favor you one day. Basically You’re picked up and used by every dangerous criminal within the clans due to some alliances they had to create due to some members messing up the previous alliances. ((Almost everyone’s gonna have a turn 🤗)) ( i have 12 chapters planned out right now meaning after i write those ill still be writing more.)

Ch/gang guide: so basically in like 2026

You - 27

Rika: 25

Roymen: Zenin: Gojo:

- SUKUNA (39), TOJI (47), GOJO (37),

- Yuuji (24), Megumi (24), Utahime (39),

- Choso (30), Maki (25), Shoko (39),

- Kamo (27), Mai (25), Ijichii (35),

- Todo (27), Momo (26), Nanami (36),

- Yuki (34), Nobara (24), Yuta (25),

- Geto (36), Panda (25) Hakari (27),

- Mimiko (22), Miwa (26), Kirara (27),

- Nanako (22) Toge (26), Kokichi (25),

“No way I’m sleeping for dinner tonight.” You stuffed your hair in a beanie and threw your hood over your eyes. Your smaller frame makes you easier to be dismissed as teenager, people just thinking you’re just an emo on their occasional stroll through the city, it was the perfect excuse they made up for you. Running into them, “stupid brat”, or just swiftly taking something passing it off as youre asking for directions. That was when you were just practicing; right now, you had to use those skills again. The bustling city really tones itself down when the third clan moved in.

No one knows where they came from, but they’re worse than the Zenin Gang. The Gojo Gang was supposed to be there to even them out but with the Ryomen gang, everyone was so scare of them that half the population started to stay inside, that’s what it seemed.

“Lucky.” Some dumbass just entered your alley to take a phone call. Knowing your size you’d be apprehended immediately, but if it’s one person, you could quickly snatch something and you’d be living like a king once again (until the next poor soul comes across your path.) You just didn’t find the use in a job, being stuck in this world that would use you just for being born, you wanted to prove it wrong.

You toss your trash and start walking towards this figure, making it seem like you were just passing them. They ignore you and you smile because this is the perfect time to “Oof!”

You smack into the man in the alley and you get knocked on your ass. The man stands tall and barely moves. “Call me back in 5 minutes.”

The man hangs up his phone and looks down at you. “All this space in this alley and you run into me? Really? You don’t think it’s obvious what you’re trying to do kid?”

You’ve never had a confrontation like this before. What the hell, how did he stand so still, it was like running into a wall. “He’s got me figured out, guess i’ll just return his wallet while he still thinks i’m a kid.”

You reach into your jacket and he grabs your arm. “Are you trying to retrurn this to me?” He pulls out his wallet, you thought you grabbed that? Did he take it back at the last second? Did you never take it? “Or are you finding a weapon. Do you need it that badly that you’ll go up against me?”

“I don’t know you.” You answer. You want to run away but he couches down to you, making you face him. “I don’t blame you.” He grabs at your hat and hood, taking them off, along with your giant jacket.

“Oh? I wouldn’t have noticed you were a bitch.” He was being rough, or maybe it was gentle for him, but this was fucked, you had to leave, now. You try to get up but he grabs your shoulder, keeping you down with him.

“What do you want? Jut let me go.” He’s gotta have other plans if he didn’t want to be bothered.

He laughs like that was funny. “Let you go? You knocked into /me/. It was your whole idea to get involved.”

You didn’t know what do to, he was making shit up now. He tried to lean close but you moved back. I like that. He moves in again and you grit your teeth and try to hit him. He punches you in the stomach so hard you stop breathing for a second. It was awful, god what the fuck was he gonna kill you? That’s too far for stealing a wallet.

“Remember what Ive been saying?”

You heave over yourself.

“I’ll just train you better, your reaction is quite nice.“

His phone rings as you try to collect yourself.You could barely move, much less drag yourself to sit up against the wall. Every breath of life was agonizing.

“Yeah, perfect timing, yeah I was just teaching this bitch a lesson. Tried to steal my wallet just now. Ballsy.” He says while looking down at you.

Holy fucking shit you were in fear. Your legs couldn’t move if you tried. You just knew he was dangerous if this was normal for him.

You shrink down yourself down to minimize the pain barely anything came up but still you were heaving.

He comes over and stomps on you while listening in on the phone. His large boot putting pressure between your legs.

Were you enjoying this? The strange man just won’t stop grinding himself in the right spot, the pain subsided and you looked like a breathless messy pervert on the street.

“Hey are you paying attention?!” The person on the phone almost yelled out.

“Ill call you back.”

He stopped the pressure when you started to squirm and humor yourself into his boot. He lifts you up in with one arm.

He looks at you with cold eyes. “You’re fucked up.”

“You-you” You breathed through hungry breaths.

“Wow, okay.” He rolls his eyes and grabs at you. “Lets see if you can handle me then.”

“That’s not what i meant!” You tried to back yourself away from him when he grabs at your face and wipes it off, looking around for something. There’s a corner past the other end of the alley, and he drags you there, bending you over the wall.

“Is this all you want?” You spit out.

“You’re so nonchalant about this.”

“Being out here this long, it’s bound to happen.” Life on the street, this is the reason why you had to cover up you were a woman. It didn’t help that you looked smaller, easier if anything. It wasn’t anything new for survival.

“They told me I was great, couldn’t even last 2 minutes.“

“Then you shouldn’t be worried” He whips it out.

Your stomach dropped. “What the fuck wait-“

He spits on his tip only and angles it down, centering where your cervix may be. He thrusts in, tearing your walls apart, you scream out loud and he punches you in the back of the head, almost making you black out for a second.

“Shhhh oooh wow you are great,” He grunts as you still find space for him. “But can you survive me?”

Your head hurt, your legs hurt, you can’t do much but go limp and bear it. He was ruining you. His dick make your legs go numb, they just hit you so hard deep inside that you feel the shock in your face and toes with each assault.

All you could do was manage your breathing through this, holy shit this was something else. He grabs your neck with his forearm, choking you while pulling him closer to him, going even deeper, making you cry.

“Aw does this hurt?” He whispers in your ear.

“F-Fuck you.”

He chuckled. “You started squeezing me each time you hear my voice, are you that easy to train?”

You let out another cry and hit the wall with your fist, trying to redirect some of the pain. He stays in you and grinds into you, he’s just trying to make u cum to humiliate you.

He reaches around and kisses at your neck and drops you up and down on him. The rhythm is making you go insane and it feels like he has so many hands with he way he keeps everywhere occupied.

You cum so hard you actually squirt, wait did you? You’ve never done that before so truthfully it was as embarrassing as it was shocking. You couldn’t stop shaking from your core.

“Jesus, I’m gonna need new pants.” You cling to the wall, face tingling, you couldn’t even try out your legs, it was out of the question. You let yourself start to feel, shaking as a wave of emotions creep toward you as you hoped to be left alone in the alley, but he surprises you. “C’mon we’re going home.”

He grabs at you, picking your tired, half naked body up. You wanted to thrash and be freed, but if you risk kicking at his head, you might as well be begging to eat the curb. Before you know it you’re stuffed into a tinted out car in the barren street.

Avoiding eye contact, you sat still in the middle of the packed car. One of them had the decency to give you their jacket to cover yourself up with, but you couldn’t stop the smell, you smelled like and looked like sex. You were just happy it was over, though haven’t you heard this before, ‘Never let them bring you to a second location?” You were about to freak out again until the person next to you grabbed your arms and blindfolded you.

—————-

They drag you out the car and have you follow them for what felt like the longest few minutes of your life. You find your senses quickly, the blindfold was taken off and you were somewhat free again. “Here.” Your escorts pushed you into the room.

You’ve been brought to where it looked like these two girls were waiting to clean you up. Without saying much, they get to work.

At it for a good half hour, most of your injuries were treated. They keep you awake in case you have a concussion.

“You two leave.” Your captor entered the room.

“But her head-“

“I was the one who gave her the injury, I know how hard I hit her. Now leave before I decide to cut alliances with your father, and take you two along with this pitiful bitch.”

The girls hold their breath and take nothing with them, leaving you two alone. When you’re not in a u Jed away spot in the street together, he actually started to look larger by comparison. Do you really think you could’ve taken him on?

What was there to say? What was he going to do to you? Did that matter anymore? You hold onto your belly, tracing over the bruises he left, not being able to stomach another hit from him in your current condition. The large man walks over to your bed.

Towering over you, admiring his work, “I came back only because you didn’t satisfy me. I mean I make you a squirting mess and you mess up my pants? That doesn’t sound fair does it?”

“Who are you?” You don’t dare to move or the ache will start again. “How do you have all this power?”

He sounded amused. “You still haven’t figured it out yet? Or did I hit you too hard.” He flicks your forehead.

“Seriously!”

You’re sure of it, there’s no way someone like you would’ve ever met anyone from the top 3. You had no business with them, you stayed out of their business and locations. “My name is Sukuna.”

As the thoughts crossed your mind, he takes ur blanket off and sees you all cleaned up, of course, still bruised and swollen from just before.

Tearing off the blanket, immediately ripping apart the robes and cloths that covered you, he exposes you and keeps your legs spread. No warning, he just dives right in. You’re taken aback by the sudden collision. His tongue dances around your sex before he starts lapping you up. His flattened tongue grazing your clit then sucking at it had your whole body reacting.

He picked your legs up to get a better angle. His hot mouth felt like it was melting into you. It wasn’t long before he brought you to orgasm again, but just with his mouth. It wasn’t enough for him, he needed more.

Stuffing a few fingers into you, he doesn’t stop and continues working on your clit with his tongue again. Barely giving you time to recover from the sensitivity, you jolted more as he picked up his pacing, barely able to hold back screams.

Riding out your second orgasm into his hand, he looks down amused. “I needed to relieved some stress today, maybe the gods are finally listening to me. But was it luck? Fate? Hm…”

What is he talking about, weren’t you the one with semi brain damage?

The high leaves your body, though you could still feel it in you face. Sukuna takes his digits out of you and picks you up by the face. His other hand unsheatheding himself from his robes.

His erection was terrifying. Seeing it again made your body ache and you were screaming, at least you would if you found the strength but it was beat out of you, before, and now.

You couldnt stand for a second you thought his scar and tattooed decorated body was beautiful. That jawline, his dark features softened by his pink hair, and this distinguishing look in his eyes. Though cruel and harsh, scary like him, there was something else there. Not that you had time to look.

His cruelty brings you back. Shoving you full of his cock, rutting his hips in deeper every chance you think he’s done, he digs deeper. As he sits upright, he has gravity do most of the work. Putting his hands on the small of your back, using that to push you down further onto him. You were getting uncomfortable with this cock warming.

He was just digging holes into you now. Almost bored, watching your legs cringe at every grind. Your face contorting with pain and relief from moves only he’ll allow. He’s enjoying himself enough to almost forget that this was just a pit stop.

“Make me cum and I’ll go.” He says.

Through the pain, unable to ignore him, you ask, “What?”

“You heard me. If I’m late I can just skip my meetings and punish you for the rest of the day.” He threatened.

You pick yourself up with your thighs on top of his, the adjustment made it feel bigger, you were uncomfortable but you knew that it would be tighter from this angle. You’re trembling as your arms are weak yet they were pushing your body up onto his.

He looks down a bit amused. “Do you need some help?” Without waiting he puts his hands under your arms and pick you up, finally angling it right and dropping you down, his head hitting into your cervix.

“Mmm- Ahhh!” Youd cry out, wrapping your arms around his neck to better manage your weight. If you let go he’d break you, you held yourself up as much as you could but Sukuna doesn’t really like a clingy partner. He rips one arm off his neck and uses that hold to maneuver you above him.

“Hhhh! Hhhhahh….” Your short screams had become gasps and sighs, getting sweeter as he kept a rhythm. He grabs at your neck and face, pushing you to face him and you just kiss him violently back.

Pushing your chest onto his, feeling his blood rush as you can only manage to smother his face with sloppy kisses.

With this, he takes that as the go to and puts you back on your back, bending your knees up and makes your face go numb. Without a warning he slaps you so hard you almost rag doll. He laughs at you again, and pulls out, making a sloshing sound.

Almost embarrassed because of the noises you were making without him, he flips you over and shoves your face into the pillow. He slaps you ass hard, your scream silences as he pushes you further in the bed with his dick. He doesn’t stop, this feeling was deeper than you felt before, it was breaking you now.

“What’s my name bitch?” He’s gasping out.

“SUK-“ He slaps your ass. “SUH aH-“ He grabs stir, not letting you finish as he starts to relentlessly buck into you. “AHHH! SUKUNA!” You cry.

The pain and numbness; pleasure and confusion were all messing with your senses. Your cries were like melody to his ears, so much so he decided to choke you from behind. Your gasps and pathetic grunts desperately trying to get your brain some air, it drove him crazy.

He growls and grinds into you as he lays all his weight on you, like he claimed ownership. He’s so deep in you you couldn’t breathe and now you could feel it. He was twitching inside you, and something hot was spreading from inside. This was insane, with the weight, the asphyxiation, it was so much and oh-

Your body tensed up, toes curled and your fingers clenching onto whatever sheets and skin you could find at the moment. He dug his head and bit into your sweet spot. Sukuna’s arm that grabbed your neck, traveled to your womb, lifting you further into him as you came onto his still twitching cock.

“You didn’t do much this time,” He holds you on top of him still as he skewers through you, “but I can forgive you. Rest.” Sukuna stands up and lets you slip off of him, back into the bed weak as ever. He puts his robe back on and looks down at you from the bed. You couldn’t care, you’re just tired from the most unexpected few hours you’ve ever lived through. It wasn’t so much crazy as it was weird.

Dusting himself off, fixing the details of his new outfit, he stands up to leave. You watch as he carries himself with such a highly regard, you can’t help but rethink his status. He opens the door, to your surprise he speaks to someone.

“I told you I wouldn’t need long.” He says to the people outside. Were they there the whole time? What the hell was going on anymore. Was life as you knew it over? If you weren’t already, you were SO fucked.

“When the girls are done shopping tell them to clean her up, again.”

———————————

I hope this is good I’ll prob reread it and rewrite it but here take it TAKE IT// I’ll be working on movie night w the boys next 😈

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - X

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: nsfw, blood, biting, violence divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more gif and pics from pinterest

he tastes like candy, he’s so beautiful -Awful, Hole 🤘

10. little bird

Wick says nothing more, just holds your gaze, and again you feel like the floor is going out from beneath you. You’ve become accustomed to your cooler body temperature, but now for the umpteenth time tonight you feel hot beneath the collar. 

“It’s…just a coincidence.” 

“Surely.” He smirks at you, laughing at you, deep down.

Asshole. 

One extremely fine, extremely dangerous, asshole. 

Glaring at the two of you eye-fucking eachother, Constantine clears his throat. “Are we trying to find don Juan or not? Otherwise, I should get to Midnite’s.” 

You look to John. Despite the energy you’d shared with him, he still has dark circles under his eyes, still seems just this side of fragile. You remember how much blood you had to take from him last time, to call up that much excess power, that it just felt like you were floating above your corporeal body. You’re not sure he can spare it, now. If you sent him to an early grave with blood loss you know you would walk yourself right out into the sun. 

On the other hand, there is Wick, robust, full of blood, and who you wouldn’t feel guilty at all about taking down a peg or two. His smile widens as he notices you assessing him like a piece of meat, his powerful body sprawled in the rickety old chair–maybe he wouldn’t be so smug, however, if he knew exactly what you were thinking. 

“Depends,” you answer John. “Will you let me in, or are you going to keep stonewalling me?”

“I’m not exactly in the habit of leaving my aura hanging wide open. It leads to bad things in my business,” he grumbles. 

You suppose, considering his occupation, that’s understandable. But you also think he’s making excuses to shut you out.  

“Uh huh.” 

You cross the cracked linoleum floor to him. He’s so tall that you’re nearly eye to eye, even with him sitting, and even though you already fed once tonight, just looking at him like this kindles that insatiable hunger in your belly, a lick of desire that curls in you like smoke from an opium pipe. Heady. Wonderful. Addictive. Shields up or not, you know he feels it too in the bond between you, his lips parting with a gasp, his pupils dilating to turn his dark irises purest black.  

He takes your hand, and the energy that ignites between you as his long fingers slide into yours fills the dilapidated room with something bright and charged. It even makes Wick sit up straighter in his chair. It feels like sunshine on your face, when you were still human, and you cannot suppress a sigh of enjoyment. 

They both seem surprised when you hold out your other hand to Wick. “Come here.” The vampire hunter obeys, his footsteps heavy and deliberate as he approaches, his presence a solid line of warmth at your back.  

With an almost quizzical look, Wick takes your hand. His fingers are calloused, and strong, and his touch feels like a live wire gripped in your hands. Reincarnated sweethearts or not–your magic likes him, and you think you can work with that. 

Constantine’s frown as he watches this exchange is thunderously contemptuous.  “We gonna sing kumbaya now, baby?” he gripes at you. 

“No. We’re going to find don Juan, and Mr. Wick here is going to cut off his fucking head. Got a problem with that?”

You see the corner of his mouth tick for the barest second, his only indication of mirth before he throws himself wide open to you, and the mingled energies of these two powerful men rips through you like an electric shock. 

♰♰♰

Maybe John Constantine is ill, but you were a fool to think him weak. One mouthful of blood taken carefully from his wrist is so power-charged you practically see stars. It’s possible that adding Wick’s rich blood to the cocktail nearly renders you drunk, so giddy you think you might hover physically off the ground. But the two men on either side of you keep you anchored, vying even now in their holds upon you. 

It’s funny, maybe, that you thought it would keep things tame, drinking from the wrist. But there is an agonizing tension amidst the three of you, unsatisfied lust and painful longing. It all adds a particular spice to this conjuring you work as the focus between them, and you are able to rise with barely a thought this time.

It’s more familiar, this second time you wander through the minds of the city, and you are more careful as you sift through them like grains of rice, in search of that one poisoned seed. You think you are successful more than once, before realizing they are just don Juan’s awful progeny, but not the original root of that particular brand of evil. 

You are surprised, when in your wandering you encounter Angela, the detective John Constantine so secretly fancied. She is in her apartment, working at her laptop. There is a glow of such goodness about her that is rare to find in humans. Her aura is practically a halo, it shines so bright. She is warm, and smart, and strong, and it’s no wonder John likes her, you think to yourself sadly. 

You probe a little deeper, finding that at this moment she is thinking about John. She likes him too, though she’s puzzled as to why. That is a feeling you understand all too well. She must feel your presence, looking up as though there is something in the room with her, reaching out to put a hand on her service issue Glock on the desk next to her. She’s already had quite a scare after her first encounter with real demons, and guiltily you back off, not wanting to upset her.  

You are about to give up your search, feeling that you have stretched yourself to the limit, when at last you sense him. That seething, cloying dark energy that follows don Juan like a cloud. You are more cautious in your approach this time, keeping your distance as you observe him. It seems he retreated north into the mountains, to a chic but almost quaint little house tucked into the hillside. He sits beside a glittering swimming pool, smoking and brooding. The moment you sense him turning your way you retreat, returning to your body, too quickly perhaps. 

It’s disorienting, after being weightless, to wrangle with your flesh and bones, like it’s hard to get all the pieces of you to mesh back again. You would have fallen, if not for two pairs of strong hands steadying you. You lean back on a broad chest. Constantine is before you, you recognize, which makes the imposing wall behind you still Wick. You are either the luckiest girl in the world, or you are cursed. You still haven’t decided which yet. 

“Back off,” snarls Constantine to the dhampir, pulling you into his arms. 

Wick growls, and you can't help but feel like the bone between two cranky dogs. You really shouldn't be enjoying it so much.

“Are you alright?” 

You think you’re fine, but you’re tired. You didn’t travel that far, last time, or search with such purpose in mind. It took a lot more energy than you thought it would.

“He’s in Laurel Canyon,” you whisper against Constantine’s chest. “North end. A little cottage with stone facing, clay tile roof. There’s a bronze statue of horses out front.” You think back, and realize you even remember the house number. You manage to say it out loud before the room starts to spin. Are you going to be sick? “I don’t feel good.” 

“I warned you,” grouses Constantine, even while his hand sits protectively on the back of your head. 

“She did well,” defends Wick. “This will save me time.” 

Sitting back down, Constantine pulls you into his lap, away from the dhampir. You hate to admit how good it feels to curl into him like a child who’s had a nightmare, his arms around you.   

“Great,” he snarks to Wick. “Feel free to go.”

Wick snorts in answer, still looking down at you. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Reluctantly you nod against Constantine’s collarbone, closing your eyes. “I’ll be fine. Will you be fine by yourself?”

Wick laughs lowly at this, but not unkindly. “No worries, ptichka, no more flying around for you. I will give don Juan your regards.” 

“Please, kick him in the nuts for me,” you grumble. The thought of that awful vampire finally getting his comeuppance is darkly satisfying. 

“Would you like me to bring you his head?” 

“Ew.” 

Wick laughs, and you hear his footfalls as he crosses the kitchen to the crumpled vampire in the corner. You’d almost forgotten about the poor bastard. “I will see you soon,” says the dhampir, winking at you before dragging the informant out by his ankles. 

A strange quiet settles over the apartment, without the ominous dark energy of John Wick filling the room. 

You should be scared of him–but you kind of miss him.

“Alone at last,” grouses Constantine, his hold on you tightening. 

You laugh a little, snuggling into the bend of his neck. You start to feel better, sitting like this with him. His hand drifts to your thigh, tracing the hem of his shirt absently. “Was this really the only thing you could come up with to wear?” 

“You don’t like it, John?” you tease sleepily. 

“I like it a lot. For my eyes only.”

“Hmm. I think that’s something only a boyfriend gets to say,” you dare ripost.

He snorts in answer. “If I was your boyfriend, would I get to tell you what to do?” 

“No.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He coughs, and only a beat later do you realize it was a laugh. 

 But then he can’t help but ruin the moment: 

“I thought the dhampir was your new boyfriend, Miss I’ll come visit you in New York,” he complains in an insulting falsetto.  

You, in turn, just roll your eyes. “Excuse you, but I saved you from getting your head lopped off. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

Then, he has to go and turn serious on you. “Baby, when I’m gone–” You whine, hating hearing him say it aloud, but he talks over you. “It’s going to happen, y/n. You’ve got to accept that. And when it does, you cannot take up with him. He is bad news. Call it…my dying wish.” 

You’re smart enough to bite down on your first response, which is, ‘he doesn’t seem so bad.’  

It turns out you don’t have any reply at all, and he watches you with an intensity that makes you fear he can read your mind. You’re not sure why he takes mercy on you, saying more gently, “You can’t save him, sweetheart. Any more than you can save me.” 

You look down, because his laser-like gaze is too much, even for you. 

Part of the reason you want to get this thing solved so badly is because you hope you can save him. Maybe with the help of modern medicine, and your own combined magic…something might work out. Buy him some time, at least. He already seems better, after finally letting you into your bond earlier that night. 

Maybe he’s resigned, but you haven’t completely given up hope. 

“I just…want to get this thing resolved,” you admit. “So you can rest.”  

He lifts one of those angular dark brows, clearly thinking that the only rest waiting for him is the permanent kind. But he doesn’t insist again that you accept the inevitable truth of his demise. Sometimes, when you care about someone, you let them get away with those little lies that keep them sane through the day to day grind of life. Maybe he realizes that you need this, so that you don’t run down the street screaming at God and anyone else unfortunate enough to get in your path.  

“Sure, honey.” He surprises you again, when he presses a tender kiss to your forehead. “I’m going to put you to bed, and I have to go to Midnite’s.”

You know the kittenish sound that escapes your lips sounds ridiculous. “Let me go with you.”

“You’re wiped out. Stay here and rest.” 

“No.” You sit up, feeling a little better. Tired, but better. 

“Yes,” he insists, narrowing his eyes at you. 

