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ladylooch · 8 months ago

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Afterthoughts and Alcohol- Liv X Luca

A/N: Part 1 of Liv & Luca's LONG teased angst....

Word Count:3.5k

Stop here & here before continuing on.

Part 2| Part 3| Part 4

The timezone difference between the West coast and East coast has Livia Meier banging her head against the wall of her bathroom stall. Well, metaphorically.

Luca and the Minnesota Wild have been on a long, road trip. Although Liv doesn’t live with Luca in Minnesota, his road trips still feel like a burden on their relationship. They talk less. He is out with the boys more. Then add in the three hour time difference and they both feel like two ships passing in the night. Liv fights the frustrated tears growing in her eyes as she fixes a smudge of her freshly applied, mauve pink lip stain.

Heading for my nap. Text you when I’m up 😘

Liv sighs as she slowly walks out of the women’s bathroom inside UBS Arena. She looks down at the message, wanting to tell Luca how much she misses him and how distant things feel with them right now. But it is not the time. Not right before a game and when she is out with her friends for a fun night.

Instead, she sends back: ❤️💋😘

Camilla and Harper, her good friends from freshman year and now floor mates, await outside the bathroom for Liv.

“Ready?” Harper asks, sliding her arm through Liv’s. They begin to walk to the left.

“I think we missed warm ups. Will he care?” Camilla wonders. She nervously bites her lip as the girls weave arm in arm through the busy concourse to the Isles family seats.

“No. I don’t think Ryder Hughes noticed we missed warm ups on a rivalry hockey night.” Liv laughs at the mere thought. He has the same focus and intensity as his dad, Jack. His ability to block out the rest of the world has always been admirable to Liv.

Tonight is Girl’s Night Out sponsored by Ryder Hughes. He has been begging Liv to come watch a game to show her some “real East coast hockey” for the past several months. But class and flying to Minnesota and Devils & Rangers games, have taken up most of Liv’s time. She figured it was time to throw Ryder a bone. He has been so helpful and supportive as Liv has begun the process of starting her second book. He is constantly checking in to make sure she has eaten or has enough coffee or has taken a shower in the last three days. Only a year and a half has passed since Liv’s first book was published, but she had forgotten how difficult and stressful it can be to meet her publisher’s demanding deadlines.

Enter Ryder Hughes as Superman.

And Luca, of course. His role is shaped more by distance than Ryder’s, but Liv tries to shelter those details from her boyfriend. She doesn’t want to make Luca feel bad for missing out on “Librarian Livy”- his nickname for her because of the blue light blocking glasses she wears while she writes.

“Where is Luca tonight?” Harper asks as they sit down in their seats. Liv can feel eyes of the WAGS on her- the Devils and Rangers and Wild and now Islanders girl? The puck bunny label practically writes it’s self across Liv’s forehead.

“Um, he is in Seattle.” Liv clears her throat of the awkward phlegm setting in from the stares.

“Ugh, I love Seattle! It’s all moody and dreamy.” Camilla murmurs. “Do you ever visit him on the road?”

“No, the road is sacred.” Liv rolls her eyes. “It is where all the bonding and real focus on hockey happens. You know without the distraction of their loved ones.”

“I wanna be a WAG so bad!” Harper whines. “Livy, how do I get Ryder to notice me?”

“I think you need to be European….” Camilla teases, eyeing Liv from the side.

“Stop.” Liv shakes her head. These two are good friends and always tease Liv about the “hot, hockey men” entranced by her aura.

“Livy, will you sponsor me for Swiss citizenship?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” Liv laughs, bringing her mixed drink to her lips for two quick sips.

“Maybe Lio will marry me.” Harper jokes.

“He is a mess. Stay away from him.” Liv mutters. She likes Harper too much to allow her to enter Lio’s puck bunny trap. Camilla and Harper share a look, shamelessly bonding over their admiration of the oldest Meier child.