“I’m just going to follow you, if you try to leave me here.” 

“For once, can you not be so stubborn when I’m trying to protect you?” 

Your lips dance as you try to suppress a smile, lifting an eyebrow. “I could ask the same thing of you?” 

Another exasperated growl escapes him, and your heart sings when he pulls you into another kiss, that golden rope between you pulsing with energy, singing with light. He pulls back to look at you, his pupils blown wide. You wonder if it occurs to him, that this could be his last chance to be with a woman, if things outside this crumbling apartment do not go well. Or maybe, just maybe, he finds you as irresistible as you find him. Either way, when he tangles his long fingers in your hair and kisses you again, you are all too ready to lean in. 

You’re not sure how it’s possible, that this man simultaneously breaks your heart, and puts you back together again. 

When he stands with you in his arms you give a sound of protest, worried about the extra exertion.

“I’m fine, y/n,” he tells you with a rare gentleness that to you is precious as any gemstone. “I’ve got you.”     

He carries you to the bed in the next room, and you are more than happy to let him have his way with you. 

______

*ptichka - little bird

[fleckficgirl]

Heartthrob | Arthur Fleck x reader 💗 CHAPTER 12

Summary: Attempting to conceal her checkered past, a young dancer in Gotham (Y/N) lands a job at Ha-Ha’s and finds herself increasingly drawn to a shy, lonely clown named Arthur Fleck.

Warnings: sex, age gap, language, violence, mental illness, assault

Word Count: 2093

Chapter List: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Arthur's Note (see what I did there?): Thanks every so so much for the kind words and encouragement. I didn't realize the new trailer was coming out today but I started writing this fic again about a week ago and I think I'm on a roll! I <3 Arthur Fleck so much and hope you enjoy!

Arthur had insisted on walking you home, had kissed you again at the front door of your apartment building and promised to call you the next morning; you both had the next day off and planned to see each other.

When he pressed his body into you. You could feel he was hard, but restraining himself. Arthur was nothing if not a gentleman. It only made you love him more.

“I'll call you in the morning,” he hummed into your ear.

“First thing in the morning,” you corrected him with a sly grin.

Arthur smiled, blushing. “First thing in the morning.”

You hated to pull yourself away from him. It was crazy: You'd never cared that much about sex, but for the first time in your life, you understood what it felt like to want to ask someone upstairs, what it felt like to actually want someone to spend the night in your bed. But of course, you had your parents to think about and they'd never go for it in a million years.

Arthur watched you get into the elevator. When the doors closed, you felt like you might cry. Reminding yourself you were gonna see him again in twelve hours was the only thing that put your longing heart at ease.

***

It was almost midnight, and your parents usually went to bed around ten, so you were surprised to find them both sitting up on the sofa in the living room, watching what had to be the last half hour of The Murray Franklin Show. They never watched Murray. They never even stayed up this late.

“What’s going on?” you asked as you locked the front door and hung your coat up.

“We’ve been worried sick!” your mother cried as your dad muted the television.

Oh boy. This was already off to a great start.

“Why?” you asked, cocking your head to one side. “I mean, I know it’s almost midnight, but-”

“There’s been another killing on the subways,” she continued. “They think it’s related to what happened to those three Wayne boys a few days ago.”

“You’re kidding,” you sat down on the sofa to face them. “Who’d they kill?”

“A man,” your father answered. “But they don’t know anything else yet. You were out all night and didn’t hear anything about this?”

You shook your head. “No. But it’s getting crazier out there.”

“What exactly did you do tonight?” your father raised an eyebrow.

“Met up with friends,” you answered breezily. Technically you weren’t lying. Arthur was a friend. Sort of.

“That’s interesting,” he continued, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Because those so-called girlfriends of yours called here looking for you. Two different times in fact.”

“They did?”

You gulped, trying to scan your mother's face for some kind of hint to help you navigate the choppy waters of your father’s suspicions. But her “worried sick” face had morphed into her “I’m just gonna stay out of it and keep the peace” face.

Typically a bad sign.

“First Tina and then that other girl…” your father said. “The one with the silly name…”

He looked to your mother who shrugged in response.

“Chantelle,” he finally remembered. And Chantelle said she was calling to find out how your ‘hot date’ went tonight.”

Damn that Chantelle. You knew she had a champagne-and-dial addiction - it was why she was still hooking up with at least five of her ex-boyfriends - but you could still murder her ten times with a hatchet. She had no idea how crazy your dad was.

“I told your father it must have been some kind of practical joke,” your mother finally interjected. “You know, those telephone pranks kids these days like to play on one another?”

You could see she was trying to help you out. And for one crazy second, you considered telling them the truth:

Mom, Dad…I’m in love with a beautiful clown.

No, that wouldn’t go over well at all. They’d hit the roof. In fact, they'd go through the roof.

The less you said about Arthur the better. At least for the time being.

“I did go out with friends,” you explained in as even a tone as you could muster. “I don’t know what Chantelle’s talking about.”

“Which friends?” your mother asked.

“Just some friends…from…from…” you struggled to complete the sentence. You never went anywhere besides work these days, so where the hell would you meet any other friends?

“Some friends from GU?” your mother asked hopefully.

It was perfect. You could have kissed her right then and there. Saved by the mama.

“Yes!” you nodded. “Yes, some friends from college.”

“Honey, that's wonderful!” your mother smiled.

Your father nodded approvingly. “Those are the kinds of people you should be spending time with. People who are serious about their future…as opposed to a couple of strippers.”

“They’re not strippers, Dad!”

He smiled at his own dumb joke and you pursed your lips. Your father never approved of anyone if he didn’t deem them “serious about their future.” The problem was, most of the kids you’d met at Gotham University were entitled assholes from rich families who didn’t actually care about their futures: no matter how badly they fucked up, their privileged parents could afford to yank them out of hot water and they knew it. Your dad had it all wrong. But you didn’t have the heart to correct him.

“How come you look so disheveled?” your father’s voice broke into your thoughts once more.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He pointed at your rumpled clothes.

“Your outfit’s wrinkled, your hair’s a mess. And your makeup…”

“Did something happen tonight, honey?” your mother asked. You could sense the growing concern in both their voices, and it brought you right back to when you’d started having problems at GU. Your poor parents had to watch as their star student daughter - who’d never given them a lick of trouble - suddenly turned into someone they didn’t recognize. Someone they were afraid of.

“Sweetheart,” your mother prodded gently. “You didn’t happen to get into a…a fight or an altercation with anyone tonight, did you?”

You shook your head and laughed, trying your best to put them at ease. “Not that I can remember.”

It was a true enough answer. More true than they needed to know, anyway.

“You can tell us if you’re…struggling,” your father added. “We want to know if something’s going on.”

You shook your head again. “What happened was, the subway was totally jam packed. Maybe it had to do with the killing tonight, I dunno. Anyway, we were stuffed like sardines. I got all pushed around on the train. You know how the people in this city can be.”

“Fucking animals,” he muttered under his breath. You glanced up at the TV where a still-muted Murray seemed to be delivering his closing words. “You’re alright though, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” you assured them both. “Nothing a shower and some shampoo can’t fix.”

You breathed a concealed sigh of relief as you watched your parents breathe one of their own.

You popped up from the sofa and stretched.

“Gonna get ready for bed,” you announced. “See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, sweetie,” your mom called out. “We love you.”

“Love you, too.”

You turned to go to your room and heard your dad unmute the TV, Murray Franklin’s voice ringing out over the orchestra as an organ struck up the groovy chords from his signature closing song:

“Goodnight, and always remember: That’s life!”

You laughed softly to yourself. “That’s life!” you whispered as you dance-glided down the hall and into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you.

Life really was something, wasn’t it? Especially life in Gotham, a life like yours: one that now had a beautiful man named Arthur Fleck in it.

After the crazy night you’d had, the shower felt like a balm to your soul. You crawled under the cool covers of your bed, still giddy from your date with Arthur and the promise of seeing him tomorrow. As you drifted off to dreamland, you thought about even though your parents drove you up the wall, you loved them and would do anything for them. You hated the toll your problems at GU had had on them - how scared and defenseless they’d been, not knowing how to help you when the shit hit the fan. They didn’t have the resources and privileges of your ex-classmates’ parents, but they’d stood behind you when no one else had. You’d never forget that.

After the nightmare at Gotham U - after everything it’d put you and the people you loved through - you’d vowed to yourself that you’d never be powerless again.

Although you felt powerless to stop the freight train of emotions you felt for Arthur, you decided he was a worthy exception. Arthur also knew what powerlessness felt like. He wasn't like the rest of them. He was the salt of the earth, just like your parents. Just like you.

And as long as you and Arthur had each other’s backs, you told yourself as sleep enveloped your being, nothing could ever take either of your power away again.

Together, you were unstoppable.

***

The phone rang first thing in the morning, just as Arthur promised. Thank GOD your bedroom had its own phone line.

“Hey you!” you answered playfully on the first ring.

“There you are. We’ve been calling you, bitch!”

“Chantelle?” you paused, your breath hitching.

“And Tina’s here,” Chantelle said. “We’re at Ha-Ha’s. You didn’t call either of us back last night so we decided to ambush you first thing in the morning.”

“Oh yeah,” you shook your head. “And by the way, thanks a lot for telling my dad about my ‘hot date’ last night. He was real happy to confront me about that when I got home.”

“So you did come home last night!” Chantelle gasped.

“I told you a million times!” Tina’s annoyed voice rang out in the background. “She wasn’t gonna have sex with him on the first date.”

“So how was it?” Chantelle asked. “Tell us everything!”

“It was…great,” you answered. “He’s…wonderful.”

Chantelle squealed. “Y/N’s going out with a college boy!” She sang.

“Let’s not blow this out of proportion,” Tina countered. “College boys are a dime a dozen. And most of ‘em wouldn’t know how to please a woman even if they majored in it. Gimme the phone, Chantelle.”

You heard the receiver scuffle on their end and Tina’s no-nonsense voice rang in your ear.

“How was the outfit, hair and makeup?” she demanded. “Any mishaps?”

You paused. It would take too long to explain the whole blacking out thing to them, you reasoned. And you didn’t want them to worry.

“Everything went fine,” you said. “You guys did a great job. I can’t thank you enough.”

“I have some very exciting ideas for the next date outfit,” Tina said. “When are you getting here? I’ll fill you in. We’ll try on some samples.”

“I’m off today!” you sang into the phone. “And I’m actually seeing him again this afternoon.”

“What? You slut!”

Chantelle grabbed the phone back. “You’re seeing him again? So soon? Oh my goodness, Y/N, I feel like you’re gonna marry this guy.”

You heard Tina groan in disgust behind Chantelle before snatching the phone back again.

“Then my outfit ideas will have to wait for your third date,” Tina said. “Assuming there is one. What were you planning on wearing today?”

“I dunno,” you glanced around your messy room helplessly. “I haven’t even thought about it.”

“Okay, listen to me, Y/N. You’re an autumn. That means warm skin tones. Understand?”

“Warm skin tones,” you repeated back, even though you had no idea what the hell she was talking about.

“I’m talking greens, I’m talking yellows…come to think of it: do you have anything in peach?”

You shook your head. “I don’t think so.”

“Black is fine. Accessorize with those gold hoop earrings. A full face of makeup just like we showed you. But go easy on the blusher, for the love of God.”

“Thanks, Tina.” You laughed.

“Shit. Hoyt’s coming,” Tina warned. “Call us immediately after today’s date ends. We need a detailed play by play so we can mastermind the plan for date number three.”

“I thought you said these college boys were a dime a dozen,” you countered.

“Mastermind your outfit for date number three,” Tina corrected herself. “If you’re gonna date a college douche, the least you can walk away with is a killer wardrobe.”

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[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 65 (Personal Lows)

cw: pregnancy loss (I'm so sorry I did not plan this.)

As well as life had been going for Heather and Conrad, reality came crashing down one Saturday when Ash was in the city with the Landgraabs. Both were spending the day at work, but Heather fell ill and called Conrad.

"Something's wrong. Can you meet me at St. Sims Hospital?"

Heather was admitted for tests, but Dr. Serra delivered the devastating news. "This happens more often than you might think this early on, but there's no heartbeat. I'm sorry."

"This is my fault," said Conrad. "My fear added stress you didn't need."

"This isn't your fault," said Heather staunchly. "Dr. Serra said this happens more often than you think. You didn't stress me out any more than the rest of our busy lives stressed me out. I've worn a glucose monitor since high school and I have to remind myself to slow down all the time. You make my life so much easier, Conrad. Not more stressful."

"This can be a difficult time for anyone," Dr. Serra said gently. "I'd like to refer you both to a colleague of mine, if you're open to it. Her name is Dr. Supriya Delgato, and she's a relationship and family therapist with a focus on grieving. I think you should talk to her when you're ready. She has an office upstairs and I can let her know she might hear from you."

"Yes please," said Heather. "Thank you, Dr. Serra."

Conrad was still apologetic when they returned home, trying to think of the right thing to say while an exhausted Heather changed into her pajamas. "I'm sorry. I should have been more supportive from the start."

"I'm glad you were honest with me, Conrad. For better or worse, knowing how you feel makes everything clearer for me."

"I do want a family with you. I want Ash to have a brother or sister, and I was looking forward to the parenting classes we were going to sign up for. I wish it hadn't turned out this way."

She embraced him. "Me too. But when I was about seven my mom had a miscarriage early, like me. She got through it, and she had Hazel a year later."

"Heather, I promise you, next time I'll be ready."

"I believe you. We don't need to think about that tonight, but I think we should schedule an appointment with Dr. Delgato like Dr. Serra suggested."

"I haven't spoken to a grief counselor since I was in high school," he admitted. "Back then I was too angry at the world to get anything from it."

She held him in a reassuring embrace. "I think this will be a good thing for both of us."

They went to bed that night feeling closer than ever, cuddling beneath the covers until they both fell asleep. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: This happened unexpectedly via the Heathcare Redux mod by adeepindigo and I was really sad about it. I'm sorry to anyone who hated this development especially after we all went through it with Conrad. I considered pretending it didn't happen since it happened SO early, but I appreciate the realistic storytelling supported by the mod nonetheless. And Conrad will be thrilled about the next one, because I'm literally sending him to grief counseling to justify me changing his trait to 'Would Love to Have a Child Right Now' without letting it flip over time. No chances taken, only plot! In all honesty Heather should have had therapy in high school so in some ways this is long overdue for them both, anyway.

NOTE 2: That last shot is the first time they autonomously cuddled (to sleep, my heart!) after the Lovestruck update. Honestly their level of flirty when they're together is usually sky high and blocks out most of their sad moodlets, hence the smiles despite this really sad installment. When it comes to Conrad, Heather isn't unflirty whatsoever.

[fillinforlater]

Blonde: Chapter III

Female Reader x Kim Gaeul

Length: 2500 words

Tags: angst/fluff, another bad day, losing your dignity, illness, someone who cares, there is a fever dream, Gaeul's relationship, struggling with your identity, we got a twist at the end

Inspiration: "Why Am I Like This?" by Orla Gartland

(A/N: Finally, another chapter to this slowly developing plot. I jope you enjoy it. @firagaarmor for obvious reasons)

"Didn't you say 108,000?"

"No, sir, it's 180,500 won."

"Oh, I see."

The old, fragile fingers of this confused, bald man creep back into his purse, trying to find another bill in what is probably a maze of money and plastic cards for him. You wouldn’t mind it one bit, you get paid either way and on usual nights, traffic is so little that barely anyone else gets inconvenienced. However, tonight is rather unusual. Apparently everyone forgot something and is now in a haste to buy said something. There is a long line of impatient stressed moms, annoyed teenagers and everything in between or beyond showing or voicing their disapproval.

It’s not you, you’re not the cause for their stress and discomfort, yet the customer’s toxicity still flies to you like you’re some kind of magnet. It all comes back to stab you, with passive-aggressive remarks or the glances up and down your small frame. Doesn’t really help that you only had cold ramen noodles, sweets and a little bit of bread in the past five days and that the ice cold showers make your nose itch with an impending cold. God, you must look pathetically miserable, even for your standards.

After the man finally gets his cash together, the checkouts are fast, heartless, and your heart aches for her to be at the end of the line. Gaeul—with her bright hair and even brighter smile to greet you when she is out buying drinks again—she could really save this evening. You yearn for her encouragement and presence more than for the next hot meal. Maybe even more than for the next two hot meals. 

But there is no blonde angel to save you tonight. With the last customer buying their groceries, the lights die one by one, leaving you in a mostly empty store, alone with thousands and thousands of tasty and not-so-tasty products you’d love to put into a pan and fry. The thuds of your sneakers on the floor almost drown out the grumble in your stomach or the sniffling of your nose as you walk into yet another cold night with nothing to look forward to. 

I fucking hate this shit. 

#

You want to vomit, throw yourself off your bed, tear every single strand of your dark hair out as you dial your mother's number again. You hope it’s over quickly, but one can never know with her, especially if she still stubbornly refuses to help you. Take deep breaths, try to keep your head straight though thinking has become more and more exhaustive with every calorie you’re missing. 

“What is it?” your mother groans, though you find her tone to be a lot more amused than last time. Someone is cheering and laughing in the background, drowning out even the loud TV. 

“The bills, mom. I still have no electricity, no hot water, no heater.”

“Oh right.”

A response colder than your room. You try to straighten your back to speak to her loud and clear, with at least some authority, but you feel yourself crumble when the clanking of bottles loudly booms through the speaker.

“Did… did your boss finally pay you?” you carefully ask, earning an immediate response.

“Yes, he did.”

“Then why didn’t you pay the bills?”

Silence, except for the crime drama running in the back, finding all the suspects and then the killer, as they always do. This case right here is totally clear, no one needs to investigate for more than five minutes to find out that she is at fault, yet it feels like you're on trial, awaiting your parole, which for some reason is still in the balance.

“You know, sweetheart,” your mother cheekily responds, her saliva loudly flopping around in her mouth, mixed with the disgusting flavor of cigarettes and beer. “I really worked hard for that money. It’s my money. In the end I can decide what happens with it.”

Oh God, don’t do that, please for the love of—and don’t call me sweetheart.

“You can’t be serious,” you barely chirp out, your heart throbbing, crumbling like your entire body as you can see your entire foundation, the fragile remains of your fake stability finally falter. You can never cover all of your expenses with this one job and you can’t quit school now, not after getting so close to finally finishing it. You need her money and she seems to finally use it against you.

“It’s just the truth,” she responds nonchalantly, her voice a lot lighter and higher in pitch than usual. You hear someone cackle in the background.

“Sweetheart.

Don’t call me that.

“How about you—

Don’t do this.

“—start begging for my money. C’mon! Get on your knees and beg for it! I’m tired of funding your lazy, incompetent lifestyle. You should be so grateful for my throwing money at you all these years. 

“I didn’t hear you! Get your lazy ass out of your bed now, and on your damn knees.

“Beg for it.”

Laughter from behind her. It's not the TV.

#

A hot shower, warm noodles, a cozy bed—they never felt so wrong, so disgusting. Even as your life objectively improves, it feels horrible, like you had to sell yourself and your soul for it to happen.

Your knees are still drawn to the floor. You might sit in a chair, listen to teachers all day or sit at the checkout, pulling items over the scanner, your knees still feel like they should get on the floor and beg.

Please let me pass.

Please give me more money.

Please leave me alone.

Please ignore my embarrassing existence.

"Hey."

"Uhhh, good evening, ma'a—Gaeul?"

Gaeul's dainty fingers catch your shoulders as you slump forward, against the checkout counter and almost fold over. Your body, devoid of energy, loses all tension.

“Hey, hey,” Gaeul calls out to you, and like the caring mother you never had, the warm palm of her hand cups your forehead. “Oh lord, you’re so hot! You’re definitely sick, what are you doing here?”

“I-I have to work,” you respond, a wave of something hot and heavy pressing down on your brain. This lava burns itself into you and makes every thought process excruciatingly hard. You haven’t even noticed it until now. “I’m not sick, every-thing is fine.”

Your smile is weak, dozy and fake, it cannot fool Gaeul a bit. Her beautiful face falls into deep wrinkles of worry as you can barely lift yourself out of her supporting arms. There is an awkward pause between the two of you, only interrupted by another customer clearing their throat. You try to get back to scanning, but one of Gaeul’s cans slips through your fingers a couple of times.

“I don’t think you should do this,” Gaeul says quietly, softly. “You don’t need to prove your toughness, it’s okay to be sick for a few days. I think your boss will understand.”

“Really, Gaeul, I’m okay.” The final can, straight into the blonde’s bag. Through your blurry eyes you can barely make out the color of her jacket, or sweater, or whatever it is—either way, it definitely suits her. “Thanks for worrying though.”

#

Why did I push her away like this? Why didn’t I listen to her? Why am I always like this?

Everything is hot and everything is cold. You need another jacket or the cold will get worse, but it simultaneously feels like you could die from overheating if you don’t start throwing away layer after layer of clothes. The way your body feels is close to how the inner mechanisms in your brain work in this fever haze. There is nothing, no thought, no conclusion, nothing that matters—yet everything is suddenly relevant.

Objects and details you’ve never actively released before come into focus of your decreasing sight, that one tile in the corner, just as dirty and unspecial as the rest, the second package of gum, purple and pink, the spooky hum when the door opens that never appears when it closes. So you stumble out of the store, tripping over your feet until the fever finally strikes you down.

The concrete, its gray color, is darker the colder it gets. It’s also harder, torturous to lay upon, scorching hot skin on freezing tarmac. Suddenly, brand new sneakers, black and white, small feet, about as small as your own, though they could be—

“Oh my God!”

—a bit bigger, judging by the length of the stockings covered legs that—

“Here, I’ll help you”

—disappear in a plaid skirt, above a combo of thick winter jacket and—

“I knew this was bad. Taxi!”

—a girl, whose hair is both silver and golden, a blonde close to whiteness, nonetheless it looks like a crown adorning and framing her perfectly formed features.

Gaeul.

#

You’re lost in a dream. A school full of students, their ages varying drastically and you do not recognize a single face. The teachers seem a lot more familiar, though they float through the room carelessly, gravity not applying to them. In fact, gravity only applies to you, as the rest of the students fly around the room with their chairs and desks.

A frame of an angel, her hands brushing your cheek, scorching hot, so she puts a wet towel on your face. That’s so nice of her, you must be sick. Sick or not, you cannot miss the day you go to the zoo with the floating class.

The zoo is filled with people, nothing but people. People that look at odd people. Those that have to stand on one leg, those that can’t talk properly, those who like weird things. You can hear your whole class laugh hysterically at all of them, so weird, so wrong, nothing better than to laugh at sickos and be glad that you’re not one of them.

“Uhm, hi.” A voice in the far background, damp, behind a shut door. “Care to explain why you have another girl in your bed?”

You feel like you have to explain yourself, but words are nothing more than concepts in your head, also the zoo is calling, you have to watch the lively corpses float through the water tanks. Luckily, someone speaks for you. The angel.

“She’s a friend and she is sick. That’s all there is to it, Yujin.”

"Oh, really?" The other voice is skeptical, eyebrows raised and she looks for a clever response. “I guess she got sick while laying in your bed? Gaeul, don’t lie to me, okay? Just be straightforward with me.”

“I—” the angel stutters and falls silent. You however found a new enclosure in this zoo which stretches in all directions. This one is rather empty and the enclosure is also no enclosure, just a mirror with a writing above it: ‘Sicko girls that like other girls’.

The reflection is you, of course, in all your—

“What am I going to do with you, hm?” The other voice, now a tall woman of incredible beauty, twirls a couple of golden strands of the angel and tugs them behind her ear with a weak—dishonest, you feel—smile. “The long hair suited you better. I really liked that.”

“I know, Yujin.”

The reflection is you, in all your fault and imperfection, far from perfection and any heavenly being. You are no angel, just a sicko girl that likes girls—and the whole class is laughing.