The Islanders win the game against the Buffalo Sabres 2-1 in regulation. The girls want the experience of waiting for an NHLer and no amount of whining from Liv can get them to move along. So they wait, and wait, and wait for Ryder to poke his head out from the tunnel. He gives a wave and big grin, then climbs the stairs by twos.

“Great game!” Harper blurts immediately.

“Thanks for the tickets, Ry!” Camilla cheers as he enters the row.

“Hey ladies, thanks for coming.” He goes in for a quick hug with each one of them, ending with a longer one for Liv. “Good hockey, eh?”

“Looked similar to what I have seen.” Liv pokes his side, shrugging like she is unimpressed. He actually played well tonight.

“Better colors though.”

“Mmm, I like green. Brings out my eyes.” She narrows them at him when he rolls his back at her.

“Trust me, you look better in blue.” He points to her plain blue shirt with no representation of his team. “What are you up to after this?” He seems to address the group, but his attention stays on Liv.

“I don’t know that we have decided.” Liv murmurs.

“Well, we have a green light tonight, so a bunch of the guys are heading out. You wanna tag along?”

“Yes!”

“Duh!”

Both girls chime in for Liv. She sighs, tilting her head back towards the arena roof to consider. She really didn’t write enough this week. She should go home and try to get a couple thousand more words done to feel good going into the weekend. Luca is coming into town next week and she wants to spend all her time with him, not worrying about her next check point.

“Livy, your deadline will still be there tomorrow.” Ryder winks, knowing her inner turmoil. He very dramatically juts his bottom lip out at her, then looks up towards the rafters as he bats his eyes. He looks cute and boyish, earning a smirk from her.

“Wow.” Liv snorts. “Fine, but you’re buying my drinks all night. I’m not paying.”

“Beautiful girls never pay with me.” Liv ignores the way Harper and Camilla giggle as they head down the stairs to leave in Ryder’s swanky, black Porsche.

- - -

Inside the VIP area of some bumping club Liv has never heard of, she lays her head back on the booth and belts out the lyrics to Party in the U.S.A. Ryder is next to her, nursing his second whiskey neat as the rest of his teammates scatter through the upper area of the club. Camilla and Harper are long gone, mingling with the single members of the Islanders while Liv was sitting by herself. Ryder just came and plopped himself down after doing a lap around the level.

“Are you glad you came?” Ryder smirks as the song finishes.

“Mhm. Thanks.” Liv says genuinely.

“I knew you would feel better if you came out. You’ve been working hard. You deserve to have fun too.”

“I do have fun.”

“Yeah, but I mean have fun here, in New York, not only when you’re jet setting off to Minnesota. You live in one of the best cities in the world and you never do anything the city has to offer.”

“Life for me here is temporary.” Liv shrugs. It is. Once she is done with school, she is going to Minnesota. She wants to build a life with Luca.

“You’re gonna throw away a whole life here for someone else’s dream?” Ryder asks. “Kinda shitty of him to ask.”

“He didn’t ask.” Liv shrugs her shoulder slightly, feeling defensive.

“But he also didn’t tell you to stay in the best city in the world for your career.” Liv pauses.

No, Luca didn’t tell her that.

“Maybe Mr. Perfect isn’t so perfect.” Ryder suggests.

“If I wanted to stay, he would support that.”

“Come on, Livy. You think he loves being hundreds of miles away from you for most of the year?”

“What is he supposed to do, Ry? He can’t control where he plays. You know that.”

“Sure, but I hope you know you deserve more than to only be someone’s girlfriend in some shitty, fly over state. I can’t imagine that’s what your parents want for you either.”

“That’s harsh.”

“Maybe, but at least someone here wants what is best for you.”

“So does he.” Liv finishes with a whisper. They both look away from each other, taking drinks to cool off some of the tension. Liv avoids the pull of Ryder’s gaze a few minutes later, wondering if she should head back to her apartment instead of continuing the night.