#

You open your eyes, but the aching, hot pain in your temple and a heavy, wet towel on top of it make actually seeing, realizing anything a pain in the ass. Just the outline of a small face looking down on you, very familiar, very pretty—oh, what a relief to have Gaeul be the first thing you see.

“Wh-where am I?” you ask past dry lips.

“Oh, you’re awake.” Gaeul turns around and quickly reaches for a bottle of water. “Here, drink this, your body needs a lot of water now. You’re in my—my friend's apartment.”

“Damn, then it must have been real fucking bad—”

You cover your mouth, realizing your loud curse in a foreign room, foreign bed, where are your manners, they might have foreign customs. Gaeul’s eyes fall shut when she begins to lightly chuckle. 

“Don’t worry, she’s not here right now,” Gaeul says. “You’re all good. B-but you can’t stay here forever. Just rest up and—you have somewhere to stay, right?”

You carefully remove the towel from your face, catching all the drops running down your forehead as you think about home, your home, finally warm because you threw away your dignity. You’d love to not go there, tear up the contract for rent and run away to something new—into independence.

“Yeah, yup, I—I have a place, don’t worry. Sorry for all the trouble, fuck, I don’t even remember what—I did it again.”

Now Gaeul is holding her stomach, laughing, hitting the blanket that covers your legs and you join her. Though you might sit upright, you feel like falling over, the dizziness, Gaeul’s laugh, they make you feel like you’re still in that dream with the angel. The angel, so ethereal, but made fragile by this voice. A woman.

Suddenly, yours and Gaeul’s face are almost touching, her arms are on your shoulders, yours on her side, her petite frame is in your palm. The laughs have faded, smiles remain but you feel your heart racing. The smile fades and you’re tense. Gaeul is right there and she is so, so pretty.

“You sure you’re alright?” Gaeul asks as she sees your blush. You blush even more and avert your eyes.

“Y-yeah, thank you. You helped a lot. But—

“—are you okay too, Gaeul?”

That’s a smile full of uncertainty, a hint of anger, a glow of hurt. Gaeul’s eyes sparkle and you’d love to blow some life into them. Even better, all the love you have for her, you want to pour it into her and give her power. But no, you have no idea nor any plan to do such a thing. So it’s Gaeul who helps you out of the bed and hands you one of her sweatshirts that isn’t drenched in sweat.

“You are the one with a fever, I’m as healthy as ever!” Gaeul is so bright and her smile shines like a star. In a different universe, she is already a celebrity with a perfect red carpet smile. Fake.

“I didn’t mean that.” In a surge of confidence and worry, you reach for Gaeul’s hand and everything's in slow motion. “I-I’m scared that you’re not happy, that something isn’t right, that—Gaeul, I heard you talk to your friend and she seemed—”

“Look, I—she isn’t my friend.”

Gaeul looks at you. 

“She is my girlfriend.”

Gaeul still looks at you. Now it’s your turn to fake a smile and get it over with.

...

(A/N2: Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more chapters, though it will take time until the next release)

[mxigo]

soul sick | part 1

SERIES SYNOPSIS: It’s hard enough watching the male that holds your heart pine for another woman, one that is the definition of beauty and grace, but to watch him fall for another yet again after you feel the mating bond snap into place is its own hell. A hell that makes you dangerously ill.

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS: you get ready to go out with Azriel after his check in with the Illyrian camps, but things don’t go as planned.

WARNINGS: 18+, angst, swearing. a relatively tame first chapter

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

MINORS & AGE-LESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. YOUR AGE MUST BE SOMEWHERE IN YOUR BIO OR YOUR BYF.

NEXT CHAPTER

a.n. if i get anything wrong i’m blaming it on my shit memory and the fact that i haven’t finished acowar and haven’t read acofas and acosf. really just going off what i remember and what i’ve read in other fics. enjoy!

It has been three months since Feyre’s sisters were Made and subsequently brought to the Night Court. You’ve done what you could in aiding their transition to fae life, even getting as far as calling Nesta a friend, cold façade and all. But while you have gained a friend, you’re beginning to lose your best friend, and the male that you love, all at the same time.

It first started with him checking in for a second after the two of you had come back from being out and about in Velaris, then it turned to him apologetically explaining that he already had plans with Elain for the evening, and now, you hardly see him at all anymore.

It’s become more often than not that he spends his time with Elain, leaving you on the back burner, as a second thought to his plans now. You have other friends, yes, but you don’t remember a day where you haven’t at least sent notes back and forth to each other since you became close. It’s like you’re missing a part of you, something that is supposed to be there but isn’t anymore, and your body knows it. Why did it have to be him? She has a mate waiting for her for crying out loud, one who you can tell just genuinely wants to know her, and Azriel is entertaining her, knowing full well what her position is.

Guilt eats at you for these jealous feelings, knowing that the girl has been through so much when her entire life was ripped away and was literally turned into something that she was taught her entire life to fear. You want to be accepting and carefree about the situation, but it is literally impossible when you catch him looking at her with the intense adoration that you have yearned for decades for, and she has simply swooped in and stole him from you.

But tonight, you and Azriel have plans to go out into Velaris for the night for dinner. It’s your tradition that you’ve had for years to catch up after his return from his visits to the Illyrian camps, something to help him unwind. You just hope that for a single night that you can forget about it.

The new dress you bought just yesterday is a beautiful deep burgundy color, the hem falling just above your mid-thigh, long-sleeved, and the neckline plunges lower than what you are used to wearing. You were able to find a pair of nude heels that fit you perfectly in a corner shop. You were even successful in keeping your hair styled for the occasion. It was safe to say that you looked stunning, and there was a glimmer of hope that it wouldn’t be left unnoticed by him.

The heels’ click echoes off the paneled hallway as you scramble to finish getting ready, knowing that you need to leave. You stride into your bedroom, beelining for the jewelry tree on your vanity. Considering the colors that you’re wearing, you think a gold set would be the best, and you know exactly which to wear. Gently, you pick up the teardrop Alexandrite earrings and necklace that Azriel had bought you after one of his trips to the Summer Court. The gem’s color shifts between purple and green depending on the light source, easily making them your favorite pieces.

It hurts a bit when you try to put the earrings in, meeting a bit of resistance as it’s been a while since you’ve last worn any, but you’re able to get them through without too much trouble. The necklace thankfully clasps easily around your neck, the pendant falling in the middle of your chest. The delicate gold glitters in the candlelight, making you smile at the memory of Azriel giving it to you. With a shack of your head, you snap out of the memory’s haze, misting yourself with perfume as a last thought before leaving your bedroom.

The click of your heels echoes off the buildings lining the road as you make your way to Rhys’ townhouse to meet Azriel for drinks before dinner. The night’s cool breeze causes your flesh to break out in goose bumps, but it feels nice over all.

The door unlocks as you turn the knob, and the house becomes alight as you enter. The candles flicker to life to bring the house into a cozy atmosphere, and even the fireplace roars to life to stave off the last of the early spring chill.

The grandfather clock in the foyer chimes, signaling the turn of the hour at seven o’clock. Your heart flutters, excitement filling you knowing that he’ll be here any minute. You make your way into the kitchen, pulling out Azriel’s favorite whiskey and your favorite liqueur, grabbing two tumblers out of the cabinet to set it all out on the table.

Minutes tick by as you wait for him to winnow into the kitchen like he always does, a soft smile on his face as he holds out his elbow like the gentleman he is to winnow you wherever you want to go. You settle into a cushioned seat in the adjoining living room, picking up a book that has been left out and flipping open to the page that you had left on.

Those couple of minutes turn into five, then into fifteen, and then by thirty minutes, you’re constantly glancing between the clock and the kitchen, anxiety eating away at you. Azriel has never been late like this before, and if he’s ever late, it’s only by no more than five. Your stomach rumbles as hunger makes itself known, and you set down the book on the table to stand up. Maybe something happened that’s causing him to be late, but there’s a little voice that’s whispering to you, saying that he’s forgotten about you, that he’s preoccupied by a certain sister.

You shake your head, setting the book back into its spot to stand up and head back into the kitchen. You pour a drink and watch as the dark amber liquid swirls into the cup before settling around the ice. More minutes pass as you finish the drink only to pour another, still waiting, hoping that he will pop into the room, spewing apologies as he tries to explain why he was so late.

But it doesn’t happen. Instead, it is Rhys that winnows into the kitchen, startling you so bad you nearly fall off the stool.

“Mother, Rhys, give a girl a warning before you snap in like that,” you joke, righting yourself up. Your eyes meet his, and you’re confused because he’s confused, staring at you like you are crazy.

“What are you doing here? Are you meeting someone?” he asks, his head tilted slightly as he stares still.

There is a sinking feeling in your stomach, but you want so badly to be wrong about what’s happening.

“I’m meeting Az here. We’re supposed to be going out tonight like we always do when he comes back from the camps, but he’s late. Have you seen him by chance?” A look passes over Rhys’ face, and you recognize that look immediately, your face dropping, heart hammering as you wait for those few words.

“Oh, sweetheart, he left the House with Elain,” he whispered, like you would shatter at just those words, and you suppose you do.

Your breathing stutters, and it’s like the world goes fuzzy, the sounds muted as your breaks cracks. Never in all the years have you been friends with Azriel has he ever forgotten about your nights out when he comes back, let alone either forgetting or just flat out choosing to spend it with another female and not tell you. And of course, it’s with Elain.

Your lungs shake as you take your next breath, reality coming back into focus as you realize that Rhys is still in front of you, worry etched across his face as he too realizes what has happened. You knock back the rest of your drink, and your hands shake as you pick up the glasses to take care of them and to put the bottles away. In an effort to try to get Rhys to go away, to be alone, you put on a fake smile, looking at him.

“Oh, well, I guess I shouldn’t have expected that we’d be going out tonight without checking in with him to see if he was free. That’s my mistake, but thank you for telling me, Rhys. I’ll clean up here and I’ll get going,” you try, but he just shakes his head.

“Nonsense. Leave it, I’ll take care of it later. Let me take you home.”

“Honestly, Rhys, I’m ok. It’s just a misunderstanding on my part. And my home isn’t far from here at all, and the night is nice. You don’t need to winnow me,” you insisted, already done with rinsing out the glasses and putting them away. But your voice is shaking ever so slightly, sick to your stomach, and you know that Rhys notices.

He grimaces, debating with himself on what to do.

“If you’re sure,” he asks, raising an eyebrow, and you nod. “I’ll talk to him when he gets back.”

“No! No, you don’t have to do that. Seriously, Rhys, it’s not a big deal,” you beg, and finally, he relents.

He nods once before stuffing his hands back into his pockets.

“You’ll let me know if you change your mind, right,” he asks.

“Of course,” you promise, and he pops back out of the house, leaving you to truly process the situation.

He took Elain out instead. He left you, that same voice whispers, louder this time. Tears sting your eyes, and a half-sob rips out of your lungs, a hand flying up to your mouth to prevent any more from leaving. But you’re fruitless in your efforts to contain your emotions as tears start spilling over, splattering onto the table.

You leave the townhouse in a flurry, harshly wiping at the tears. The house goes dark behind you and the lock snicks shut, leaving you in the night’s chill. Then all at once, your face crumbles as your emotions make themselves known. You try to reason with yourself that there’s no reason to be upset because it was true when you told Rhys that you never did confirm with Azriel if he didn’t already have plans, you just assumed.

But you never have to check in, he has always been there.

“Fuck,” you whisper, walking down the cobbled road back to your townhouse, furiously wiping away the stray tears.

The walk back is quiet for the most part, and you’re thankful that you don’t run into anyone. You would never let yourself live it down if someone saw you in the state that you’re in. You almost make it back, but as you look up, your heart drops and your veins fill with ice as you recognize two figures walking your way. They are so enraptured with each other that they haven’t noticed you yet, so you quickly move over to the edge of the road, hopefully giving yourself enough space that they don’t see you.

You continue walking, arms crossed, and hair falling around you to shield your face, and you’ve just passed them when you spare a glance, making eye contact with him.

Fuck. You walk faster, eyes trained on the ground.

“Y/N?” he calls out, but you keep walking, quickening your pace.

“Y/N! Hey, wait,” he shouts, and this time catches up with you.

A calloused hand closes itself around your arm, effectively stopping you. You whip your head around to face him, and he looks at you in confusion. His form towers over you, and you’re so close you can smell the cologne wafting off of him. You watch as his face crumbles while he looks you over, and it almost seems like he’s panicking.

“Please, just allow me a moment to explain,” he begs, but you shake your head, eyes screwing shut to prevent him seeing the frustrated tears.

“It’s fine, Az, really. I just wish you would have told me instead of having Rhys be the one to tell me where you were,” you whisper, your eyes now trained on his chest, still avoiding his eyes.

If there’s one thing you hate, it’s confrontation. Even if all you want is for someone to feel what you’re feeling, and to confront them about what they’ve done, you can never bring yourself to do it, to hurt them like they had hurt you. So right now, you just want him to let you go so you can let yourself fall apart and piece yourself back together in the comfort of your home.

He is helpless as he sees you put up your walls, trying to keep your emotions in check by shutting them off entirely. It’s something that he’s never been on the receiving end of, and it crushes him to know that he’s who caused this.

A cold whisper ghosts over your wrist, and you look down to find a shadow caressing you anxiously, but it only makes you even more upset, the corners of your lips forcefully tugging down and eyes burning. Blood thunders in your ears, and you can feel your hands shaking, and no doubt Azriel can feel it too, which just makes you panic harder.

“Please, let me go I just want to go home.”

“Y/N,”

“No, Az. Just—”

“Azriel? Is everything ok?” A soft, ethereal voice breaks the moment, your eyes snapping over to the culprit.

You’re horrified as she walks over, the object of your ire making herself known. She looks absolutely breath taking dressed up, and you can’t help but understand for a moment why he would choose her over yourself. She’s absolutely perfect, and you’re… not.

She stops just behind him, placing a delicate pale hand on his back, looking up at him with worried eyes. His gaze snaps from you to her, and it makes you sick as you watch his face soften for her. You take the moment of weakness to rip your wrist away, giving yourself a step to breathe.

Azriel looks between the two of you, confliction painting his face as he tries to decide what to do, but you don’t give him the chance.

“I used to believe that you wouldn’t go as far as this, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

He reels back like he was physically slapped, looking back at you in astonishment.

“What is that supposed to mean,” he begs, his eyes wide as his grip grows tighter around your wrist, but if you say what you want to say, you’re going to irreparably damage your relationship with him. Despite how you feel, that’s the last thing that you want.

You sigh, closing your eyes and shaking your head, just wanting the conversation to end. “It doesn’t matter. Enjoy your night, Azriel.”

You spin around and high tail it away from him. Although you just want to be left alone, it still makes your heart break even more when he doesn’t try to come after you.

The guilt eats at you again knowing that you ruined his and Elain’s night, but that selfish part of you is glad that you did and made him feel like shit.

Thankfully, you make it back home before you lose it, sobs racking your body as it all comes out. The pain of being pushed aside for someone else yet again comes to a head from tonight’s events. In a fury, you rip off the dress and heels, slinging them somewhere to be found later. You all but drop your jewelry onto the vanity, letting it clatter against the dark wood top. Tears still pour out of your eyes as you rifle through your liquor cabinet, pushing to the back to grab a bottle of dark and strong whiskey, but you slam the door shut as the thought of whiskey being Azriel’s favorite pushes itself to the forefront of your mind.

So instead, you crawl into bed for the night, staining your white sheets with your black-tinted tears.

-

Heavy thudding at your door drags you from sleep, making you groan as you have to peel open your eyes. The sun is blocked out by the thick curtains, confusing you even further as you try to figure out what time it could be. A headache makes itself known, pulsing behind your eyes causing you to groan as you sit up. The thudding continues, and you can’t help but snap.

“Give me a Mother-damned second! Fuck!” You slip from the sheets, stumbling across the room to get to your dresser. You pull a pair of pants and a t-shirt from a drawer, throwing on them on as you make your way to the door. You pray it’s not Azriel, but it’s more than likely it is. He’s the last one you want to see right now. Hopefully, he’s smart enough to stay away for a little while so you can cool off, allowing the whole situation to blow over.

You yank the door open, squinting at the bright sunlight, but they snap awake when you see Mor and Cassian in front of you instead, the latter standing against the door frame with his arms crossed.

“Uh…” You’re at a loss for words, guilty for the way that you had screamed at them.

“Get ready, we’re going to lunch, and you’re going to tell us why Azriel came home like his fucking puppy died,” Mor says, inviting herself in and grabbing you to lead you to your room. You look back at Cassian, eyes begging for help, but he just shrugs. Bastard.

The blonde immediately starts riffling through your wardrobe, picking through dresses and outfits, but you’re not sure what she has in mind. You allow yourself to flop back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. Cassian’s footsteps announce his entrance as he takes a seat on your love seat.

“What’s this?”

You pick your head up to see Mor holding your dress that you left in a ball on the floor. Your face flickers for a moment before you reign it back it, allowing the emotionless mask to take place.

“Nothing,” you whisper, letting your head fall back onto the bed.

It’s silent for a moment as Mor and Cassian look between themselves then back to you. It’s obvious something happened between you two last night, and the story won’t come easy from either of you.

The bed dips as both of your friends sit on the edge, one on either side as the flop down next to you. They remain quiet, but the tension and everything that you’ve been feeling makes your chin tremble, and you bite your lip to try and conceal it. But the tears sting at your eyes anyways, making the ceiling go blurry.

You sit up, digging your elbows into your knees, heaving a great sob. A small hand rests itself on your back, rubbing in circles as you allow yourself to finally fall apart.

“He fucking stood me up,” you choke out. “We always go out when he comes back from the camps. I got dressed up and everything, waited at the townhouse for a half hour just for Rhys to show up and tell me he wasn’t coming. Then I ran into him with Elain on the street on my walk home.”

They’re silent as they let you recount what happened last night, Mor’s face twisting as she watches one of her closest friends fall apart in front of her.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Cassian whispers, but you just shake your head.

“It’s fine—”

“No, it’s not fucking fine. He’s either blind or just outright stupid to not see what he’s doing to you.” Cassian’s face is set in a scowl as he thinks about his friend’s behavior after Elain came into the picture.

He knows that his brother has a history of fawning over unavailable women, but for him to entertain one who already has a mate, one that lives with them and wants to engage with her nonetheless, makes him question if Azriel is really that ignorant to the entire situation. It’s not exactly a secret that you harbor feelings for the shadowsinger, but he has been oblivious to the way that you look at him, and Cassian can only imagine how you are with him when no one else is watching.

Mor’s heart breaks while she is helpless watching your face crumble and tears drip off your chin. There’s been a lot that has brought you down, but nothing like this. You keep a strong face around your friends, always trying to be a happy and fun person to be around, letting yourself be the shoulder to lean on when they need it.

Although Mor was the first obstacle between you and Azriel, she was always a good friend to you since you first joined the Inner Circle decades ago. Her warm and confident nature brought you out of your shell when she introduced you to everyone on that fateful night at Rita’s, which in turn brought you to Azriel.

You let your feelings ruin it all, the voice whispers, if you had just kept your feelings in check then you wouldn’t be in this position.

Then, with a deep breath, the mask comes back.

You wipe your face of the tear tracks, sniffling to try and clear your sinuses before looking at Mor and Cassian with a watery smile.

“So, what were you guys saying about lunch?”

A look passes between your friends before looking back at you.

“Well, we thought today would be a good day to try that new place on the Sidra for lunch,” Cassian answers, a slight smile on his face.

“I would love to. Will you two help me pick something to wear?”

“What else would we be here for, angel,” Mor giggles, standing up and taking you with her.

I’m so lucky to have them as friends.

[asongofmarvelanddc]

Duty PT 5½

PAIRING: Robb Stark X Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,475

WARNINGS: none!

SUMMARY: Robb's Queen falls ill and he is not quite sure how to handle it.

PART 1| PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 4 ½ | PART 5 | PART 6

MASTERLIST | ROBB STARK MASTERLIST

A/N: This is kind of short drabble-type chapter setting up the next two! Please send a message, comment, send an ask so i can hear from you! and hope you enjoy 🥰🫶🏾 (Part 6 dropping tomorrow night –UK nighttime btw 🤭)

Robb has grown used to your company in recent weeks. He was surprised the first time you came to his study for no reason other than to talk, but he came away from that evening happy to have seen and spoken with you.

Eventually, those nightly visits became more of an expectation. Sometimes you’ll have a conversation over tea and cakes and other nights he’ll share a laugh with you over supper with a belly full of ale. Occasionally you watch him work while doing needlepoint or sewing up his trousers – because he always seems to rip the seams – providing a needed distraction whenever he gets too frustrated with the contents of his letters.

It is routine. One he quite enjoys, which is why when you don’t come to his study tonight, he’s not upset, he’s worried. He thinks to ignore it and continue on with his work, but he struggles to concentrate on any of it when his mind keeps wandering back to you.

He has enough after a few minutes and rises to his feet intending to find you and determine that everything is alright. As he walks around the Great Keep, not a single person he passes can tell him where you are. His casual stroll slowly morphs into a hurried walk as he begins heading towards your chambers. That is when he runs into someone.

Elyse.

He almost doesn’t realise it is her at first, so focused on where he is going that he brushes past her. It is only at the sound of her voice when she stops to curtsey that he recognises who it is. He spins back around as he already passed her a little, cocking his head to the side.

“Elyse,” he breathes as he approaches her slowly, “How are you?”

They have not spoken in some weeks now. It is awkward between them. It has never been awkward. He suspects that she has been avoiding him, but a part of him chooses to believe that only because he has in fact been avoiding her out of guilt.

She looks up at him, a thin yet soft smile on her lips. “I am well,” she says, though her pained eyes tell a different story.

Robb has the urge to pry her for more questions. The only reason he has stayed away from her is because things can never be as they were once. Not if he intends to honour his vows to you.

He doesn’t want her to feel as though he has simply cast her aside and forgotten her. But as soon as he’s about to raise a hand to take hers, he stops himself, remembering why he is here in this corridor in the first place. He is trying to find you.

“Have you seen…?” his voice trails off before he can say your name. He doesn’t know if that would be offensive or unnecessarily hurtful.

But it doesn’t need to be said because she knows who he refers to just by the look in his eyes.

“The Queen is in her chambers. With Maester Luwin.”

That means something is wrong, and though he wants to stay and ease Elyse’s hurt, he does not have the time for it.

“Thank you, Elyse,” he lingers for a moment, knowing there are still many things unsaid between them, before making his way to your chambers.

Just as he arrives at the door, Maester Luwin steps outside, jumping when he sees Robb.

“Your Grace,” he bows as best as he can while shutting the door, " Forgive me, I was not expecting you."

Robb frowns as he glances from the closed door to Maester Luwin, “Has something happened?”

The Maester shakes his head slowly, “Her Grace has fallen ill, but–”

“Why was I not made aware?"

"It was quite sudden," he explains, then places a hand on Robb's shoulder, "But it is nothing serious, you need not worry yourself."

Mester Luwin's voice is comforting, but Robb's heart remains unsettled. You are his responsibility now, and whatever pain befalls you – illness or injury – weighs on him. That is the only reason why he is concerned.

The only reason.

He looks at Maester Luwin and asks, "What ails her?"

Maester Luwin seems unsure of whether to answer at first, but then he lowers his voice and begins to speak, "You are aware that women pass bloods once every moon's turn?"

In fact Robb did not know that it happens every moon's turn. He thought it happened once when a girl becomes a woman. Nevertheless, he nods his head as if he did know before this very moment.

"Is that what this is?"

Maester Luwin nods, “It seems Her Grace passes her moonblood with great difficulty. But her pain and discomfort should fade in the coming days.”

Robb glances at the door yet again, debating whether or not he should go in.

“She is resting now,” Maester Luwin says, practically peering into Robb’s thoughts, “You should look in on her, put your mind at ease.”

His head snaps in the maester’s direction, “My mind is already at ease.” There is a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Maester Luwin bows before taking his leave to return to the rookery.

Alone with his own thoughts, Robb considers returning to his solar to continue working. He knows now that no great harm has befallen you and you will be just fine, but his heart is still unsatisfied. With little hesitation, he twists the handle and pushes the door open.

One week after your wedding, Robb began to notice that his chambers smelled different. It almost annoyed him how quickly the room adopted your scent. It clung to everything, the sheets, the pillows – even Robb's own clothes. But over time, he came to appreciate that earthy, yet sweet smell. It gave him comfort.

That is why the first thing he notices upon entering the room is how different it smells. The aroma of medicine hangs in the air, no doubt from whatever treatment Maester Luwin has provided.

You're lying on the bed when he enters, curled up into a ball. As soon as Robb closes the door, your eyes flutter open, following him as he approaches you wordlessly.

"Your Grace," you begin in the softest voice he's ever heard from your lips, "I would curtsey or sit up, but as you can see, I am in no state for such."

"I wouldn’t ask you to," he smiles as he sits on the bed right beside you. He glances at the cup sitting on your bedside table, "What are you drinking?"

You tilt your head slightly to see what Robb is looking at before returning your gaze to him. "Maester Luwin gave me something for the pain," you say, "I don't remember what is in it."

"You are in pain?"

Robb's concern increases when you nod.

"Where is the pain?" he asks.

"Here."

Robb looks down at where your hand is cradling your stomach. His eyes snap back up to you when he hears you wince, clutching your stomach tighter. He hates to see you in such terrible pain, and it is worse knowing he can do nothing to ease it.

"Will it be like this for you after every moon's turn?"

You shake your head, "Not every time. It was not like this during the last one – that is why you did not know it was happening."

Even after seeing you and speaking with you, Robb's worry does not dissipate. There is still a pit in his stomach. It dawns on him that he is not only concerned because you are his responsibility. He wants you to recover quickly because…well, it is you.

He raises his hands to your face, stopping when he sees the startled look on your face.

"Do you mind?" he asks, hands still hovering over you. He proceeds when you nod.

Gently, he presses his palms against your cheeks. You remain completely still under his touch, your heart racing. After a moment, he moves his hand to your forehead.

"What are you doing?"

He looks down, meeting your eyes which are staring up at him, before pulling back from you, "I'm checking for a fever."

You chuckle lightly, an infectious sound, "I'm not sure fevers are common with my particular ailment."

"It is better to be sure."

You smile softly before closing your eyes, a comfortable silence settling between the two of you. Robb sits there, listening to your breathing and waiting for you to fall asleep.

After a few minutes, your eyes open again.

"Don't let me keep you, you ought to rest," you whisper, "Your mother has prepared the guest chamber for you."

Robb is taken aback, "The guest chamber? Why should I stay there and not here as always?"

"Because you work from dawn to dusk and I will not have you lacking sleep simply because I am ill. Besides, your mother insisted."

Robb looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head. Of course his mother would be the one to insist. But still, he does not want to bring you any further discomfort anyways, so he obliges yours and his mother's wishes.

"I will be sure to look in on you again tomorrow," he promises as he rises to his feet. His gaze lingers on you for a moment before he finally says, "Sleep well, Y/N."

***

The next night, Robb is not happy when he finds the tray from your supper untouched. It lies discarded on the floor beside your bed, not even a grain of rice has been moved.

You're asleep when he enters the room, and even when he sits on the bed, you remain still. There is no snoring however, which lets Robb know that you are not sleeping soundly. Your forehead is creased and even in your sleep you're clutching something to your stomach.

This illness seems to have gotten worse, which only serves to make Robb feel more guilty for not coming to see you during the day. He leans down and presses the back of his hand to your clammy forehead, then his palms to your cheeks. Just to be sure again that there is no fever.

You wake while he is in the middle of doing this, momentarily shocked to see him practically on top of you. Robb instantly draws his hands back when he hears your gasp.

"I apologise, I was only checking–"

"Robb," you sigh heavily and slowly pull yourself up into a sitting position, "There is no fever. I have told you, this will pass."

He nods even though his worry remains.

"I'm sorry that I did not come earlier."

You wave a hand and shake your head. "It is quite alright, I completely under–"

You're cut off by an intense and sharp pain in your lower stomach and back that makes you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut. Too distracted by the pain, you don't even realise when Robb takes your hand at first, but once his calloused fingers clasp around your hand, you give it a tight squeeze to help the pain pass.

"Are you alright?"

Your eyes open to meet Robb's staring back into them. His brows are drawn together and he is sitting close to you on the bed, both his hands now holding yours.

"Yes," you whisper as you pull your hand out of his grasp, licking your dry lips, "I'm fine."

He looks like he wants to say more, but instead he sits back, placing his hands back in his lap. You can see clearly that he is concerned about you, more than you expected him to be – likely because he does not understand what is happening.

In some way, it is comforting to know that he cares.

“Tell me what I can do to help you.”

Robb is not a man who enjoys feeling useless. Even more so in recent years, considering all the tragedy that has befallen his family. And seeing you this way, sickly and vulnerable – the complete opposite of how he’s always seen you – is deeply unsettling.

"Distract me from the pain," you say, offering him the smallest way to make you feel better, "Tell me about your day. What has kept you so occupied?"

He doesn’t know how talking about ledgers and reports would help you, but he does so anyway.

“I spent much of the day preparing for the arrival of some men from the front.”

“Who is coming?”

“Lord Umber is bringing back some of the men we captured,” he sighs, “Our cells down there are too crowded, and some of the men are workers whose surrenders I’ve accepted.”

You raise a skeptical brow, “You trust Lannister soldiers?”

Robb is surprised – and a little amused – that you’re questioning his decision. He’s not sure he minds, however. In fact, he appreciates your taking an interest.

“I don’t,” he chuckles, “But these are men from the Brotherhood Withou–“

He’s cut off when you grab his hand to squeeze as another cramp hits. Instantly he forgets what he was talking about and gently takes both your hands. When the pain passes, you reach over to the side table and take a sip from the cup sitting there.

You notice Robb's inquisitive stare and nod to the cup, "It's the same tea from last night," you mumble, your eyes feeling heavier, "Apparently, it is a weaker dosage of milk of the poppy."

"Milk of the poppy makes you drowsy, no?"

"That explains why I have slept most of the day," you smile weakly.

Robb chuckles and strokes the back of your hand as you lean back and shut your eyes, "I should not have woken you."

"Perhaps not."

"Shall I leave?" he asks.

"No," you answer in a light voice, barely above a whisper, "Stay."

And so he does. He watches over you even after you fall asleep. It is not until your light snores begin to fill the room, a sure sign that you are in a deep slumber, that he decides to leave. He gently places your hand over your stomach and pulls the blankets up to your chest to make sure that you stay warm through the night.

Before he leaves, he can't help but watch you for a moment, listening to your slow breathing. You appear so at peace, and the sight warms his heart. In that moment, he knows that he has let go of any residual resentment he may have had towards you.

"Do feel better soon, my Lady," he whispers, "I long for our evening chats."

*

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[e-nonsense]

SILVER MEDALIST — strongest pt.1

chapter one pt.1 summary. and so she sat silently at the Gojo table beside her best friend, Gojo Satoru who looks bored as he tugs at his grey tie. They watch as her twin brother stroll around the room alongside her father, Zenin Naoya was heir to the Zenin Clan because he’s boy. “You should be in his place,” she heard him grumble. “You’re stronger-“

masterlist // next part

2005

Strength was something the Zenin clan prided themselves on. Their strength reached high ranks, most clan members reaching the rank of a grade 1 jujutsu sorcerer. Except the women, who were expected to marry, have kids and whatever else. So you could imagine the disgustthey had the day Zenin Harumi was born.

Less than an hour after her birth the girl and her brother were born. She was summoning shadows every time she cried, the shadows of the room moving to her aid. Trying to swallow her whole as it tried to shield her.

It was expected that the Head of the Zenin clan would have powerful children but as expected from a family of fucking misogynists they prayed it would be the boy, Naoya, Harumi’s twin.

What they hated further was the fact that Harumi was well liked by everyone.

And so she sat silently at the Gojo table beside her best friend, Gojo Satoru who looks bored as he tugs at his grey tie. They watch as her twin brother stroll around the room alongside her father, Zenin Naoya was heir to the Zenin Clan because he’s boy.

“You should be in his place,” she heard him grumble. “You’re stronger-“

“I wouldn’t want to be in his place,” she cuts him off and his blue eyes stare into her grey ones. “I’m okay with being second.” Because being second was something that Zenin Harumi was far too used to. She would embrace being second, she would never be the sole responsible one. She could have whatever slight freedom she was granted with being second.

“That’s shit-“ a quick smack to the back off his head shuts him up and Harumi giggles at the look he shoots his mother. “Watch your mouth Satoru.”

“He’s not wrong though Harumi,” Satoru’s father speaks softly but the firmness in his tone is something Harumi always admired about the man. “Stupid Zenin, can't recognise true power because they can’t get equality. Your father is the stupidest fucking-” another smack makes Satoru snicker at the speed his mother strikes his father with.

“That goes for you too,” his mother mutters loud enough for just them to hear. Satoru and Harumi share a look before breaking out into laughter as Satoru’s father fake sobs into his wifes shoulder. “So abusive, you see kids? She’s abusive.”

The kids giggle and they fold over each other as they laugh, a few people in the room sparing them both amused glances.

More of the night passes smoothly, Satoru and his father leaving to socialise later on leaving Harumi with his mother. “Is your mother here tonight dear?” Satoru’s mothers voice rings softly in the girls left ear.

“No, she’s still ill,” Harumi answers with a slight frown. Mrs Gojo brushes hair out of the young girls eyes, “and your other two brothers?”

“Somewhere here,” she shrugs and leans back lazily in her seat. “If they haven't already ditched, I can't wait till I can just not show up to these things.” Mrs Gojo chuckles in return and pats the girls head comfortingly.

“You’re nearly fifteen dear, you start at Jujutsu tech next year.” the woman says excitedly, “do you still plan on joining Satoru at the Tokyo campus or has that changed?” By ‘changed’ she meant, has Harumi been forced to go to Kyoto.

“No, father was quite… pleased with my decision actually.” Harumi says softly. “But he did recommend that I still join him and Naoya at Kyoto for the orientation. I agreed just to have him stop bothering me.”

Mrs Gojo chuckles and nod, “fair enough.”

Neither of them notice the two pairs of crystalline eyes watching them both with a smile. Mr Gojo looks over his son with a knowing smirk, “so. Son, anyone catch your eye recently? A girl perhaps?”

Satoru looks at his father with a raised brow, “no. why?” His father hums in response, not saying anything further as he walks away to greet an old friend of his, leaving his son standing there confused.

He walks back over to the table his mother and Harumi are sitting at, “I think dad’s sick.” he says as he takes a seat next to his close friend, watching as she raises her brow. “Why do you say that?” she glances at his father. “He looks fine to me.”

“He always looks fine,” came Mrs Gojo’s mutter before sipping her drink. “Ma!” Satoru gags and Harumi snickers and pats his back.

Both teenagers watch her in amusement as she smiles as she watches her husband, snow white hair and crystalline hair. Him and Satoru looked identical, the only difference was that Satoru was a lot paler than his father who had a slight soft tan.

Satoru snaps his finger in front of his mothers face as Harumi pokes her shoulder, amusement playing in her smile as she shares a glance with Satoru. Mr Gojo obviously feels the weight of someone's eyes on him so he looks back to see his wife staring at him, he smirks at her.

Both Satoru and Harumi gag at the sight of their wordless flirting exchange. “Gross.”

The best part of the night passes quickly, Harumi bidding the Gojo’s goodbye as she walks towards her father, her smile from earlier gone as is her good mood. “Father,” she greets him monotonously, Naobito nods in greeting. “Harumi,” her brothers snarky voice calls her as she didn’t greet him. Naobito sighs, “leave it be Naoya. Sit down Harumi,” her father orders and the girl complies by taking the seat on her fathers left.

From across the room Satoru watches the exchange with a scowl, noticing the way his friend's smile dropped and the mischievous glint in her grey eyes disappear. His parents watch him as he watches her, clenching his fork tightly.

It’s always been this way for the two of them, they’d met when he dragged her away from a crowd of people at some fancy clan meet up when he was six. And they’d been following each other around since then, neither of their parents stopped it. Because for the Gojo’s, Harumi was an angel, always overly polite and she made their son happy, and honestly she was his only friend back then.

To the Zenin’s, they were far too scared and smart to get on the six eyes’ bad side (not that they weren’t already.) They also saw an opportunity to get an in with the child who would become the most powerful sorcerer alive.

Either way, he was way too overprotective of her, he’d follow her around like a guard dog. “Don’t, you’ll only make it worse for her,” his father warns as he glares over at the Zenin occupied area. “She knows how to handle herself.”

Satoru scowls as he watches from afar, “she looks fucking miserable.”

© e-nonsense. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off

[cuffmeinblack]

Out of bounds

Part 2 | Part 3 | ao3 link for all chapters

Garreth Weasley x gn!reader

Tags: fluff | light smut | first kiss | sexual tension | general shenanigans 3.5k words

Summary: You agree to help Garreth sneak into his aunt's chambers to retrieve some confiscated notes. In an effort to spend more time with him, you ask him to come with you.

A/n: Later parts will be f!reader, but for now it reads as gender neutral. Also, surprise appearance by @ask-deek. Screenshot credit: @deathlysallows

Pink. Your potion was pink, when it should have been a soft mauve. If you’d spent more time accurately measuring your potion ingredients instead of staring at the back of your housemate’s head you might have produced a better result. You thought perhaps it could be salvaged yet, scraping a little more shrivelfig off of your chopping board and throwing it into your cauldron. You were so engrossed in the steadily paling mixture that you hadn’t noticed the presence beside you.

"You're good at being sneaky," Garreth said.

You stirred your potion, counting the clockwise rotations before responding whilst trying to suppress the blush creeping up your neck. 

"Am I?"

"Well you did get me that fwooper feather. And the dried billywigs. Back in fifth year, remember?"

"I remember, and you're not wrong. Why?" you asked, cocking your eyebrow.

"Could I borrow your services once again?" he asked, leaning against the table.

"What's in it for me?"

"Erm, well I'm sure I'll think of something," he mumbled.

You could certainly think of a few things Garreth could do to you that would repay the debt ten times over, but now wasn't the time to bring up your lewd fantasies. You made a show of sighing in concession before replying.

"What do you need me to do?"

Garreth gave a furtive glance over to Professor Sharp who was limping over to his store room, moving closer to you and lowering his voice. Your breath caught in your chest as he moved, your eyes running over his freckled face.

"My aunt confiscated some very important notes of mine and I need them back if I'm ever to finish my latest brew," he whispered.

"You want me to steal something from the deputy headmistress?" you asked with a frown.

"Well, yes, I suppose so. I think they're in her chambers…"

"You're not serious. Garreth!" you said far too loudly, glancing around to check nobody had heard your exclamation.

"Please."

You sighed and looked into his brilliant green eyes, annoyed that apparently you couldn't bring yourself to say no to him.

"Fine, but my payment is you coming with me," you said, returning to your chopping board.

"Wh…what?"

"You heard me. I'll get you in there and back out. Teach you what I know, maybe then you can do the dirty work yourself next time."

A convincing argument, somewhat skillfully hiding your true motive—in honesty you just wanted the excuse to spend time with him alone, away from the prying eyes of your friends and classmates. You already spent much of your free time in each other's company but always with the presence of Natty or Leander. As much as you loved your fellow Gryffindors, you always hoped for just a moment with just Garreth.

"I…well, okay," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "When shall we do it?"

"Tonight, whilst she's at dinner? I'll meet you outside the common room."

"Brilliant," he said, flashing you his widest smile, making your stomach flip over as he retreated to his own cauldron.

Your potion was on the brink of ruin as you swore and flicked your wand to lower the flame. Garreth was a distraction you could ill afford, and you’d just agreed to indulge your attraction by sneaking around the castle with him at night. You shook your head at your own stupidity whilst simultaneously feeling a giddiness wash over you, eager for your lessons to end.

The hours passed slowly as you waited in eager anticipation of your dinnertime excursion. With a bit of luck you'd be in and out of Professor Weasley's chambers within a few minutes and could be celebrating your victory sitting next to Garreth at the dinner table before long, perhaps even granting you a pat on the back or two. With a rumble in your stomach, you straightened your robes and gave yourself a quick peruse in the mirror before skipping down the stairs to the common room and passing through to the portrait entrance.

The shock of red hair greeted you as soon as you clambered through the tunnel into the hallway, your heart skipping a beat as you approached Garreth who was leaning against the wall, deep in thought. He always had a nervous energy about him, never staying still for long—his foot bounced on the ground until you came to his side, stilling as he caught your eye and flashed you a wide smile.

“Ready for our…excursion?” you asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied as you started walking.

"How are you at disillusionment?"

Garreth's mouth opened and shut silently as he cast you a sheepish look.

"Don't tell me you've never cast the charm?" you asked in surprise.

"Well, I've never really needed to," he replied. "I don't make a habit of sneaking into places I shouldn't."

"It can be useful. Really useful. Come on," you said.

Turning a corner in the astronomy tower, you came to a stop a short walk from the entrance to the trophy room and pulled out your wand, waiting for Garreth to do the same. Flicking your wand in the familiar spiral and muttering the incantation, your body shimmered and disappeared, leaving only a faint trace of your shape in the corridor.

"You're almost invisible," Garreth said, amazed.

He tentatively reached out and poked what you could only assume should have been your shoulder. Unfortunately, his aim wasn't particularly good on your translucent outline and his fingers gently prodded your neck instead. The touch was absolutely, definitely not meant to be intimate in any way, shape or form—but his warm, soft fingers brushing the skin below your ear sent shivers down your spine.

"Ah, sorry," he apologised, withdrawing his hand, a blush creeping onto his freckled cheeks.

"Get…get your wand out and try," you urged in a slightly strangled voice.

Garreth followed your instructions, tracing the wand movement elegantly and repeating the incantation. He flinched slightly before his body began to fade, flickering until his form resembled frosted glass.

"I wasn't quite prepared for that feeling," he chuckled.

"Oh, yes, it's cold isn't it? Like an egg being cracked on your head."

"Felt like a particularly cold flobberworm sliding down my neck."

You gave him an invisible smile and cleared your throat, readjusting your thoughts to the matter at hand.

"Come on, quietly now."

You crept silently down the corridor until you reached the towering spiral staircase that led all the way up to the headmaster's study. Professor Weasley's chambers were situated just below it, on the first floor. With careful steps, you climbed the staircase—not being able to see your own feet very well was disconcerting.

After a few minutes of slow creeping, you came to a stop outside of Professor Weasley's chambers, giving the door handle a wiggle on the off-chance she'd left it unlocked. No such luck—the door didn't budge. Drawing your wand, you pointed it just below the handle and muttered 'Alohomora', hoping your charm was powerful enough to open the lock. You let out a deep breath you hadn't realised you'd been holding as it clicked open.

Pushing the door open, you peered into the room, taking in the empty space with interest. You'd never been in here before—even when galavanting about the castle you tended to steer clear of your professors' living quarters. 

Garreth followed close behind you as you slipped inside, dropping your disillusionment charm once you were satisfied you were completely alone.

"I don't believe we did it! Merlin, this is exhilarating, isn't it?" Garreth gasped.

Garreth dropped his own charm and his smiling face came shimmering back into view, his eyes already darting around the room in search of his notes.

"Breaking and entering? Yes, it is quite the thrill," you laughed.

Your gaze tore from the redhead to scan your surroundings, admiring the paintings and ornate furniture dotted around the room. The decoration felt familiar, not worlds away from the cosy Gryffindor common room with its dark woods and plush fabrics.

Garreth had wandered off to search the mahogany desk whilst you were drawn to a large metal box on top of a sideboard. The lid was gilded, a beautiful pattern of roses and thorns embossed on the top. With a delicate touch, you removed it, finding a collection of random objects. 

One such object appeared to be humming—you could feel pulses of magic emanating from it, perhaps the reason you'd been drawn here in the first place. Your eyes darted at the rest of the contents until they fell on a stack of parchment.

"I think this is it," you said, pulling the papers from the box. "This is definitely your writing…what is this, Garreth?"

"Ah, just an experiment," he said evasively, crossing the room quickly and snatching the parchment from your hands. "Top secret, you know."

"Mhmm, is it likely to end with first years in the hospital wing?"

"That was…only one time. I didn't think about the reaction of…"

Garreth's hasty explanation was interrupted with a shuffle of footsteps and squeak from the door handle as both of you panicked and ducked behind the sofa. You pulled out your wand and screwed up your face in concentration, casting a non-verbal disillusionment charm which clearly wasn't as effective as your verbal incantation. You only hoped that the visitor wouldn't venture this far into the room.

Garreth had done the same, his shimmering form crouched next to you and leg pressed against your own. You couldn't tell who it was by just the footsteps but you heard a click-clack on the wooden floorboards that sounded like heeled shoes—most likely it was Professor Weasley returned early from dinner, and your stomach churned as you imagined the trouble you'd be in if you were caught in such a compromising position.

The moment you spent waiting seemed to drag on forever as the footfalls continued, until they finally receded. You heard the creak of hinges and thunk of the door closing, then another click of the lock. You realised you'd been clutching Garreth the whole time, your fingertips digging into his firm bicep. You loosened your grip as you steadied your breath, once again dropping your disillusionment charm. 

"We need to get out of here in case she comes back," you whispered.

Garreth looked slightly paler than he had done only moments before as he nodded his agreement. He glanced down to your hand still circling his arm, a faint flicker of a smile playing on his lips until you withdrew your fingers, averting your gaze. 

"Come on, then," you mumbled, crossing the room with your wand out.

A quick Alohomora should have had you out of there in no time, but the deafening silence that filled the room after you cast the charm sent a ripple of fear through your body. 

"Oh, no."

"What? What's oh no?" Garreth's panicked voice whispered from behind you.

"Alohomora," you said clearly, paying extra attention to your wand movement.

The lock didn't even twitch, stubbornly staying shut with every subsequent attempt until you were red in the face and flustered beyond belief.

"What has she done?" you grumbled, prodding your wand at the metal as if it would simply fall apart by sheer force of will.

"What if she put an anti-unlocking charm on it?"

"Why would she do that?!" you exclaimed, far too loudly.

Garreth shushed you as your heart and mind raced and you began to pace the room, wondering how you'd ever escape the situation with your academic record unblemished. He ran his hands through his copper locks, his eyes flitting about the room.

You sighed, suddenly feeling weary, flinging yourself onto the sofa and staring at the door as if it had personally victimised you. Garreth followed, sitting to face you on the seat.

"Maybe there's another way out of here," he ventured.

"What, you think your aunt has a secret passage in her chambers?" you said, your words dripping with sarcasm.

"There's no need to be snarky," he replied with a frown.

"This was your idiotic idea, Garreth! Now we're stuck in here for Merlin knows how long..."

"She'll be back from dinner soon, don't worry."

"I don't believe I went along with this just to spend time with you," you said, exasperated.

You only realised what you'd admitted to when you noticed his eyes widen in your peripheral vision as he watched you. 

"You did?"

You blushed and cleared your throat, throwing him a shy look to see his reaction. He was sitting with his legs crossed, grinning like an idiot. Damn his smile.

"No need to get cocky," you said with a poorly-concealed smirk.

"Why wouldn't I be, when the most beautiful person I know wants to spend time with me?" he replied, completely earnestly.