“Hey.” Ryder murmurs softly. He reaches out for her hand, giving it a squeeze. He watches his thumb brush over her fingers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so upset.” He forces a smile. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

But are you happy? An internal voice asks Liv. Are you happy with how many more months of long distance? Or the fact that you and Luca have only talked once on this five day road trip? Or how short the conversation was and the way he goes hours without responding to a text? Will this be how it is in Minnesota? Is Ryder right? Will you only be Luca’s girlfriend, a WAG, and not a published author with a bachelor’s degree and working towards a master’s?

Liv swallows down her nerves, squeezing Ryder’s hand back while pulling in a steady breath.

“It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m fine. Great even.” She finishes, groping for her glass on the table and slamming the rest in one huge swallow.

But the rest of the night, Liv is swimming in and out of reality. She has a hard time being present with the group. The amount of alcohol she consumes doesn’t help. She gets upset when realizing Luca never texted her before he headed to the arena. She was in the bathroom, scrolling through Instagram when she saw his arrival picture posted on the Wild socials. His phone is right there in his hand, but she has no new messages from him.

How is this so easy for him? How is she sitting here spinning her wheels, waiting for any sliver of attention, and he is walking into that arena without a care in the world? Before she thinks better of it, she sends a text to him.

Going to bed. Sweet dreams.

Then she fills her Instagram story up with all the pictures she can take of every Islander and her. She takes shots with their star center, captain, and goalie. Her and Ryder snap tongue out, ultra posed pics. She shoves at Ryder’s face as he tries to hand her another shot. Camilla and Harper join in on the pictures too- sexy, pouty faces as Liv sheds her jacket and runs around the hot VIP area in her black tank top.

Liv is catching her breath off the dance floor with a fresh tequila soda when her phone buzzes on the bar top.

Your bed looks different these days. Have fun, baby! Call me when you get home?

He is as sweet as ever, which is so annoying to Liv.

She sees Ryder on the dance floor with Harper, who is falling all over herself at his attention. Liv scoffs. Pathetic. Harper throws her arms around his shoulders. His hands go to her hips, holding her up and in place as her upper body sways. Everything feels like it is getting sloppy. Harper pulls herself into his chest, cuddling up into his arms. He lets her, but his eyes wander up to where Liv is. He raises his eyebrows at her. Liv shrugs in response. Ryder leans down to Harper’s ear, saying something that has her nodding.

Liv scans the crowd as they wade through to get off the dance floor and to the stairs leading to VIP. Every woman turns their head to look at Ryder as he passes. If he notices, he doesn’t let on. Liv shakes her head in awe of it. She can feel their hot gazes judging her when he stops next to her. He throws his hands on the railing she is leaning on, smiling in greeting at her.

“Another night where you have your pick of the place.” Liv cocks a brow at him. A piece of hair falls across his forehead and instinctively, Liv reaches up to brush it away. Ryder goes still with her skin on his. He closes his eyes for a moment, then slowly turns fully towards her, setting his blue eyes on her face.

“They aren’t the girl that I want.” Liv holds his gaze for three breaths, then looks away, taking a gulp of her drink. She ignores his words, unable to comprehend fully if that was insinuation or not. She can feel the way her body responds to the alcohol. She is a little unsteady on her feet, feeling her inhibitions fall away, and the anxiety dissipate until she feels completely comfortable in her skin.

The feeling doesn’t last as Camilla and Harper get downright sideways. Camilla is in tears crying over her ex-boyfriend with a rookie who looks like he wants to run through the brick wall to get away from her. Harper is falling asleep on the bench and the bouncer is throwing his thumb over his shoulder that she has to go. Ryder helps Liv get them back into his car.

“Are you okay to drive?” Liv wonders before getting in.

“Yes. I’m sober. Saw you three getting wild and stopped drinking so you would be safe.” The consideration touches Liv. She is contemplative as she gets into the passenger seat. Her seatbelt clicks into place then Ryder pulls out into traffic. As the car shifts, Liv feels something shifting inside of her too. A softness is growing where she felt jealous and out of control earlier.