You let out an embarrassingly loud chuckle, your cheeks now burning. He was still watching you intently, leaning back on his hands and waiting for your reply. You weren't really sure if you could form a coherent sentence, especially since your mind had wandered to some particularly dirty places as you scanned his pose and wondered what his reaction would be if you simply sat in his lap.

You bit your lip nervously and shuffled on the seat, hoping for a distraction. It wasn't the one you'd expected, but the one you hoped for, in the form of Garreth's hand on your knee. A tentative touch as he watched you, stirring something in you that you could no longer ignore. 

You placed your hand on top of his and gave him a small smile as his eyes flicked to your lips, his head giving the slightest movement forward in his intention to kiss you. You waited, but he seemed to hesitate, so it was up to you to close the gap, pressing your lips to his as he inhaled sharply in surprise. 

The moment he reciprocated, tilting his head and parting his lips for yours, a swarm of excitable butterflies erupted in your stomach. Your mouths slotted perfectly together like a puzzle—warm, soft and oh…wet, as his tongue unexpectedly ran over your lower lip. You tried to suppress the whimper that formed in your throat, but it spilled out, captured by his parted lips. 

Garreth inhaled sharply, his hands twitching next to him. Perhaps his restraint was in part due to nerves, or the fact you were kissing on the sofa in his aunt's chambers, but it crumbled as soon as your tongues slid over each other. His grip was strong, his fingers encircling your waist and practically pulling you into his lap.

You had no intention of resisting—his lap was too inviting. You let him guide you towards him as your lips remained fused, settling onto his thighs with a soft sigh. His hair was just ripe for pulling as you ran your fingers through the strands, the smell of cinders and something distinctly sweet filling your nostrils. 

Toffee? Caramel?

You hummed as your mind hazily tried to identify the scent, your lips curling slightly into a smile as you kissed him. 

Whilst you explored each other's mouths and hands wandered, Garreth made his appreciation known with soft, low moans. It shouldn't have surprised you that he was as vocal as when he was chatting incessantly with his friends, but what was coming out of his mouth now was nothing short of deeply erotic. Each sound brought forth something desperate in you. 

Years of watching him, wanting him, whilst ignoring the racing of your heart and churning of your stomach, had culminated in this moment. The tension finally exploded into unbridled enthusiasm for each other's embraces. You hadn't considered he'd felt the same, but his passionate kiss gave you all the information you needed to know.

Your breath grew heavier as his tongue caressed your own, slow but firmly decisive with no hint of his previous restraint. He was everything you'd ever imagined and more, every fantasy you'd had paled in comparison to his very real touch. 

His hands had moved from your waist to somewhere much lower—a firm grip pulling you closer against his lap, his hips digging into your thighs. The unmistakeably hard bulge in his trousers pressed against you and your hips instinctively rolled against him, teasing a delicious groan from his mouth.

"Oh," you gasped.

Your hands were still tangled in his hair, gently massaging and tugging with every grazing of your lips when a loud crack filled the room. Your lips broke apart, eyes bulging in fear as you both looked for the source of the noise.

"Mister Garreth!" a voice squeaked from somewhere behind the sofa.

You clambered off of Garreth as quickly as you could as you saw a pair of huge eyes peering up at you.

"Deek!" you all but shouted at the elf.

You looked at Garreth in shock, taking in his dishevelled appearance and wondering what you yourself looked like. His skin was flushed under his numerous freckles, down his neck and tingeing his ears. You suppressed the urge to flatten his hair that you'd dislodged as you pulled your gaze back to the house elf.

"Deek thinks you shouldn't be in here," he said with a small hint of amusement.

"Please, Deek, please don't tell my aunt about this. I was just trying to get something back that belongs to me," Garreth pleaded, awkwardly adjusting his robes to cover his legs.

"Deek has seen a lot of things in his time at Hogwarts but students canoodling in a professor's chambers is a new one," he said, rocking back and forth on his tiny feet, his hands clasped behind him.

"I was just trying to help Garreth, we didn't meant to…"

"Deek won't tell Professor Weasley, but you must put back what you took."

You sighed and clutched Garreth's arm again. He looked slightly dejected and you couldn't help but roll your eyes—of course he would be focused on his lost notes rather than averting serious punishment.

"Where are they?" you asked.

Garreth reluctantly groped around in his robes and pulled out the now crumpled parchment, smoothing out the creases as best as he could and handing them to you. You pointed your wand at it as both Deek and Garreth watched you with interest.

"Geminio."

The parchment rustled and another piece of paper popped out on top of it—a perfect copy of the notes below. Garreth's mouth dropped open and broke into a grin, his glittering eyes meeting yours.

"Have I told you that I love you lately?" 

You laughed and returned his smile as blood rushed to your cheeks, your skin already burning. Your attention was diverted when Deek snatched a copy of the parchment from your hands and shuffled over to the box you'd found it in, tucking it inside and closing the lid with a little pat. 

"Hold Deek's hands and Deek will take you back to Gryffindor tower," he said, his arms already outstretched. 

With a raised eyebrow at Garreth, you both took one of the elf's tiny hands and braced yourselves before disappearing with another loud crack. The next sight you saw was the portrait of the fat lady, who jumped and gawped at you, apparently not expecting to see two students apparate in front of her with a house elf.

"That was much more comfortable than human apparition," you remarked.

"Of course. Deek thinks elf magic is much too undervalued by wizarding kind," he said simply.

"Right, well, thanks again Deek. We promise not to get anymore trouble," Garreth said.

"Oh, Deek very much doubts that. Until next time," he said, snapping his fingers and disappearing.

You couldn't help the laugh that came out of your mouth as you met Garreth's eyes and the fat lady tutted behind you. By the time you'd both controlled your laughter, the portrait looked incredibly unimpressed, her mouth forming a hard line as she looked down at you.

"Password?" she huffed.

"Conjunctio."

The portrait swung open in front of you and you clambered through the cramped hole in the wall, sighing with relief as you stepped into the safety of Gryffindor common room. Most people were still at dinner, with only a smattering of students occupying the space and paying you no mind.

You looked back to find Garreth standing just next to the door, running a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck and looking slightly awkward. You didn't like the look he was giving you, or avoiding giving you.

"So...Merlin…I, uh…sorry."

"Sorry for what?" you asked, your heart racing.

Did he regret what had happened? Of course the whole event has been a fiasco, but you couldn't bear to think that he'd deemed what had occurred between the two of you a mistake.

"Well I really ought to have taken you on a date before…that," he said.

"Oh. Do you want to take me on a date?"

"Of course I do," he said with a smile.

"Well, I'd love to go with you," you replied.

Garreth's smile widened into an excitable grin, his eyes full of ideas and possibilities. If your date was half as eventful as your evening had been, you were in for a wild ride.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

Shadows of their Hatred

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn)

Length: 7.5k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, child illness, scars and deformities, mentions of miscarriage, discussions of menstruation, insecurities, mild disturbing imagery

Notes: Takes place congruently to the second story section of Scattered Memories of the Starks, but does not require that one to be read to understand this as that section is from Jons separate pov. This is just a little detour flashback in the readers life which sparked my interest to write. Adjacent Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

It was already set in stone, there was no other way to put it you knew. The raven which came had laid out what it was he was coming for and without a shadow of a doubt your father was never going to debate or refuse such a decision. Laying it all out for you to hear when he pulled you into the room of the painted table alone, what was going to happen and if you were honest, you were a little proud of yourself for surprising him.

You did not debate or argue either, you understood why he was choosing this. There was no shying away that your mother in particular had struggled with your attitude for some time now. Arguably of course your septa had struggled with it the most, but you had long since ceased to care about combating with her verbally. Your father on the other hand?

Only a fool would pick a fight with Stannis Baratheon, and you were not that fool. Instead here you stood in front of the mirror on your cabinet trying to debate what kind of acceptable did your dress look. Face scrunching up once more you almost turned right around and tossed it back onto your bed before choosing another.

Sighing deeply, you wished you had just one person here who would be able to tell you if you were overthinking it. Your mother would simply tell you to stop fussing and get moving already, the only other one who would be around to say anything was Allard but you would not trust him with such a thing, he would mislead you for his own amusement you knew.

It shouldn't matter this much to you, but it was not just King Robert coming, it was the Queen too. And you were supposed to be making a good impression on the Queen your father said.

By the time you stood out by the back gate entrance to the castle, you were busy adjusting the wrappings around Shireen as your mother kept her wrapped to her front. The greyscale had stayed on the side of her face it effected and it seemed it would always be part of her. Somewhat covering her more over the head, you instead now of worrying what you looked like, you worried a new thing.

Would they judge Shireen for it? Think her contagious or ill? Part of the company was your own blood, surely they had mercy which some may not otherwise. The stern voice of your father was what finally turned your fussing away from her and towards him leaving the castle doors with a call of your name. “Tonight is important for you. First impressions with the Queen can only be done once, so you will be putting your best behaviour on tonight.”

Nodding dutifully, you moved swiftly to stand beside him, your mother and Shireen on his other. Your voice low but ridding itself of the temptation to say something clever. “You have my word, father.”

Quick on the draw he was, flatly retorting back, “Your word will mean something only after you've proven you can tuck away the attitude for a single night.” Your head whipped up to the side with a glare narrowing on your face when he met it right back with a raised eyebrow. Well, didn't your father always seem one step ahead of you.

Huffing out dramatically only for him to hear, you spoke back just as dry. “Don't invite Renly here next time then.”

Your father did not reply, you having him on such a comment that time. All of you standing still and calm as the sounds of approaching horses begun to fill the air. You had not seen your King Uncle since you were a very young girl, from what you remembered he was far closer to Renly then he was Stannis in demeanour. Meaning the good behaviour wished of you by your father no doubt would be tempted by your uncles with joy. If only to irk Stannis specifically from his brothers.

Horsemen came riding through the gates, the sigils flying high in the hands of men carrying them showed the both similarities and yet the great differences between the two Houses. First your eye caught was a deep red. The golden lion attached standing on its hind legs as it looked to roar as imposing as it could be. But on the side much more eye catching was the same which flew high in the winds of you home.

The same sigil which had taken over that of the three headed dragon occupying this island for hundreds of years. You recalled little of the days when the Targaryean sigil was still all over your home, but much of its memory was stained behind what could not be hidden. Yet the grimness it was felt did not match the golden yellow of the Baratheons. A crown atop the sigil and too on its hind legs was perched a stag. The magnitude showing off its size despite the animal it was. A trick, the mighty fury of the Baratheons stronger then the image such a stag could look in comparison to the lion.

Those riding in after all in order had your sharp eyes watching close just as your father did beside you. The white cloaks came in after, blowing in the wind it rose against attached to golden armour. Drenched in a luxury unlike anything the men of your own household guard wore. Behind the helms you could not identify either of the two men riding first in through the gate, but one still had your eyes narrowing.

Looking without blinking, whomever it was behind the helm had found something interesting in your standing presence. By the time you looked away, they had yet to stop their unnerving stare. The carriage following was not often used here. Your mother not often making her way into the villages on the other side of the darker woods between here and there, but you, your father and others would always ride horses rather then be ferried as such.

No doubt you thought, the Queen and Prince would be inside. If the stories boasted about the beauty of the Queen, Cersei Lannister spoke even half truth, such a carriage was no doubt abysmal to the sort of fine craftsmanship which Lannister gold could provide to match. But it was what was here, and it too, had been repainted and re carved to rid itself of the black and the three headed dragons all over it.

The next you recognized, was one you had seen not terribly long ago. The past few years you felt as if you spent more time on ships then in one place. On a ship to visit Storms End when winter had hit, and you needed to wait until the storms blew over to return home. Three moons that took, and you were on a ship home. Then three moons after that when it was over, you were one more on another ship to White Harbour. Half a year you were in the North before parting early to once again, get on a ship to make it home in time to see your sister born. Now you were about to get on a ship again, it never ended your travels did.

But it was in Storms End which you spent those three months enjoying your time with the youngest of the Baratheon brothers. Renly was only eight years older then you, and treated you far more like a brother does a sister then an uncle does a niece. He was the easiest to know of them, but your nerves of putting a good face on had diminished your ability to return his easy nod of greeting to you.

Finally clearing the way, there he was. Two Kingsguard beside him, riding up and all in the company suddenly felt the air turn as serious as ever. Your father, always a man of duty and respect kneeled first, then you as all the rest followed afterwards. The sound of wind blowing and footsteps the only thing in your senses other then the ground before you. Dark boots appearing to your fathers front and a hand beckoning all to stand.

He looked different then you remembered. King Robert. A girl of three when you met him first, but he was as tall, and lean and feirce as you thought a King should be. You had understood why the songs sung such fury for his strength and power in those days but that did not quite match the man who stood before you now. Larger, but not in a good way. As if the nine years had taken their tole and not quite a warrior stood before you.

The green eyes below the scowl which matched his brother in front of him, matching the brother behind him, and matching you short and small beside all so vividly sharing the same blood there was no denying the relation, size not withstanding. But in that tense quiet, your father would always wait for him to be spoken to first in such a scenario.

The King looked from him, around to others, then to you with that same scowl and a question following a small tilt of his head. Turning back to your father, his voice was just as you recalled at least. Powerful and coming deep from the gut nodding towards you. “You teaching her how to forget what smiling is, or what?”

Your father did not laugh, but was well aware that the longer the silence went on the more your smirk threatened to break. The King raising an eyebrow at you only for a grin to break out, managing to at least hide the laugh. He though, did it for you. Laughing mighty and loud as he spared no more time, calling your name fondly and enveloping you in a hug as you replied with your own matching warmth. “Your grace.”

A hand patting his brother on the arm before your mother gave a polite curtsy as yours. Leaning more to see your sister, once more with a held back breath did all wait for what would be said. Asking with a calmness, “And what name did we give the new little one here?” Your mother answering with something held back almost in worry you detected, that it was Shireen. Robert though, reached out running a gloved hand over the top of her head. “More than glad to see she pulled through.”

If you could've let out a bigger exhale of relief, your lungs would've left with it.

Descending the steps of the carriage, hand holding a small blonde haired boy did you finally see her for the first time. In truth, it was intimidating already. All knew you were to impress the Queen tonight and you did not see how a girl like you could do that. Her hair was as long as yours, but the same matching blonde of her son. Her dress rich and vibrant, even with the bump of a baby underneath did she look as if she got up in the morning this beautiful.

Coming to her husbands side did the greetings match the same. A bow and kiss on the hand she offered your father as you and your mother both curtsied to follow. Her eyes spent little time on your mother and sister, instead flickering to you. In the corner of your vision, one of the Kingsguard removed his helm, and you realized the eyes watching you before just as she did now. Ser Jaime Lannister, the Queens twin brother watched you as curious as she did before parting ways.

The only relief coming when Renly had approached you as crowds begun to dissipate in preparation for the evening to come. Much like Robert, Renly gave an easy hug all the same but with far more energy. Nearly crouching down to your eye level he smiled, “And here I thought I wouldn't need to bend to see you so much. Tell me my dear niece, have you grown a single inch since I last saw you?”

Your scowl towards him only made him laugh as he stood tall again. Turning you in place and pushing you further into the courtyard towards the castle as he looked up and around. “I should've brought you to Storm's End more often had I known this was where Stannis was locking you up in.”

Quick on the tongue your politeness had left with ease. “I'm not locked in here, Renly.”

He gave a jesting look of doubt to you, as he motioned to someone behind you as he spoke. “No? So if I go see your chambers now, it won't look like your stuck in a dungeon?” Yes it was dark and grim, but so was your chambers in Winterfell. You saw nothing wrong with the rooms you lived in. Trying to turn though to see what he was motioning to, Renly kept you looking forward with a playful disapproval. “Now, now, don't spoil the surprise just yet.”

Head jolting back a bit you asked, “What surprise?”

Somewhat ignoring you, Renly instead changed questions. “Is there someone who can escort my friends here to your chambers, before it gets ruined out here?” Your head tilted before nodded. Turing to your right, you shouted a little bit to where you could see him speaking to Matthos.

“Allard,” Crossing the way, he came up easily as he gave a small bow to Renly as you continued. “Could you show..whoever my Uncle is hiding behind me to my room?”

“At once little lady. Come, lads. It's a needlessly complicated walk on your own.”

Renly seemed to keep you occupied for a little bit out here. Narrowing your eyes to see better you gestured over to where the Queen was with her son. “Is the Prince shy? I haven't even met my cousin yet.”

Nearly whistling, Renly guided you even further away more towards the castle finally. “I'd go on hoping you don't meet him if I were you. A repulsive little creature Joffery is.”

Your mouth fell open as your face twisted into a high disapproval. “Renly, that's quite rude.” He only laughed, pulling you to his side telling you that one day you would figure it out. Whatever that meant. Once the path followed that to the corridor your chambers were in you heard no one around, and thus your surprise was once again lacking in your head of what it could be. “It's the next one.”

Passing Shireens room, your door was left open. Renly motioned for you to go in first, and thus far looking around you saw nothing new. Your desk, books, shelves all the same. Paper and ink all laid out in precise organization with subsequent letters you were to answer being sat out before each page as if to ensure you knew who to prioritize first. “Not much personality you have in here.”

Rolling your eyes you wandered into the middle, still seeing nothing and beginning to wonder if he was putting you up. “I don't need much, you know. I mostly sleep in here or read. Normally I'm with Shireen or father, so I don't quite have much reason to-”

Finally looking to the corner where your bed was by the wall, your curtains blowing in the afternoon wind as the sounds of the waves and sea still filled the air, your sheets though were covered with something new. Turning with a raised eyebrow in question, Renly silently motioned for you to go look on your own.

Slow steps you took, but it was no mistake once you got to it. Your hands ran over the material to find the softest silk you'd ever touched. Picking it up, it was delicate but beautiful. A dress of gold, elaborate and fanciful in ways your dresses never were. The stitching hidden in the design like antlers of stags as it was made just right for your size. Coming up to your right, Renly hovered with a smile you did not see. Your own eyes wide in awe with a whisper, “Is this for me?”

“It is.” There was a pride in his voice, and for once not one that was also smug. “I had it made to fit your measurements perfect. The silk brought all the way from Qarth.” Repeating the word Qarth in wonder, you ran over what looked like places around your arms and back skin would show only to find it was an even finer stitching of lace, the length draping along the floor like pooling water. “You'll be with the family in Kings Landing, which means you'll properly be one of us now. You should look like it. And this is only the first, once you're settled we can start having things made for you properly just like this.”

Your voice barley a whisper as you felt your heart light inside you. “I've never owned something this beautiful before..”

Chuckling, he pulled you more into his side fondly. “Well, we'll have to change that wont we?”

It felt even better on then it did in your hands. Even in what should have been a more stuffy air in the great hall turned dining area for a feast did you feel cool in the golden silk. Made for this feast, Renly echoed what your father had told you. Make a good impression to the Queen and you would need a fine dress to start that.

Grateful at least, you did not need to sit with the adults. Your father and mother with the King and Queen at the head table, but others sat with you lower down from them as music played. Filling things with life and livelihood as you ate. Terribly grateful you were that your septa was not here to lecture you as with your main supper did you add a blueberry tart to your plate. Renly got along easy with the others here, and you counted yourself with the luck of seven blessings that there was no awkwardness between your uncle and who you sat with of the Seaworths.

Laughing with Matthos, you could see from the corner of your eye your father now up and about speaking to Robert. It was when your eyes caught your fathers, did his gaze flicker up above you and in the same instance did a woman appear to your side. “Her grace the Queen requests a meeting, my lady.”

Nodding to her, your eyes met your fathers once more and you nearly gave him a slight narrowing glare that he had left as far from her side as possible as quick. She is your aunt he told you, but that also seemed to mean playing nice with her fell onto you and not him whatsoever. Perhaps, it was only you who could see the jesting mock in the slight way he raised an eyebrow at you. Few could recognize your fathers humour outside of you.

Approaching the main table, there now only sat your mother and the Queen as you once more curtsied as perfect as you had practiced.”My Queen.”

The smile on her face you could not quite detect what it meant, not in such a young age but it certainly was not the same as the one on your mother next to her. Hers normally what you would look as, stern but serious as she was quiet but still, you had your duty tonight. Queen Cersei's hair was done up in an elaborate style you had never seen before, but was quite common from what you could tell of the other southron women which accompanied their journey. Affirming your name you gave a nod as she smiled brighter. “What a lovely dove you are. Tell me, how old are you?”

Stand tall, make eye contact, keep a proper smile at all times and answer with one as well. All the steps you repeated in your head as you answered. “Twelve, your grace.”

Her eyes widened a little with an amusement to follow. Looking you over more curiously, she added with the same lightness a comment you had not quite understood. “Pardon me, but that does come at a surprise. You look rather mature for such an age.” With a laugh, she leaned more towards you from across the table. “I imagine once the rest of you fills out, we will have quite a bountiful round of suitors requesting a visit to the capitol, won't we?”

Once more, you had not really understood what she meant. Nor did you recognize the way your mothers eyes flickered towards her and back, with something of a worry in them. But she stayed silent, knowing letting you play this part tonight was what was necessary. A gentle breath of a laugh left as your head dropped humble to whatever compliment was hidden in her riddles. “Perhaps I will have to wait and see if my height agrees with such an idea first.”

A shake of her head, eyes narrowing in her own jest. “I have no doubt in that. What is a Baratheon if they do not grow to be tall and furious one day?” She changed subjects rapidly but with a passing ease, almost you wondered if she was testing how well you could keep up with her. “Your uncle went to great lengths to have such a beautiful dress made for you, I can only image what more fine beauty we will be able to find on you with the finest seamstresses in the country.”

“I could only be so honoured, your grace.”

Her next question though, came out of nowhere it felt. “Tell me, dove, have you bled yet?”

The practiced bright smile on your face hesitated, eyes narrowing into something you did not understand the meaning behind as you looked at her curiously but on the air of suspicious. You did not see the point in asking, nor what interest she would have in it if you had said yes. Maester Cressen had said that you were what some called a summer flower. That most flowers bloom bright and early in spring, but some stay small and underdeveloped until the heat of summer finally hits them and they blossom into something magnificent. That the growing of girls can be somewhat the same, since you had returned from Winterfell the last visit to ask why it seemed like the Stark boys were growing up quickly and you felt like you still weren't. But that had to do with a discussion between you and your Maester. Not the Queen.

Your only response was a slow shake of your head to indicate no, but she once again rapidly switched the subject as if nothing strange had passed you by. “I've heard remarkable things about how bright and intelligent you are, I'm eager to see what proper lady of the court we will be able to turn you into.”

Smile again, stand up straight and once again be considerate and eager you reminded yourself again. “I am looking forward to it greatly, my Queen.”

Turning to spare a glance to your mother, she nodded you over with a tone less abrasive then something in her eyes you still couldn't tell if it was worry or not as she called your name. “If you would be so so kind, I think your sister is long passed time to be in bed.”

Walking over close you leaned over the table and with an ease transferred Shireen into your arms. Giving now a hands free curtsy to the Queen once more, “Your Grace.” Before making your way through the crowded hall towards the doors adjacent to your right. Turning to look at your sister, you shifted one hand to raise up and dance along with her hands reaching for you. A smile shining on your face leaning down to grin more at her, bringing a giggle out of Shireen even more.

Unbeknownst to you, the discussion had not ended with your leave. The Queen had been watching you walk away, as Selyse was watching her. “Your daughter will thrive in the capitol. A beautiful girl like her shouldn't be hidden away in a place like this forever.” Selyse's worry flickered from Cersei to watching you walk away none the wiser with Shireen before the guards opened the door to the main corridor and off you disappeared.

Already she had seen the way some of the older boys in the hall had been looking at you in that dress, and she did not like the thought of what sort of thriving the Queen was intending. You were but an innocent girl still, whatever thoughts of beauty any boys were having towards you were far too soon, but she also knew, she would not have a choice in that matter once you were gone.

Everything was packed. Chests all by the door to your chambers, and little sat left but the furniture, bedding, and what books and whatnot you did not care to take. Your own figure was sat with your back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of you as one corner of your room sat in a state of disarray. A long cabinet pushed away and some of the carpet pulled back, behind both sat a hollowed out stone where it should've been firm in the floor. But it was what was normally inside the hollow stone which was in your lap.

The wooden box painted a rich blue, the orange foxes all around the best you think of art you'd ever done before. The lid sat to your right where it was first seen the colour inside. Browns and golds a blend together inside as well. The outside and inside painted to remind what their blood was as ran through your veins, so they would never forget either.

Long had it been since you opened this. The night your mother lost Lyonel you had done as you always did. Name, blood, water, sending them to the heavens to find each other. Thus far the only one who had anything you made for them was Shireen, which was currently hung above her small infants bed to see every time she slept. But the others were in here.

You had two things left to do for the ones you were leaving behind and this was the first of that. You would keep them here. They were your brothers, but this would have been their home and they deserve to stay in their home. So you leaned against the wall carving their names into the respective toy you had once made for them, so they too would never forget who they were even if you were not here.

Putting it all back into place, you stood up and made your way to the desk. One last thing. The letters you had not finished were all packed away but two. One was loosely sealed on purpose, as it did not have to travel any kind of far to reach who it was to be for, but the second, still open, made you hesitate.

Picking it up, you felt yourself biting down on your tongue to force back the frustration and nerves rising in you. It had been months now. Not a word. Looking back you could not in any way come up with with what you had said or done that would be bad enough to warrant your best friend deciding he no longer wanted anything to do with you. Robb had written back and forth with you as if nothing was different, but not him.

It made you feel a fool. A child. A stupid girl who had put far too much of your own emotional development on an older boy who it seemed had just grown out of you. You had written him one last letter, the one in your hands trying to find the bravery to ask Maester Cressen to send it for you, but you thought, if he didn't want to speak to you anymore, then you pestering him would only make it worse.

You loved all the Starks, but he was your best friend. He was the one who finally managed to pry open the supremely heavy lock keeping you shy and quiet and showed you how to have fun and enjoy things, and you did it together. But, he would be fifteen soon, and you were still a child. This was the second time you wrote him a letter in the middle of not hearing from him, but the first time you had not yet realized he was ignoring you.

Now you did, and once again you found not the strength to pretend as if he needed a child around him as if begging for attention. Thus you told yourself what you did the last time, grow up. So you waked to the brazier in your room, and let the fire overtake it before sitting it in the middle to burn until the last you could see was his name.

Jon Snow

Before that too also burned.

But you had one letter you did want to give, and luckily for you, it was a mere few seconds of a walk out your door and down the hall to hers. She was asleep, which of course Shireen was. It was late. But you carefully walked to her dresser, one she would not be able to open until she could start walking and placed it gently inside.

Her name was perfectly visibly to read, and you felt excited to think one day she would find it and realize it was from you. Kneeling down to where she slept, you quietly moved down the wooden holds keeping her within the safety of their walls. A hand coming to run along her growing hair as she laid facing you. The side of her face covered in Greyscale hardly visible as it was pressed against the sheets, but you knew even if it was what you saw, she'd still be just as beautiful.

Murmuring quietly as your hand ran over her in a gentle caress not to disrupt her sleep. “I know you won't be able to read it for a few years, but when you do, I'll have sent you even more by then. I'll write you often, and maybe father will let me visit you even before you read them first.” Leaning more so your other arm also rested on the small bed, you whispered even more gentle.

“I won't be with you as much as we may have wanted, but I promise I won't ever let you think I've forgotten about you. You're my sister, Shireen. And I'm going to make sure you always know how much I love you. Even if we're thousands of miles apart.” Your thumb trailing just barley over the soft skin of her small cheek with a smile coming over your lips. “Besides, you'll have your brothers with you. They'll watch over you and keep you safe when I'm not here, alright? And don't let Septa Moelle push you around. We're Baratheons, remember? Ours is the fury, so that's exactly what you show her if she tries and bullies you, understood?”

Still she slept, and you wanted nothing more. You'd be able to sail back here to visit easily for short days at a time, and you were going to ensure this wasn't a goodbye forever.

Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, you murmured one last time. “Until we see each other again, sweet girl.”

Hands braced against the marble railing, your eyes squinted in the bright sun. You felt overwhelmed being here. Kings Landing was so much bigger then you thought, so many more people living in one place then you ever thought possible when your ship arrived. The Red Keep was just as large and elaborate as your dreary home but it was as it was named. The red stone it was built upon shining beautiful in the sun.

Water of the bay surrounded the grounds where the castle was, as it narrowed out until the lands stretched further and further the more people lived beyond in the city. Ser Davos and Allard had both said that so many people lived here beacuse it was where work could be found and you finally understood what they meant, but too why they'd choose the path they did.

Not just using smuggling as a means of money, but an excuse to leave the dense part of the city they were from you imagined. But from where you stood, it was nothing of the sort. Your new chambers were very bright, open windows and sun everywhere with elaborate designs of vines and flowers across the walls to fill the spaces empty.

Nearly as soon as you had arrived in the grounds of the castle outside, Lord Jon Arryn the Hand of the King, had come to fetch your father for a small council meeting and you set off with Allard and the other guard to be brought to your living apartments. There on your new bed did a small pile of brightly coloured dresses from yellows to oranges and golds to pastel pinks and blues. Not as fancy as the first but certainly far more beautiful then anything you brought with you of your own.

A note sat atop them in writing you recognized as Renly's. “Just something to get you started, dear niece.” You had put on the one of such light blue it appeared almost white in the bright sun you stood in looking to your new home.

Easy it was to set the rest of your things up, your desk sorted just the way you liked and needed to think as your books and writing tools otherwise all scattered around for a moments notice to fetch it. Walking out now into the main living area, it too was bright and open. But as your feet moved quiet, none of the guard noticed you had emerged from your unpacking. All distracted with something or another, you bit your lip as the thought occurred to you.

Your father had said to unpack, but never did he say you could not explore what was to be your new home. Stepping quietly almost in side paces, your eyes narrowed watching that no one was looking before slipping out of the main corridor to the stairs leading down to the main castle. From there, most left you alone.

The dress Renly had given you which you chose to wear blended in well. Of course it looked like many women here wore things to match the weather, arms and shoulders and backs all exposed but that felt far too revealing for you. The material of your new dress was thin and moved light in the breeze, but covered all of you below the neck aside from your hands, of course.

But still, you fit in enough that no one questioned your wandering.

One hall then another, the castle was so large and expansive to see. As if its ceilings were made for rain alone, as so many walls sat open to the air and the wind. Your home had what was known as Aegons Garden, but it was hardly more then a maze of tall hedges winding around what little flora could grow there as statues of creatures with sharp teeth and jagged wings poked around each corner. But here, each time you found somewhere new, there was another garden with hundreds of people tending to its every need.

Your head had turned in the direction which led to the throne room, but it also held the small council chambers behind it and you felt not yet ready to be caught by your father for wandering. So you walked instead further down stairwells and turn ways spinning you one direction to another as if now the undergrounds were the maze Aegon the Conqueror left behind. Though you supposed, it was Maegor the Cruel which was the reason this place was built as it was.

Inspired no doubt by the home once their claim of Dragonstone. It was a strange thing to consider the longer you walked the halls, the simple fact that you occupied both of their once homes as they were now all but gone from the world. You could walk the halls of Dragonstone and try to envision any of them in the same place but you found little appreciation in doing so.

It was something unattached, especially the deeper into the twisting halls you went did you find yourself feeling as if you were unwelcome. As if silver hair and eyes of purple were watching you wander in another place of what was once theirs and headed you to go no further. Less were there anyone but your mind and looking all around did you consider that the shiver down your spine was that of a warning.

Then you heard it, a small meow.

Looking down the hall, a small cat with black fur sat by the corner at the end of the corridor. One ear missing as its head tilted at you. Eyes narrowing at it, you walked a step slowly forward until the small wiggle in its behind told you it was ready to run. You did not chase the small cat, but when you followed it down one hall it waited for you at the end of another. The small creature asking you to chase it, leading you somewhere you did not know but you allowed it to play its game.

But it was not merely playing, it guided you. Hand coming to rest around what looked like the metal bars around a gate, you turned the corner thinking it was the small one eared cat you'd see. But it was not small, nor a cat. Nor one thing alone. The hall was like a hidden away dungeon, but for good reason. You heard stories of them, and not a clue what their fate was and yet it looked you right in the eyes with its bones as good as roaring right at you.

Dragon skulls. Many dragon skulls, large and immovable as they sat hidden away collecting dust in the undergrounds and you realized why the bars your hand was on were too a gate. This was a graveyard that no one belonged in. Here lay memories of the horror which led your family to where they ruled now, but in the haunting of death larger then you could imagine.

The Targaryeans were the last dragonriders of the world since the Doom of Valyria, but you stood there in a freezing shock at their size realizing that you truly did not know until now what that meant. Slowly putting one foot in front of the other you walked up to the skull facing you with trepidation as if it would twitch and a roar would fill the air. The ceilings down here were tall but the skull filled the space just fine in its size.

Shaking your hand was reaching up as it brushed over the bone, it was so tall you could stand inside its mouth and still have room for more. A fully grown man could stand inside its mouth and he would still have to reach a hand up to find the top of its mouth. But where some would see wonder, you felt something ill poisoning your veins. These creatures were the destruction beyond counting.

These dragons burned cities to the ground, and its rider commanded it. In tandem dragon and rider worked to such a brutal end, and you felt sick that they considered this place worth that. How many have died to dragons since they came here? How many years did the realm spend after the last dragons death in fear it was not yet over?

Its tooth was of magnificent size, almost your own very height as you ran your fingertips along it. But with that sensation, came the feeling once more. As if every skull had turned to watch you inside this graveyard, and every Targaryean having ridden them watched with disdain. You lived in both their homes after they were gone, defeated by your uncle and you felt as if they could tell you were glad for it.

Looking at the dragon your heart constricted, a bile rising in your throat as your face warmed almost as if tears were to form looking up at its size and realizing what you were to such a creature. You heard the whispers the Targaryeans would speak of your family, and it took every effort in you to not let your muscles shake now.

No escape would be found, even long after you would turn around and leave this place forever.

It was all around you, their lives bleeding into yours. Their buildings, their homes, their memories and their symbols. Once theirs, and now yours. Their stain sunk so deep you could taste the flesh of a dragon on your tongue. Your hand traced once more over the bones of its tooth and if fear was in your blood, anger was in your heart. Were such a creature to come alive, it would waste no time setting you ablaze and its riders would not weep. Everywhere the Targaryeans followed you, and whispered spitting hatred that you were a usurper and a traitor.

You lived in the shadow of their hatred for you.

Once on the surface of your new home, it was later when you found it. Alone and unguarded in the early darkness of the evening. Soon your father must be finished with the small council, and as you waited for him did the throne room reveal itself to you.

A thousand blades, taken from the dead enemies of Aegon the Conqueror, forged in the fiery breath of Balerion the Dread. Sat tall in the space of the Red Keep and over loomed the people. But it was not quite that of the stories. It was low to the ground. In your home of Dragonstone there in the main hall sat a throne carved into a large chunk of black stone and this was no bigger then that, but far more unseemly.

Your mouth silent as you formed the number with each passing twitch of your fingers from one cold blade to the next, keeping count as if to uncover the extent of the Targaryeans stories. There were not even two hundred. Aegon was not a great warrior uniting lands under a throne of the swords of his enemies, he was a liar. All of them were liars. The throne looked as if dragon fire would actually destroy it, melt it down and disappear from the world.

The scowl on your face grew and grew. That was all you had uncovered thus far. That the Targaryeans were nothing but liars. If they were such a great people unlike the lesser then which they ruled over, then you would not stand here in the darkness of their throne room running your hand over the blades of the Iron Throne without death coming your way for being there.

Renly had once told you that there was not a single shred of anything left within the Dragon Pit, and all you could think as you stood there was that without their dragons they had nothing. They were as down in the dirt as you were, but even then, the smallfolk had stormed the Dragon Pit because they too did not wish to be forced away by them any longer.

Every bit of it you hated, the ghosts of their destruction. It led to you standing here and now, but at what cost? Was your life now worth the millions stolen with fire and blood? Never, nothing was worth that. Not you, not any man, not even the Iron Throne. This was to be your home now, but every bit of it you felt the Targaryeans watching you with hatred that you stood where they felt only they deserved to stand.

By the time footsteps were heard, your hand left the throne even though you stood beside it as curious as you were unsettled. Faces you'd long learn to be used too, some recognizing you right away with polite greeting as your father watched in silence at your tense demeanour. By the time he beckoned you to follow him, you could only wonder if you were alone with this weight.

You certainly felt alone.

Not until months had passed in your new life here did that isolation finally leave, but not with someone here and now to keep you company.

But a letter placed for you on your desk in your chambers, by the time you had sat down to open it, you recognized the writing in an instant as a smile came about your face for the first time since you had gotten here.

The shadow of the Targaryeans might hate you, but at least now you were sure that your best friend didn't.

[whatsnewalycat]

Designated Person | Chapter 6

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 6: Present

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Series Summary: When posting bail for Frankie Morales, your former employer and former lover, you unwittingly designate yourself as his third party custodian during his pre-trial release. Your often tumultuous relationship with him is given a new set of rules and put to the test. Can the two of you co-exist peacefully, or will you crash and burn?

Word Count: 9.2k+

Content / Warnings: Frankie POV, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship and related flashbacks, angst, food, AA meeting, alcoholism, abuse mention, lying, confrontation, crying, mutual masturbation, panty snatchin' (sorry idk what else to call it)

Notes: Hello hello hello! If you want the taglist, spotify playlist, or AO3 link, head on down to the masterlist. I appreciate your patience in waiting for this, thank you so much for reading. Ok love u have fun!

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Tonight, the AA meeting is being held in the conference room of a value hotel. 

The three-story venue is ripe with families on vacation and traveling professionals who likely booked their rooms as a cost-saving measure. They certainly didn’t choose to stay here because of its charming features, such as the floating island of dead bugs in the outdoor swimming pool, or the dingy low-pile carpet darkened in high-traffic areas, or the generic, faded landscape portraits in shiny golden frames. 

Its conference room is windowless, the only source of light buzzing from long fluorescents overhead, dousing everything in a twitchy, vague sort of green that grips Frankie’s stomach. 

Or, maybe it’s just the story he’s listening to that’s making him feel ill. 

Maybe a little bit of both, it’s hard to tell. 

“She had her heart set on leaving, ‘n’ I told her, nobody fuckin’ wants you here anyway, Mary Beth, go on home!” 

The haggard old man, who introduced himself as Fred, says this in a jovial, rehearsed way that tells Frankie this story has been told many times. Probably over drinks, to coworkers, or friends, or anyone who happened to be within earshot at his regular barstool. 

Fred glances around over his puffy, purpled nose, like he half expects his spectators’ laughter, but the only noise is the squeak of people’s uncomfortable shifting in seats. Either because the story is too relatable, or because these folding chairs are hell on the tailbone. 

“She told me if I didn’t get my ass outta that barstool, she’d be gone when I got home,” he looks at the floor and his cheeky grin falls, “I didn’t go home ‘til barclose. ‘N’ she was still there. Knew she would be. She always was.”

The room is silent as he gathers his thoughts. 

“She passed away, few years back,” he looks around, putting his calloused hands up defensively, “‘N’ I miss her everyday, don’t get me wrong, but—”

The well-weathered skin of his face sags into solemnity, “I kinda wish she woulda kicked me to the curb, y’know? Was always waitin’ for it, for her to get fed up ‘n’ leave, but she never did. ‘N’ I think, sometimes, maybe… she woulda lived a better life if she did. ‘Steada waiting around for some drunk, she coulda really made somethin’ out of herself. And I feel…” he frowns at the floor, trying to pinpoint the correct emotion, a skill undoubtedly atrophied by decades of avoidance.

“Regret, I think? Wasting so much of her life. It’s one thing wastin’ my life, but her’s… I dunno. It don’t sit right,” Fred clears his throat and swallows, then sighs, “Guess that’s it. Our anniversary’s coming up next week, she’s been on my mind ‘n’ I wanted to get that out.” 

The ringleader for tonight is David, as is usually the case at the Monday night meetings Frankie attends. He thanks Fred for sharing, then asks for another volunteer. 

Frankie leans back in his seat and presses his fingers to his lips as another participant clears their throat and begins to talk. He’s stuck on the old man’s story, though. His knee starts bouncing as he turns it over in his mind. 

I’m not that bad, right? I wasn’t that absent. I didn’t go to the bar every night. On the weekends, sure. And on weeknights, I’d drink myself fuzzy and numb, but at least I was at home.

Was he really present, though? 

Before you, when Angie was home with Sarah on maternity leave, he’d come home from work and visit with them for a while. Knock a few beers or drinks back. After dinner, he would continue to drink in the garage, or in the basement. Somewhere Angie couldn’t raise her eyebrows every time he finished a beverage and retrieved a replacement. 

Even after you, this ritual continued. You distracted him enough to slow the drinking those few hours after he got home. But once the table was cleared after dinner, he would tuck himself away somewhere in the house to drink alone. 

It wasn’t always that way. 

He drank, sure, but it wasn’t every day. It wasn’t to the point his mind went blank. 

No, that didn’t start until he returned from South America. 

Every time his eyelids closed, it played on repeat. The mansion. The crash. The village. Redfly’s vacant eyes. Over and over. His culpability hung around his neck like a noose. 

The guys didn’t want to talk about it. A silent agreement not to mention their sins. Angie didn’t want to talk about it. Too pissed at him for going in the first place to feel bad for him. 

It just stayed inside him, replaying again and again on loop. He needed something to wipe the slate clean, and booze worked. 

Not like he was sober before then. Drinking himself blind on the weekends. Fuck, Angie was the same way. Before she got pregnant, anyway. That’s how they ended up meeting, that summer night back in 2018. 

He and Benny went to one of their frequent Saturday spots. The bar was crowded and loud, heavy throngs of people attracted by a popular local DJ. Summer heat crept into the air despite the industrial air conditioner running at full blast, Florida’s relentless humidity hung thick in the air, leaving a dewy residue on every surface. 

The only thing Frankie could smell was that primal, earthy scent of sweat. He pinched his shirt and pulled it away from his chest with a few quick tugs, trying to get some kind of a breeze going. When he looked around the bar, swathes of exposed skin all surrounded him, people wiping their foreheads and fanning themselves. 

He spotted two women sitting at a high-top table, leaning over their drinks and talking to each other. One of them was a pretty, unassuming brunette. The other had glossy black hair that shone in the neon lights, cascading in waves down the open back of her dress. She looked put together and fucking luminous, the way her copper skin seemed to glow. He couldn’t look away. 

Benny was in the middle of a sentence when Frankie cut him off, “Holy shit, look at her.” 

“What—who?” Benny followed Frankie’s line of sight and guffawed, “Her? She would eat you for fucking breakfast, man.”

“I fucking wish,” Frankie gave Benny this dopey smile, nodding towards them, “You getting a feel on the friend?”

Benny glanced her over and shrugged, a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth, “Pretty brunette?” 

“Right up your alley, huh?” Frankie grinned, then nudged his friend, “So?”

“Fuck it, why not?” Benny chuckled. 

“Atta boy,” Frankie smacked his shoulder a few times, then started off towards the table. 

“Hey, how’re you two doing tonight?” he asked as he leaned against the table, looking between the two women, who sized him up scrupulously, “Yeah, uh, my name is Frankie, this is my buddy, Benny. Mind if we join you?” 

“Why?” the subject of his desire asked, her big, round eyes searching Frankie’s face. 

“Why?” he raised his eyebrows and chuckled, “Well, because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. I’d sell my goddamn soul for an opportunity to talk to you—”

“Oh yeah?” she smirked and tilted her head, bringing the tip of her tongue to her top teeth before shrugging, “Prove it.” 

“You—you want it? My soul?” he grinned and leaned closer, “It’s yours, beautiful, for the low, low price of this barstool next to you. And maybe, if you’re feeling generous, a dance later?”

“That’s a hell of a deal,” she raised her eyebrows and joked, “For you, I mean.”

“Oh yeah?” he laughed, “What if I throw in a sweetener? I’ll buy your drinks, too, how’s that sound?” 

She scrunched her face up in contemplation, then smiled, “Deal.”

“Yeah?” Frankie beamed, extending his hand to her, and as she took it, he grazed his thumb against her soft skin, “What’s your name?”

“Angie,” she answered, eyebrow quirking as she told him, “This doesn’t mean you’re taking me home tonight, though.”

“Noted,” he smirked, dropping his eyes to her lips, before meeting her gaze, “So what’re you drinking?”

He woke up the next morning in his bed, head spinning, stomach clenching. 

Before opening his eyes, he tried to recount the night, following the path of breadcrumbs his memory allowed him. Meeting Angie, taking shots, flirting with her relentlessly, more drinks, dancing with her. Kissing her on the dance floor. The sidewalk slabs uneven beneath his feet on the walk back to his apartment. A woman’s razor sharp giggle as he fumbled to unlock the door. 

The mattress shifted beside him and he cracked one eyelid open tentatively, releasing a sigh of relief when he recognized Angie as the person tangled up in his sheets. Traces of the previous night’s makeup still held in tact on her face, oily pools gathering in the soft wrinkles of her forehead and eyes, black mascara clinging to her lashes in clumps and flaking onto her cheeks, a faint red outline where her lipstick was before he kissed it off of her. He rolled on his side towards her and brushed some of the sweat-dampened hair from her forehead. 

She hummed and frowned, then took a deep, wakeful breath as her eyes blinked open. They were stunning in the light. Golden streaks like sunbeams stretching from the middle of her iris into a deep, rich brown. 

“Oh, fuck,” she murmured, “We fucked, didn’t we?”

“That’s what it’s looking like,” he smirked, “How’re you feeling?”

She groaned and pinched the bridge of her button nose, “Still drunk.”

“Regret this yet?” he chuckled, half-joking, half-wondering. 

“Having sex with a stranger? Yeah, I’m having some regrets,” she scoffed, shaking her head, then threw her hand down at her side. She sighed and studied his face, “You’re cute, though. Kind of wish I could remember it.”

“Ditto,” he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with a shrug, “You know, we could have a do-over. Since we’re already here and regretting it. You could… let me have another chance to, ya know, make a lasting impression.” 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” her dark eyebrow arched. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. She brought her long, red fingernails to his hairline and combed them through his bed head. 

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded, dropping his gaze to her lips, “Plus, that way, when this hangover inevitably kills me, I’ll die a happy man.” 

“Is that right?” she giggled. The sound made his heart sing in harmony. 

“That’s right,” he reached out to her under the covers, smoothing his hands along her soft skin, coaxing her closer as he murmured, “What do you think, princesa, hmm?”

“I think,” she wriggled on top of him, the sticky heat of her naked body clinging to his, “I could give you a fighting chance.“

She hovered over him, meeting his eyes for an intoxicating moment before he pulled her lips to his. From there, it was full throttle. Kissing, biting, gasping, moaning. Torrid, frenzied movements that burned bright and hot. 

Their relationship took off at break-neck speed. 

From that day onward, they were doing nightly sleepovers at each others’ apartments. Every free moment spent with the other, most often spent drinking or fucking. Six days into their relationship, Frankie got a text from some girl he was casually seeing. Angie read it when he was out of the room, then confronted him, resulting in their first drunk screaming match, and, subsequently, their first instance of drunk make-up sex. 

She worked at a global manufacturing plant’s central office with hundreds of other carpet-walkers and pencil-pushers as a financial analyst. Her hours often ran long and wound her up tight. 