Camilla rushes out of Ryder’s car as soon as he puts it into park. She tosses a wave over her shoulder leaving a passed out Harper to Ryder and Liv. They each take an arm, working together to get her into her apartment. Once inside Liv helps get Harper into bed as Ryder waits in the living room.

“Livy, do you think Ryder fell in love with me tonight? Is that why he is here helping?”

“I think he cares about you, Harp, but maybe try again when you’re sober.” Liv says to her friend. Liv ignores the twisting in her stomach at the thought of Ryder interested in someone. What audacity her tummy has to be churning right now.

Liv’s boots clack down the hall as she finds Ryder by the couch. He is looking at a picture of the three girls on one of their first weekends at Columbia. He seems out of place with his big shoulders, dark hair, and masculine presence in the overly feminine living room.

“That feels like a lifetime ago.” Liv murmurs, stopping next to him. Their shoulders brush.

“You have lived a lot since then.”

“Yeah.” Liv smiles. “Can’t believe I’m graduating in a few months. It flew by.”

“The best years do, especially when you find a safe place to spread your wings.”

“I know it’s going to be hard for you when I leave.” Liv murmurs, sensing the sad undertone to his words. They haven’t spoken about this before, but the implication has been there.

“Yeah, it will be. I’m losing my best friend.” To comfort him, Liv laces their fingers together, tugging him towards the door to leave Harper’s behind.

“Come on, knight in shining armor. No need to get sad and sappy tonight. We have months left together.”

“True. Plus, I’ve got one more drunk girl to tuck into bed.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Sure, but you aren’t sober.” Liv doesn’t argue about that. Ryder makes sure the door is locked to Harper’s apartment, then puts a guiding hand on Liv’s back to walk her the two doors down to her place.

Antsy anticipation intensifies in Liv as she pulls her keys out. Her other hand is still laced in Ryder’s comfortably. His thumb brushes along her fingers and she feels butterflies sweep the walls of her stomach.

“Liv. I’m serious. I know you’re trying to change the subject and move on, but I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. You have this effect on me. I am better when you’re around. I’m scared of who I will be without you.”

Warmth and appreciation spreads out from Liv’s chest to her extremities. That feels so good to hear. She has spent so much of the day feeling like an after thought, a throw away item when other things are more pressing. Right or wrong, Ryder fills her cup right back up. She smiles softly at him.

“See? What am I going to do without that smile.” He reaches out for her face, then drops his hand, remembering what they are to each other. Remembering who she has waiting for her in San Jose or whatever West coast city Liv said he was in.

“We will still see each other.”

“Like this?” His voice gets huskier.

“What do you mean?”

“Just me and you. Like this. Like…” He trails off, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He gets bold, cupping her cheek with his hand. Liv closes her eyes and leans into his touch. “I’m trying so hard not to kiss you right now.” Her blue eyes open again at his confession.

Liv should say goodnight. Right now. Danger signs bolt upright in her mind. Red flags whip in hurricane force winds. Alarms bang through her head like cartoon cymbals clamoring together. And yet, her eyes drift, down the bridge of his nose, over his slightly red cheeks, to the full, red flesh of his lips. Her top teeth tug her bottom lip into her mouth, then she runs her gaze back up those features to his eyes again.

“Livy…” He whispers her name like a secret.

Her eyes gravitate to Ryder’s lips again, wondering what it would feel like, for one moment, to kiss someone else. But not just anybody, him. Ryder. Loneliness whispers like a siren to feel warm skin against her mouth again. To be held for a moment, desired, not put on a shelf to be taken down when hockey or school isn’t demanding attention.

Ryder leans in, keeping his eyes open, locked on Liv. Her heartbeat blasts through her ears like a freight train as he stops at 80%. All that is left between them is a slim slice of stale apartment air. His warm breath collides with hers right in front of their noses. She tilts her chin up more, perfectly evening up their mouthes.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz

Liv’s phone vibrates in the back pocket of her tight jeans. Her and Ryder stare at each other. Without even checking, they both somehow know it’s Luca. She never told him she was home. Now he likely worries, three thousand miles away.