When she would show up at Frankie’s apartment after work, she’d be ready to burst. He’d fix her a drink and listen to her bitch about coworkers and projects and idiots who used reply all instead of reply, waiting for her to ask him anything about his day. She never seemed all that curious about him, though, which irked him. 

They did have fun together, when they had sex and went out to bars, but by the end of the second month, he found her presence to be draining. That bug of discontentment wriggled beneath his skin. He realized they had little in common aside from their coping mechanisms and combustibility. 

He started to think about breaking things off with Angie, but, by then, it was too late. 

“Who would like to go next?” David asks, glancing around the circle of metal folding chairs and their scattered occupants. 

Frankie meets his eyes and points his index finger at the ceiling. 

“Floor’s yours, Frankie.” 

“Thanks,” Frankie nodded and crossed his arms, sitting back in the squeaky chair, “Growing up, my dad wasn’t around much,” his mouth opens, but a thought occurs to him and he chuckles, shaking his head, “There’s one for the AA Meeting Bingo Card, huh?” 

This actually earns a few amused grins and a snort of laughter from his peers. 

He leans forward, pressing his elbows into his knees with a shrug, “Anyway. Even when he was living with us, whenever I did see him, he had a beer in his hand. And I thought it was normal, like everyone’s dad went to the bar every night, so I didn’t think much of it. I’m not sure when that changed. When I started to notice, I mean, that it wasn’t normal.

“When I’d go to my friend’s house, I thought they were… I dunno, fucking weird? Because they sat around the dinner table and talked to each other while they ate. And—and they didn’t seem afraid of their dad. Like, they didn’t have to walk on eggshells when he was around, which made me… uncomfortable, I guess,” he grimaces and shakes his head, “Jesus Christ, that’s fucked up. But, anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that, to me, my dad’s behavior was normal. 

“There would be times when he would come home and be three sheets to the goddamn wind, and he’d yell and throw shit, and my ma, she would lock me in my bedroom and tell me not to come out. Said my dad wasn’t feeling well,” he crinkles his nose and shrugs, “They split when I was twelve. And I don’t blame her for leaving him, I really don’t, but… I didn’t see him again until I got out of basic.”

He stops and leans back, taps his fingers on his kneecaps, then crosses his arms. A knot tightens in his throat when he remembers that day. Knocking on the door of his dad’s shitty apartment in Orlando. When it swung open, Frankie barely recognized him. 

Seven years left to his own devices aged him decades. Deep wrinkles carved into his droopy forehead. His nose and cheeks were darkened and bumpy, like he had a pubescent case of acne. He looked Frankie over with glossy, barely-there eyes and slurred, “There’s my boy! Hey, come in, Francisco, come in!”

Frankie’s stomach soured when the words hit his face, thick and swollen with whiskey. A warning signal that laid dormant in his veins for years reawakened, gushing hot and electric beneath his staticky skin. 

His father turned and started waddling into the apartment, so Frankie followed him, closing the door left wide open behind him. The apartment was threadbare. A dingy beige couch sat on one side of the living room, facing a small antennaed tv propped up on a milk crate. Some blonde news anchor chattered on the tv, but the gurgling buzz of the air conditioning unit effectively muted her. In lieu of a proper dining room setup, his father had a folding chair tucked into a card table, which was cluttered by piles of unopened envelopes and empty beer cans.

While the stranger pulled two beer cans out of his fridge, Frankie managed to stitch some words together, “So, how’ve you been, Dad?”

He didn’t seem to hear his question, just held one aluminum can across the countertop to his son, “You’re a real man now, huh? Have a beer with me, Francisco.” 

Frankie took a few steps forward and went to lean onto the counter, but decided against it when he realized how sticky the surface was. He accepted the beer and opened it. 

“It’s been too long, my boy, too long. What has it been, four years?”

“Seven,” Frankie corrected, averting his gaze to a tower of dirty dishes emerging from cloudy, gray water in the sink. The wet, bacterial, rotting stench made his nose crinkle. 

“Ah, well. I’m, well…” he trailed off and swallowed three big gulps of beer, then grinned, “So, Special Forces, huh?”  

“Yeah, I—”

“I’m proud of you, Francisco.” 

Frankie’s head jerked backwards and he met his dad’s dark eyes, “Wh-what?” 

“Takes discipline,” he responded, nodding, “I’m proud of you. Your mom, she did a good job with you.”

And he wanted to say a million different things. He wanted to say thank you and I love you and I forgive you and I hate you and fuck you. He wanted to yell: No thanks to you, you drunk old bastard. You woman-beating fucking coward. A different part of him wanted to cry: Why did you abandon me? Why wasn’t I good enough? Am I good enough now?

But when he licked his lips and opened his mouth to respond, his dad shuffled off into the sad living room, changing the subject. 

Frankie shakes his head and sighs, then looks around the room, “When Angie got pregnant, I vowed I’d never be like him. I—I wanted to be there for my kid, to be better than he was to me, and give my child a better life than I had. 

“Ang and I don’t always, um… see eye-to-eye. We have our problems. I’m trying to make it work, but I’m just so,” the word catches in his throat and burns behind his eyes. He takes a deep breath, swallows, and admits, “I’m so scared it’s not going to work. And Ang will take her. And I’ll end up just like him.”

He clears his throat, then takes another wide, cleansing breath before starting again.

“The only things I’ve ever been any good at are being a soldier and being a dad,” he says, staring at the floor, “It’s hard enough only seeing her a few times a week right now. I fucking hate it. I hate not being there when she wakes up in the middle of the night with a nightmare, and not watching Happy Feet with her twice a day, and not cuddling on the couch with her in the morning,” his stomach clenches and he feels a swell of tears starting behind his eyes, but continues, “The only thing getting me through this right now is knowing that it’s temporary. But if it doesn’t work with Angie, and I lose Sarah, I lose fucking everything. And I—I fucking can’t do that. I won’t.”

Frankie buries his face in his hands and feels a sob bubble up his throat. The echo of his crying returns to his ears and he becomes acutely aware of the other people in the room. That hardened part of his brain scolds him, growling at him to fucking get it together. He pushes the chair out behind him and keeps his head down as he walks out of the room, muttering, “I need a minute.”

When your shitty old car pulls into the hotel parking lot, Frankie is still outside pacing, trying to gather the courage to go back inside and face the group. 

He breathes a sigh of relief and starts towards it. You furrow your brow at him through your cracked windshield. When he opens the car door and sits down, you ask, “Why aren’t you in there?”

“It’s fine,” he frowns and pulls his seatbelt over his chest, locking it in place, “Got out early.”

You narrow your eyes at him, then scoff, “Bullshit. What happened?”

“Nothing—”

“Oh my god, Frankie, come on,” you cross your arms and lean back in your seat, searching his face, “You’re all flustered right now—”

“I am not,” he protests.

“You’re such a liar, you are flus-tered,” you blink at him with authority, raising one eyebrow, “All jittery, and your eyes look red—did you cry? Is that it?”

It’s irritating how well you know him. 

He rolls his eyes and looks out the window, muttering against his fingers, “Can we just go?”

“It’s ok, you know, to cry,” you say quietly. 

His leg starts bouncing and his jaw gnashes from one side to the other.

Like you’re one to talk. 

Like you don’t go out of your way to hide from him every time tears pool in your eyes. 

“Hey,” you coo and tug on his hand. He lets you take it, interlacing his fingers with yours. The contact makes his heart skip a beat. When he looks over at you, your brows are threaded together, earnest eyes searching his face, “You’re not the first person to cry in AA, I promise. They’re there to support you. Give them a chance to help.” 

He glances up at the hotel’s exit and sees a few people from the meeting filing out, and shrugs, “It’s over now, anyways.”’

“Did you get your paper signed?” 

“No.”

“C’mon, at least get credit for your work,” you smirk, squeezing his hand, “I’m sure they’ll understand why you left.” 

He groans and scrubs a hand over his face, “Fine.” 

“Atta boy,” you grin, “Do you want me to come with or do you got this?”

“I got this,” he flashes a weak smile, and has to hold himself back from bringing the back of your hand to his lips. 

He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the vehicle, nodding at a few familiar faces as he makes his way back into the building to the conference room. 

In the room, a few people are putting away chairs or talking in small, quiet groups. David stands by the snack table, signing off on someone’s attendance form. Frankie lines up behind them and avoids David’s gaze when it’s his turn to hand over the attendance sheet. 

“That was really vulnerable, what you shared with us today,” David tells Frankie as he unfolds the form. 

His nostrils flare and he scoffs, “I thought I was supposed to share things.”

David frowns as he signs off on the paper, shaking his head, “It’s a compliment. Being vulnerable is good, and I appreciate your vulnerability.” 

“Oh,” Frankie shifts his weight to one leg and frowns, “Thanks.” 

“Yeah, of course,” David hands the form back, and when Frankie takes it, he can tell David is gearing up to say more. His face grows more solemn. He pushes the wire frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose and says, “I know how conflicting it is being an alcoholic father with an alcoholic father. It’s hard to know if you’re doing the right thing. Being apart from them is hell, even if it’s when you’re doing something to make yourself better. I just wanted to let you know that I get it.” 

Frankie nods, searching the man’s face, “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” David flashes a polite smile, then turns to the snack table and starts picking things up. 

When the two of you get home, Frankie goes into your bedroom to haul the TV back to its normal spot in the living room. 

He finds himself lingering at the foot of the bed, staring at the side he slept in last night. At the covers, still drawn back from when he woke for work this morning. At the stuffed panda bear you set in his place at some point today. 

My place. 

He needs to stop thinking like that. It’s not his place. It can’t be his place. 

Not permanently, anyway. 

Part of him feels guilty for not leaving once you fell asleep. Staying was pure self-indulgence, no matter how many times he tries to convince himself it was for your benefit. 

It can’t become a habit. 

But all weekend he wanted to hold you. To feel your beating heart and shallow, wheezy breath against his body. Proof that you were still here, after seeing you gasping for air, lips tinged blue, eyes wide with fear. 

In his life, he’s faced a lot of scary and uncertain situations. Situations that threatened his own life and that of people he cares about. But this… this was different. At least in combat scenarios, he had training and experience to guide him. 

This weekend he felt powerless. 

If he had to quantify the terror, he was at maximum capacity. Never been so fucking afraid in his life. He felt so helpless, he folded his hands and bowed his head at your hospital bedside, reaching out to something or someone in hushed whispers, pleading for your recovery. 

So, no, he couldn’t bring himself to leave you alone in your bed last night. Not when you fell asleep in his arms, your head on his chest, curled up at his side. 

The answer to his prayers. 

When he was sure you were sleeping, he pressed his lips to your forehead and told you what he’s only barely been able to admit to himself. 

In a million different ways, I’ve always loved you.

It was indulgent. Undisciplined. 

But mostly, it was a relief. 

Even if his words fell on your sleeping ears. 

Even if he can probably never tell you again. 

With a heavy sigh, he follows the TV’s power cord to the wall and unplugs it. He freezes when he spots something on the floor next to your dresser. You cough at the other end of the house, and he glances over his shoulder just to make sure you’re not around before he picks it up. 

A pile of soft teal lace. Your underwear. 

He brings them to his nose and inhales, the familiar scent inspiring a deep, heated churn at the base of his spine. Without another thought, he shoves them in the front pocket of his jeans, then unplugs the TV. 

Frankie settles on the couch with a groan, then glances over to where you’re curled up into a little ball and asks, “Were you able to get some rest today?”

You nod and your mouth stretches into a yawn, then you murmur, “Still kind of feel like shit, though. Hopefully it’s better by Wednesday.”

“Oh yeah, how’re your kids doing?” 

“Marla said they’re doing better, getting back to their normal selves. Em’s going back to school tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” he leans back and spreads out in his corner of the couch, “You like it, working for them?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, “They’re sweet kids. Whole different vibe than Sarah, though,” you glance at him and chuckle, “Don’t tell anybody, but she was my favorite.” 

A grin stretches across Frankie’s face. He presses his fingertips to his lips and looks over at you, “She is pretty great, huh?” 

“The best,” you agree, a wistful smile playing on your lips, “I hope that when I, um,“ you falter here, smile dropping. You clear your throat and shake your head, “Sorry, I lost my train of thought. Are you guys doing anything fun tomorrow?”

“Not sure yet. Angie, um… yeah, I don’t know,” he frowns at his knee as it starts to bounce, “She’s pissed at me. So probably, you know, dealing with that.”

“Because you skipped out on Saturday?”

He nods, and when you don’t say anything, he glances over at you, “It’s fine, though, she’ll get over it.”

“Sure,” you smirk, raising an eyebrow, “Have things been going ok outside of that?”

“Aside from the alcoholism, my pending felony, and the fact that I’m living with another woman?” he snorts, “Things are going great.” 

“Don’t forget the affair,” you tease. 

“Mmm, you mean the isolated incident?” he corrects, rolling his head on his shoulders to look at you. 

You scoff and shake your head, “Wow. Yeah, isolated. Sure. Just a mistake, right?” 

He searches your face, watching your eyes go dim and your jaw clench, and furrows his brow, “N-no, that’s not—“

You clamp your lips closed with your teeth, like you’re holding yourself back, then open your mouth anyway, “That’s what you tell her, though, right?” you blink, “It was a mistake, it meant nothing to you, it’ll never happen again, blah blah blah?”

His jaw hangs slack and throat croaks as he tries to yield some kind of truth that will both spare your feelings and help him evade scrutiny, “I’m—sorry.”

It’s all he can come up with. 

You roll your eyes and sigh, then mutter, “Whatever,” before turning your attention back to the TV. 

The silence that settles is tense. It writhes beneath his skin and trickles into his stomach, twisting it into knots. 

You start to wriggle in your seat, like it’s bothering you, too. He can feel a jagged energy rolling off your body, and, predictably, you break. 

“If you ever want things to actually work with her, you’re going to have to come clean,” you huff, then glare at him, “You know that right? That you can’t just lie to her forever? There’s no way she fucking believes you.”

Frankie sighs, picking his hat off his head to run a hand through his hair, “Can we not?”

“Sure, we can just not,” you snip and sit up straight, crossing your arms across your chest, “We can just pretend things are cool and groovy and you can get your life back and I can fuck off into oblivion.” 

“Jesus Christ—”

“Well, fuck, that’s what you want, right, Frankie?” you stare at him, “You’ll be nice to me while you’re here, and cuddle with me, and hold my hand, and what the fuck ever, but when this arrangement is over, then what?”

“I don’t fucking know, ok?!” he snaps, then stands and starts pacing the living room, shaking his head, “I don’t know if—if I’m going to fucking prison, or if I’m going to lose my job, or if my wife will fucking divorce me and take my daughter away—”

Frankie stops and turns away from you, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. A few quiet seconds go by as he gathers himself and wrangles the burgeoning tears back into his skull. When he turns back around, he throws his hands out at his side, then lets them fall loose, “I don’t know what anything will look like after this,” he meets your glossy eyes, all wide and pained, and tells you in a hoarse, shaky voice, “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a fucking asshole to you for so long. I lied to you. I pushed you away. I fucking—I fucking hurt you and I understand that.”

He takes a few steps forward. Your eyes, pooling with tears, stay glued his, following seamlessly when he crouches down in front of you and pleads, “I’m trying to be better, I swear to god I’m fucking trying. I—I care about you a lot. And I’m sorry I can’t give you a better answer for what you and me will look like after this ‘situation’ is over with, because I have no fucking clue what anything will look like.” 

You swallow hard and nod, then drop your gaze as your face crumbles. A sob bubbles up your throat and quickly devolves into a coughing fit. 

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters, glancing around. He spots your inhaler on the coffee table and hands it to you, “Need this?”

You take it and inhale a few puffs of albuterol. When your breathing evens out, blink the tears from your eyes and croak out, “Sorry.” 

He reaches up and smudges a fat, swollen tear on your cheek with his thumb, “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

A pained expression crosses your face. You lean away from his touch, so he sits down beside you as you exhale a thick sigh and look around the room.

“I understand why you wouldn’t tell Angie everything. I just—” one of your cheeks pulls in like you’re gnawing at the inside. You release it and tell him, “I just hate the idea of you saying we were a mistake. I don’t know. Is that dumb?” 

Your eyes flick to his and they’re so sincere, his stomach flips upside down. He shakes his head, “No, that’s not dumb.” 

“Ok,” you sniffle, nodding as you look at the TV, “Ok.”

A minute goes by, each second amplifying the buzz beneath his skin. He looks over and realizes you’re squished against the armrest of the couch, curled up in a tense knot of limbs, brow furrowed, biting at your lip. 

“Hey,” he coos, beckoning you closer, “Come here.”

You give him this kind of pathetic, kind of cute pout, but accept the invitation. As he wraps an arm around your shoulders, you drape your legs across his lap, rest your head in the crook of his neck. He lays his cheek on the crown of your head and tucks you into an embrace. 

Maybe it’s one-sided, but Frankie feels heat humming between your bodies. 

The floral, minty scent of your hair, mixing with the musk of your soft skin, all dewy from humidity. Your breath rolling hot across the column of his throat. 

You wriggle closer, and the weight of your body settles between his legs. Presses firm down on his half-hard cock. 

His insides twist with a nagging, all-consuming want. The kind that usually fogs his brain when he thinks about booze. It claws at him like an animal caged within his ribs. Teeth bared, ferocious, growing: I need her I need her I need her

In the same cadence it always howls: I need a drink I need a drink I need a drink

The tips of his fingers scrape against your shoulder. A little whimper sneaks out your throat and drips down his spine. Your muscles shift and he can feel your lips hovering over his thudding pulse. 

This is dangerous. This is a line. A tightrope teetering beneath the soles of his feet. 

You breathe his name and it grazes his neck. His body surges with desire, cock throbbing, and he’s unable to stop the whine that croaks out his lips. 

He looks down at you, meeting your darkened, heavy-lidded gaze. You study each other, but neither of you move, despite the palpable current of electricity between you. 

“I—I should go to bed,” you whisper with little conviction, eyes darting to his mouth.

“It’s still light out,” he says, brushing the back of his hand against your cheek. 

You shiver and your lips part, panting, “I need to clear my head—I’m… not thinking right.”

Frankie imagines you clearing your head in your bedroom with the door closed. Your fingers working between your legs, eyes pinched closed while you flip through the mental catalogue of all the times he’s fucked you. 

“Can I come with you?” he asks, voice ragged, “I won’t—I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”

You search his face, brows pushing together, and nod. 

This is stupid. 

You both know it. 

But he follows you to your room and closes the door behind him. 

Sinks into your bed as you lay out on the other side. 

You start slow, hands roaming the curves of your body. Over your tight tank top, no bra underneath, just the clear outline of your nipples. Along the middle of those little cotton sleep shorts he likes so much. 

He keeps his distance, blood pounding thick in his skull, as you ruck your shirt up your chest and roll a hardened bud between your fingers. You whimper and bite down on your bottom lip, eyes locking to his as your other hand slips beneath the waistband of your shorts. 

In his periphery, he can see the outline of your wrist flicking under the fabric, but he can’t part his eyes from yours. It’s entrancing. Your mouth opens in a moan, lips pouting out into a whimper as you start to gain traction. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, pushing his palm against his swollen length trapped within the confines of his jeans, begging for attention. He unbuckles his belt and tugs his pants off. At the same time, you pull your shorts down. Some sort of silent trade agreement.

Frankie wraps his hand around his cock and drags his grip down, pulling the sensitive, aching skin taught. His palm is dry and rough as he starts to rut up and down, but the friction gives his touch an edge that makes him shiver. 

You’re watching him do this while you trail your fingertips along the shiny ridges of your sex. Saliva pools in his mouth when he remembers what you taste like. Imagines his tongue tracing the soft folds of you.

Your hips buck and you whimper when you touch your clit. You roll the pads of your fingers against the engorged bundle of nerves, eyelids fluttering as you work yourself. 

You both find a steady rhythm, panting and whining, glancing between each other's legs, hands, eyes. The increasingly frantic movements make your bed squeak. 

The two of you are so lost in the haze of pleasure, Frankie knows either of you could suggest physical contact between your bodies and the other would immediately say yes, but this fucked up little loophole has you both blissfully dangling on the precipice. 

He’s trying to keep his commentary to a minimum, but you’re driving him fucking crazy. 

Your blown-out pupils watching him fuck his hand. The sheen of sweat lacing your skin. A thick, gleaming layer of arousal coating your pussy and fingers. He wants to lick it off of you, taste you, drive his cock inside you and feel that divine squeeze. 

As his heartbeat starts to gallop and the fire in his belly laps its way up his spine, he pants, “You’re so fucking hot, holy shit—do you like this? Like me watching you get off?”

“Yes,” you gasp, meeting his gaze, working yourself faster, “I do, Frankie, I like it.”

His name on your lips is like an electric jolt to his insides. He groans, “Say my name again.”

“Frankie,” you whimper. 

A wave of heat washes over him, “Fuck yes, that’s so fucking good, baby—say it again—”

“Frankie,” you moan, sinking two fingers into your cunt, a sick wet sound squelching out as you start to fuck yourself. 

“Such a good girl, holy fuck, that’s it,” he grunts, pumping himself faster, lightning churning in his belly, “Gonna make yourself cum, sweet girl?”

You nod feverishly, face pinched up with pleasure, hips arching into your touch, “Frankie—fuck fuck fuck—”

“There we go, baby, you can do it,” he rasps, and watches as your movements come to a fever pitch, then your body starts to shudder and you belt out this strangled moan that pushes him over the edge. 

Pleasure ripples through him and he grinds his fist down a few more times, pulsing his load all over his hand, across the bedding, a few splatters reaching your hip. He groans and slows.

His muscles start to melt. He throws his head back into the pillow, then rolls his head on his shoulders to look at you. 

Your chest is heaving and you’re all blissed out, a hazy smile on your lips. 

“You’re not gonna freak out, now, are you?” he pants, searching your face. He reaches over and gives you a playful poke to show he’s only half-joking. 

You meet his eyes smirking for a beat before you chuckle, “I don’t think so, but—could you get my, umm—inhaler?”

“Yeah,” he nods and rolls off the bed. 

When Frankie returns, you’re pulling your shirt down over your tits and propping yourself up on some pillows. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, then take it from him and inhale a few puffs. 

“You ok?” he asks as he rolls onto the bed next to you, wrestling a pillow under his chest. 

A coy smile plays on your lips when you glance over at him, shaking your head, “This was really dumb.”

He chuckles and shrugs, “Probably.” 

“Fuck,” you giggle, burying your face in your hands, “Frankie, why did we do that?”

“Because we’re big dumb idiots?” he laughs. 

“Speak for yourself,” you snort, curling up on your side to face him. 

“Sure, yeah, of course. You’re super smart,” he teases, pointing between him and you, “This is definitely something that smart people do.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you push his shoulder weakly. After a few moments of comfortable silence, you say, “We’re never going to speak of this again, are we?” 

He opens his mouth to make a joke and attempt to sweep it all under the rug, but stops when he realizes it probably warrants a conversation. 

“Do—is that what you wanna do?” he asks instead, stammering, “Because we can, you know, talk about it if you want to.“

“I don’t know what I want,” you sigh, your face folding into a thoughtful expression. A few moments pass, then your eyebrows shoot up and you look at him, “Ok, this is a weird time to ask this, but, I meant to ask you earlier and forgot.”

He nods, “Shoot.”

“My sister is getting married over Labor Day weekend, and because I’m her bridesmaid and family and blah blah blah, she wants me to go stay out there for the week, and umm, I don’t know how that works with your parole and stuff—”

“Do you want me to ask Ralph tomorrow?” 

“Well, yeah,” you meet his eyes, “But—but also, can you come with me?”

It takes a moment for Frankie to register the question, and when he understands, his mind starts whirring with uncertainty. Angie. Court. Ralph. Sarah. Prison. 

“Not, like, as my date or whatever,” you add, waving your hand around nervously as you explain, “I just–I haven’t been home in years because my family is the worst and I—” you sigh, face pinching up as you admit, “I could use a friend.” 

That makes up his mind. 

“Yeah,” he answers, “Yeah, as long as I’m not in fucking jail by then, I’ll make it work. Let me… let me talk to work and Ralph, see what I can do.” 

You give him a restrained smile and say, “Thank you.” 

After the two of you decide to get dressed and watch a movie, he goes into his bedroom to change into a pair of basketball shorts, while you supervise a packet of popcorn in the microwave. Giving his closed door a quick glance, he pulls the bundle of soft teal lace out of his pocket and opens a dresser drawer to tuck them away, but pauses when his thumb grazes something damp. 

His brows furrow, then shoot up as he unfolds the underwear and recognizes the slick substance coating them. He brings the fabric to his nose and inhales, confirming his suspicion. 

You must have noticed them when he was getting your inhaler. And rather than taking the panties back, or saying anything to him, you cleaned your arousal off and replaced them. 

He grins at the present, because that’s what it is, really, then shoves the lace into his dresser drawer. 

“Daddy, look, that’s Mumble,” Sarah tells Frankie, pointing one chubby, blueberry-stained finger at a plastic baby emperor penguin. 

Her collection of penguins is lined up on the edge of the dining room table, in order of smallest to biggest. She wriggles around on his lap, looking up at him with those big brown eyes, waiting for acknowledgement. 

“That one does look like Mumble,” he agrees emphatically, “What kind of penguin is he?” 

“A empreror penguin!” she beams, throwing her hands in the air. 

“That’s right,” he chuckles, “An emperor penguin! How many penguins do you have?”

Sarah’s eyes light up at the exciting new challenge, and she turns her attention to the plastic figurine lineup, counting each one out loud. 

Frankie glances across the table at Angie. She‘s glaring out the window, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Ang,” he rumbles, but she doesn’t respond. A hot wave of frustration weaves through his muscles and pulls them taught. His nostrils flare and he shakes his head, muttering, “Whatever.”

The dining room chair scrapes against the floor as she pushes it out and stomps out of the room, down the stairs like a petulant child. 

Sarah stops counting and tells him, “Mommy’s mad.”

He chuckles softly at this and nods, “Yeah, I think so. I’m gonna go talk to her, ok, sweetie?”

Sarah resumes her counting when Frankie stands and sets her in the chair. He finds Angie in the laundry room, folding clothes with sharp, agitated movements. 

“Can we talk about this?” he asks. She doesn’t acknowledge him, so he continues, “Angelica. Come on. You haven’t said a word to me since I texted you on Saturday. Please, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“The fact that you don’t know what’s wrong is exactly what’s fucking wrong, Francisco,” she growls.

He sighs and steps closer, leaning one hip against the washer, “As much as I would love to be able to, I can’t read your mind. So if you could help me out, maybe give me a clue—”

“Do you need me to spell it out for you?” she snaps, tossing the small pink t-shirt in her hands into a laundry basket.

His head jerks back and he scoffs, “Sure.”

“You passed up time with your wife and daughter to be with your fucking mistress,” she blinks, then throws her hands up in the air, “Is it really so fucking inconceivable that I’m mad about that?” 

“First of all, she’s not my mistress,” Frankie asserts, crossing his arms, “Second, she almost fucking died, Ang, I couldn’t just leave her alone in the hospital.” 

“So, what, she didn’t have anyone else that could come sit with her in the hospital?” Angie snorts, raising an eyebrow, “I was about to say she’s a grown woman, she can take care of herself, but,” she sucks on her teeth and flashes him a faux sympathetic smile, “That’s barely true, isn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, rolling his eyes, then stares at her, “You know that’s not true, and—and no, ok? She didn’t have anyone else to sit at the hospital with her. None of her family made it out, she doesn’t have any friends. Her boyfriend didn’t even come to visit, so,” he pushes off the washing machine and pinches the bridge of his nose, then drops his hand and lies, “I felt fucking bad for her, that’s all. She couldn’t breathe and was all sick and shit, and nobody cared enough to visit her. It was, I don’t know, it was sad and I felt shitty about leaving.”

She seems to consider this, then gives a little shrug, “That is kind of sad.”

He nods, searching her face, dark eyebrows all scrunched together in contemplation. 

“She has a boyfriend?”

He nods, “Yeah. They’ve been together for a while.”

Not exactly a lie, but he can tell a little truth stretching will bring this conversation to a more comfortable place. 

“I missed you,” he says in a pleading tone, meeting her eyes, hoping she buys it. 

She sighs, “I missed you too.”

The glint in her eyes tells him it’s safe to approach, so he does. He presses his lips against her forehead, closing his eyes as he murmurs, “I love you.”

When Frankie gets home, you and Rory are sitting on the couch watching a movie together. His arm is draped over your shoulders and you’re huddled in his lap, head on his chest. 

It reminds him of how the two of you are when no one else is around. 

His blood pressure spikes and heats his veins. You perk up as you notice him, putting space between your body and Rory’s. A nervous smile spreads across your face. He doesn’t return the smile, just nods in greeting as he closes the door behind him, “Hey.”

Rory looks him up and down, then turns back to the TV. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” you ask. 

Frankie frowns and shrugs, “Fine. What’re you guys watching?”

Your phone starts ringing before you can answer. You sit up and grab it off the coffee table, muttering, “It’s my sister, I’ll be right back,” then tiptoe through the house to your bedroom, leaving him and Rory alone. 

Frankie steps on the heel of his boot and starts to wriggle his foot free. 

“Hey, man, I wanted to tell you—thanks for looking after her last weekend.”

Frankie glances up at Rory as he kicks one boot off, then the other, “Sure, yeah,” then starts off towards his room. Rory keeps talking, though, so he pauses. 

“When she didn’t respond to me for a day I figured, ya know…” he shrugs, staring at him. 

Frankie frowns and shakes his head, “Figured what?”

“Figured she ran off with you, man,” he chuckles, but his eyes aren’t smiling. They’re studying. 

Frankie snorts and brings his hands to his hips, “What, really?”

Rory stands and saunters over, looking the way you left to make sure you’re still occupied, then tucks his hands in the front of his jean pockets and shrugs again, “Seems like y’all are pretty close. She doesn’t really like to talk about you. Kinda weird for someone who’s supposedly a friend.”

What kind of macho man bullshit is this? Is he… flexing? 

“Yeah, she’s pretty private,” Frankie searches the other man’s face. 

“Y’all ever fuck around?” he asks. 

Frankie jerks his head back and frowns, “Uhh, sorry, what?”

Rory doesn’t say anything, just lets the air between them grow more hostile, flicking his eyes around Frankie’s face like a challenge. One that he’s not fucking interested in taking. Christ, what a fucking mess that would be. 

Frankie scoffs and shakes his head, “No, we don’t fuck around. We’re friends. Ok?” He holds his hands up and tries to soften his face, “So, take it easy, she’s all yours.” 

Rory seems to relax a little, then says, “Alright.”

“Alright,” Frankie chuckles with amusement, “We good?” 

“Yeah,” Rory grins, offering a clenched fist to Frankie, “Sorry, man.” 

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” he bumps knuckles with the meathead and tells him, “You two have a good time, alright?”

Frankie retreats to his room and locks the door behind him. 

Every muscle in his body starts to deflate. 

His thoughts are fuzzy and loud. 

He starts for his bed, but pauses, and turns instead to the dresser, thinking of that teal lace. 

Today is one of those rare July days where it’s not just tolerable to be outside, it’s actually enjoyable. 

A slight breeze rustles the palm fronds above. The sun kisses Frankie’s skin. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of a neighbor’s charcoal grill. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He cracks an eye open to find you standing over where he’s laying in the hammock and grins innocently, “What?”

“WhAt?” you mock him and snort, but pull up a chair and drop your little wicker basket in its seat, warning, “Ok, well, you’re sharing the hammock, at least.” 

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” he tucks a hand behind his head and watches you roll into the hammock facing him.

You wriggle around for an entire minute, and when he starts to giggle at your restlessness, you whine, “Oh my god, scoot over.”

“Here,” he murmurs, shifting his weight so you lay roughly hip to hip, hooking one arm under your legs, “Better?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. Your body calms. 

Then it’s quiet. 

And the silence isn’t anything but peaceful, really. 

“This is good,” you say eventually. 

He’s not sure what this you’re referring to, but he agrees, “Yeah.”

You point to the sky, “That cloud looks like a gator.”

Frankie squints upward, examining the fluffy cotton balls hanging in the electric blue atmosphere, “That one looks like a cloud.”

A snort erupts from your face and you lay a playful smack on his thigh, “Oh, come on, use your imagination!”

“Ok, let’s see,” he clears his throat and tilts the bill of his hat back to take in more of the view. Then one catches his eye. He points to it, “Butterfly.”

You follow his direction and murmur, “Oh yeah, look at that. Neat.” 

He studies it for a while, watching the two wings tumble and morph as it moves across the sky, until it’s just another nondescript cumulus cloud. Then he turns his attention to the basket you brought outside. 

The hammock wobbles in protest when he sits up and lays it across the middle ground of your bodies. Frankie surveys the contents of the shallow wicker basket: a baguette; a dish of soft, white cheese with a little spatula-like knife sticking out the center; a bowl of red grapes and sliced strawberries; a couple of mandarin oranges. 

He rips off a piece of bread and spreads some cheese across the soft inside, then sits back and takes a bite. You do the same, topping the cheese with some strawberries. As the two of you eat in a content silence, looking up at the sky, Frankie starts to ruminate on the confrontation that is surely lingering on the tip of your tongue. 

Neither of you have dared to mention how you got off together in your bed. Surprisingly, it hasn’t changed the energy between him and you. But he’s found himself wondering if he’s just oblivious and unable to sense your disquiet, like he has in the past. 

And now, since it’s Family Dinner, State of the Union, or whatever Ralph calls it, he braces himself for impact.

“Alright, let me have it,” he says after he finishes his second chunk of bread, nerves getting the best of him, “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

The hammock shifts unsteadily as you sit up and put the basket back on the chair, then you lay back and stretch out, releasing a heavy sigh, “Honestly… I kind of don’t know what to say about it. I—I don’t know. I don’t feel different or have any kind of strong feelings about what happened.”

Frankie hums and looks over at you, watching your serene, skyward face. 

“What about you? How do you feel?” you ask, leveling your gaze with his. 

“I feel… the same,” he answers, frowning, “Like I should have a strong feeling, but I—I just don’t?” 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, shrugging, “Well, I don’t know, should we just… leave it?” 

Relief washes over him and he nods, “I’m ok with that if you are.”

“Ok,” you grin, then look back up at the sky, “Anything else you need to get off your chest?” 

Frankie rifles through his brain, pausing to think about Rory and the odd confrontation that happened the other day. It left a bad taste in his mouth. But, he shakes his head, “No. You?” 

“I can’t think of anything.” 

“Alright,” he inhales the blissful breeze that tickles his sun-warmed skin, then exhales, repeating your earlier sentiment, “This is good.”

[ Next Chapter ]

[the1975attheirverybest]

Being Funny In A Foreign Language

Chapter 4- Oh Caroline.

read all other chapters here

Warnings: brief depictions of mental illness. Light smut.

———

Matty crawled, shirtless, in the artificial grass towards peanut. He learned from doing this bit of the show every night that, there are some days when he finds it completely routine —just a performer doing the scripted bit that he worked hard to orchestrate for a very specific purpose—and there are other days, like today, when the entire experience feels uncanny. A real lived experience of his personal life being broadcast for the world to see. He is face to face(literally; their faces are inches apart) with his own naked likeness; comforting it, stroking its arm gently, treating it with care and tenderness.

He laid right behind peanut and wrapped his arms around his body double, spooning him in front of thousands of cheering fans. This was always the strangest part. He’s all too aware of the worlds eyes on his every move even as he attempts to drop the act and be vulnerable. The thing about manufactured vulnerability is, though, that it’s always inherently, at its essence, an act. some nights, he wondered, as he laid there next to himself, how much was manufactured and how much was vulnerable.

Tonight, his thoughts drifted back to that brief moment of respite that he experienced in Amelia’s arms. He kissed a line along the expanse of peanuts shoulders, tightening his arms around him. When the platform lowered again, taking peanut away with it, Matty rolled on his back. Tears rolled down his cheeks as the screens in the venue displayed a close-up zoomed in on him.

Moments later, the platform came back up, a guitar and a microphone ready for “Be My Mistake.”

***

Matty and Amelia never spoke of that night after it happened. They found it difficult to speak about anything at all. A fact that unnerved Matty endlessly. But he didn’t know how to be around her anymore. Every time he tried, he found himself clinging too tightly to a pretense of normalcy; trying so hard to act as though nothing had changed between them. He couldn’t bare the way it made him feel, even worse, he couldn’t bare the fact that it was his fault their friendship had now broken.

He leaned into the routines of tour life. Waking up, working out, writing, performing, and getting ready to do it all again in a different city the next day. That is, until he woke up on the morning of the first day of their week off.

His first mistake was not getting out of bed as soon as he’d woken up. What was intended as a relaxed start to the day turned into Matty not getting out of bed at all. After hours of endless scrolling, unanswered texts, and ignored notification, he set down his phone and noticed the lump in his throat. He turned to the other side of the bed, pulling the duvet protectively over himself and squeezing his eyes shut. He felt stuck. Like the whole world around him was moving at whirlwind speeds while he laid there, perfectly still. Even the thoughts inside his mind and the beating heart in his chest seemed to move faster than he could handle. He tucked his knees up into his chest and tried to breathe through the worst of it.

It was 6 pm before Matty had managed to get himself out of bed. And it wasn’t long before he returned to it. The first two nights of the week went by without him leaving his hotel room.

***

“Amelia! Joshua! Welcome back!” The couple turned around to find Mark, sipping on A cocktail at the hotel bar.

“Mark, you’re here.” Amelia hugged him.

“Did you kids have a good trip?”

Mark always made Amelia smile and put her at ease. She thought it was his warm paternal energy, a comfort to have around when you find yourself in a strange and unfamiliar place every other day while on tour. But, perhaps it was even more than that, Mark genuinely cared about each of the boys, their friends, and there partners. He was sincere when he asked to hear about their trip to Joshua’s hometown, and whether or not the weather over there was good. It was clear to everyone why Matty loved working with Mark.

“What about you? You guys must have cut your short trip if you’re already here drinking tonight.” Amelia observed.

“Oh we never went anywhere.” Mark sipped on his drink. “I mean, I think George and Charli are off on holiday. Reckon Adam’s out of town as well. Seen Ross out and about. Not entirely sure where Matty is but he’s in town.”

Amelia couldn’t shake that feeling in her gut. Mark’s words echoed through her mind as the elevator shot them up to the top floor. Not entirely sure where Matty is, but he’s in town. That doesn’t make any sense. Matty often used his days off in the US between New York or, if he was feeling messy, LA. For him to not pack up and go somewhere, when he has an entire week to do was he pleased, was very unusual.

She looked down the dimly lit hallway as she stepped off the elevator. Matty’s room was somewhere in the darkness. Something told her she needed to be there.

“Hun?,” she whispered, tapping Joshua’s shoulder. “Would you mind taking my suitcase and heading in without me? I- just wanna check on Matty.”

***

“Amelia” Matty barely mustered when he opened the door to her knocking.

She scanned him head to toe, noting that he was in a t shirt and boxers. “You don’t seem happy to see me.”

“Just….erm.” He scratched his head “thought you were room service or— house keeping or something.”

It was difficult for Amelia to keep a straight face while looking at the dark circles underneath his eyes, his unshaven face, his defeated look. But she knew Matty well enough to tiptoe around these observations. “Aren’t you gonna let me in?”

Matty hesitated, briefly, but it was Amelia. He could never turn her away. “Yeah. Right. Come in.”

She surveyed her surroundings, her heart shattered into a million pieces. The empty bottles everywhere, the clothes piled up in different corners, his guitar laying diagonally across the floor, various cables and wires everywhere, plates of uneaten food resting on the entertainment unit and the dresser. Everywhere she looked, there were signs telling her that she was already far too late.

“Oh, gosh. Matty…” words escaped her.

Matty averted his gaze, embarrassed.

Her hands reached out to him but Matty stepped back moving out of her reach.

“N-no, no. It’s fine. I’m…I’m fine. You should go-“

“Just wanna keep you company. Can I? Can I just sit with you for a little while?”

“Amelia, please-“

“You need help. Why won’t you let me help you?” She walked over to the couch, pushing the random books and papers that had covered it into a corner and sitting down.

Matty paced back and forth anxiously. “Because I don’t wanna get it wrong! I don’t want to do this- this- depression thing the wrong way-“

“Do you hear how insane you sound right now?

“No; you’re insane. You’re insane. I- listen to me. This thing within me- It’s not attractive or broody or anything. It’s- this!” He gestured passionately at his surroundings. “There’s nothing glamorous or artsy about how I feel. I cry a lot. And drink a lot. And I haven’t had a shower since the show a few days ago and- and I’m scared. All the fuckin time. I’m somewhere between terrified and completely numb.”

Matty felt the ground underneath him shift, losing balance, he quickly sat down next to her with a loud thud of his body hitting the couch.

“You get dizzy?” She asked, already knowing the answer. “Whens the last time you ate anything?”

“Depends….what day is it?”

“Oh for fucks sakes, Matthew!”

Matty leaned his head against her shoulder, cuddling into her. “I don’t want to eat. Please don’t make me do it.” He whispered as he closed his eyes.

Amelia remained perfectly still at first, allowing him to get comfortable. When she was certain that he wouldn’t spook or pull away, she slowly reached for his hair, stroking it gently as she spoke to him in her softest tone. “You been keeping up with the gym?”

Matty shook his head.

“Jiujitsu?”

“No.”

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Everything feels like sleeping. Like daydreaming or sleep-walking.”

They were both silent for a moment.

“What do you need right now? Can i- call down for some food? Do you…wanna go to sleep? I-“

“I need you.”He lifted his head off her shoulder and turned to look at her, pressing his forehead to hers, “please, Amelia? Just this once?” His nose brushed against hers, his lips a hairs breadth away from hers, begging for her to kiss him.

Amelia’s hands rested on either side of his face. “Will you let me take care of you?” She kissed him.

***

She pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. When she reached for the waistband of his underwear, Matty’s hands quickly stopped her.

“Uhh-umm I’m still- erm…having t-trouble there.”

“Oh. Ok-okay. That’s alright.” She smiled at him reassuringly. “Is there a…specific reason or— I mean is everything alright? Medically speaking….” Her words were clumsy, anxiety building in her stomach as she recalled how badly she’d fumbled this conversation the first time around.

Matty simply shrugged.

“You really need to learn to take care of yourself, Matty.”

Matty laid down, looking up at the ceiling. He whispered. “I don’t deserve to.”

“Don’t say that!”

“I’ve fucked everything up- I-“ he gasped as she brought her lips to the skin of his stomach, peppering him with kisses.

“I have an idea…” she mumbled, barely speaking in between kisses. “We should…come up with a system. Teach you how to let go.”

Matty’s brows furrowed. “System?”

She looked up at him through her lashes, pausing her loving for a moment to give me a slightly coy smile. “For your dopamine addicted weirdly wired brain….rewards for doing the right things, and….” She bit at his skin sharply, making him jolt and wince. “Punishments for doing the wrong things.”

“Might as well start there.” He spoke quickly. “I’ve done a lot of wrong things. Hurt you. Hurt the guys by risking their careers…well, if you believe Twitter, I’ve hurt entire demographics-“

She silenced him with a firm kiss. “I make the rules.” She whispered in his ear, smiling, “you hear that?”

Matty nodded slowly.

“We’ll come up with rules and expectations. They should mostly be around taking care of you. Making sure you get better.”

“Amelia, you don’t have to do all that. I-“

“Yeah, yeah. That conversation is for a bit later. For now, tell me, you ever been fucked in the ass?”

[demontime09]

Faded - chapter 3

.•°●°•.☆☆☆.•°●°•.

_____________________________________

I wake up, my mouth dry as fuck. I groan and sit up, my sheets are a mess, Chris's clothes on the ground. I sit for a second, rubbing my eyes, yawning, and it hits me.

Chris kissed me before he left. He held my hands, told me I did good, let me cuddle him, and then he..

He kissed me. And once again I am reminded that through everything, even with his problems and his troublesome actions, I know he cares about me. And that is enough for me to stay.

I get up, order breakfast, make coffee, and while eating I notice we never finished the joint. It's sitting in my ash stray completely put out. "That doesn't make sense. That was- that's his weed." I thought. I creep over and see, a note?? "Finish this off for me, ma. -C" I can't help but smile cheesily.

It's just like Chris to gift me leftover weed.

My phone chimes. It's my friend Eve.

"Theres a party tonight

at my place Char,

ur man might be there too"

"Thanks but I might skip"

Read 12:13

My shoulders slump. I always hate letting down my friends but partying with Chris means I'll have to take care of him and ill be anxious all night. Which isn't all bad, I do love making sure hes all right. I'd just rather pick him up and do it in my own home.

My phone chimes again.

"Cmon Char, we miss you."

I huff out a sigh, I miss them too.

"Okay you've

convinced me, what time?"

Chris's POV

I have 0 clue where I am. My eyes focus on the object in front of me. Furry.. gray, it squeaks. My face scrunches as I sit up, disgusted. UGH that's like the biggest rat I've ever seen in my life. I find my footing, the pounding pain in my head worsening. Where's Charlotte with a glass of water and medicine when I need her. Charlotte. Where is Charlotte? At home I assume. I feel my pants for my phone, it's not there. I panic for a second before I see it on the ground a few feet away.

It takes about 30 seconds for my eyes to focus on my phone and 30 more seconds for my thumbs to move across the screen. I'm definitely high.. when did I get high? I blink a bunch and as I'm about to call Char my phone chimes. It's my old friend Eve from highschool.

Eve

Chris come to my party tonight.

Char will be there.

Alr

Read 12:30

Oh god Charlotte, she's all I need right now.

She'll know what to do, I think as I stumble back to my car.

I call her as soon as I'm sat in the driver's seat.

"Hello?"

"You home?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I'm coming over, I need some help ma."

And with that I hang up and almost speed to her house.

Before i get there, I pick up a bottle of rum and scotch, my favorites. Along with a huge can of pepsi. Why not start the party a little early?

I'm smart enough not to drink while driving, but as soon as I get into Charlotte's house I'm mixing my drink and chugging it to dull the pain in my head. She tiptoes out to me, looking as gorgeous as ever, but I'd never say that out loud.

I kiss her lazily on the temple. "Hey ma" "what do you need help with?" She immediately asks. Straight to the point, classic Char. "I jus' don't feel great and I need to be okay for that party tonight" I cringe at how needy I sound but Charlotte's eyes brighten immediately. "What kind of help?" She asks gently.

The alcohol must take affect very fast because before I know it my lips make contact with hers as my hand grabs the back of her head. I tilt it back to get a better angle as my other arm snakes around her waist, and then on her ass, and the back of her thighs. We smash against the fridge and she yelps on impact.

I pull back, nod toward the bedroom, my chest heaving. She looks a mess but it's so so hot. I take her hand and lead her there, where I spend the next 30 minutes inside her. She takes me from behind like she always does, I'm not an intimacy guy. And once I'm done she doesn't try to ask for aftercare or cuddle. She lays there for a short time before cleaning herself up, redressing, and waiting for my next move.

"Um, yk ma, I wish I could stick around but I-" "I know." She cuts me off. Her face neutral. "Alright, I'll see you at that party later then.." she smiles, her eyes tired. I leave quickly and for the 1 thousandth time, cuss myself out for not being different for her.

Authors note :3

Don't start complaining abt how the sex scene had no detail, there will be more. 😈😈