“I should go.” He sighs dismally. Liv can taste his words in her mouth, feeling the flutter of the air of them on her lips. Then he turns and walks away.

Liv doesn’t answer Luca’s call. She couldn’t speak if she wanted to anyway.

Guilt crawls through her veins, icing her chest and making her unsteady on her feet. Ryder disappears into the elevator. Her back hits her door as she clutches her keys to her chest.

Why did that almost happen?

And what is that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that mirrors disappointment?

Read more Liv and Luca here.

#liv x luca

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careless-with-your-heart · 11 months ago

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Seeing Red 🍸😡🧟💋

This fits perfectly for @ockissweek! So excited! Enjoy this one-shot for #ockiss24.

Seeing Red: A Blaine DeBeers x OC KissFic One-Shot

You can’t kiss her.

The thought practically eats Blaine alive—an oxymoron if he’s ever heard one.

It’s only been a week since Catherine blew in with the rain, and already she’s making herself useful. Not just in his fantasies, though there is that, but in cold, hard earnings. And for that—and all the other, carnal reasons that keep him up at night—Blaine wants to kiss Catherine-No-Middle-Name-Cohen full on her plush, tempting mouth.

“Why do you look so self-satisfied?”

Don E’s voice cuts through Blaine’s locked-eyes daydreaming, and over the glow of his laptop screen, Blaine raises a brow at his second-in-command as Don E glides into the back office of The Post, leaving the door yawning wide open behind him.

“I always look self-satisfied. I am a man intent on nothing else but satisfying himself.” To prove the point, Blaine lifts the half-full martini glass that rests on his desk and salutes the small, bald man standing in front of him before slugging down the remainder of the drink.

“Yeah, sure. But, like, right now, you just had this look on your face. Like, what’s the expression? The cat that ate the canary?”

“You got it switched, brother. The canary is the cat—Kitty, that is.”

Don E. smirks as he slides into the chair in front of Blaine’s desk. “You son of a bitch! You nailed her. Noice. Fast work. She seems a little damaged, but in that way you like. I dig it.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “Should I arrange for some flowers? A nice bottle of vino for the lady? A link to my YouTube channel?”

Blaine blanches. “Don’t be crass. I didn’t nail her. And no one watches your YouTube channel.”

It’s Don. E’s turn to protest. “Hey! I’ll have you know that my Redecorating Your Living Room When You’re No Longer Living series was very popular. Dozens of views. And if the Lady Catherine is now on Team Z, she might need some basic how-to on how to do the undead thing.”

“Mmm-hmm. Congrats on the views, champ, but she’s still human. Now, let’s get back to the subject at hand—our little stray cat has, in the past week, bumped nightly bar receipts up by thirty percent. And she breezed in here this morning with a full-on spreadsheet breaking down our liquor cost, in order of highest to lowest margins, and she’s gone to meet in person with two distributors who might cut those costs if we switch suppliers.”

Don E’s eyes widen. “Damn. Sorry bro. I mistook your money boner for a lady-inspired one. That’s some valid dreamy-eyed shit. She’s way nice, too. Did you know that Darcy loves her? Those two and Liv and Peyton, there’s a whole Clueless thing going on that is very, very heartwarming.”

“Why are you in my office, exactly?” Blaine says, closing down his laptop.

“Oh! Yes. Two items of business. One, remember that you asked Darcy to come in today to look over the delivery system and see if she can take the whole ordering process online.”

Blaine has forgotten—but now he recalls, and he nods agreeably. “That’s great. Crypto, right? Less physical cash changing hands means less chance of an extra hand in the honeypot.”

Don E rocks his chair back up on two legs, bracing his interlaced fingers behind his head. “Yeah, that’s the business part deux. We have a little prrrrrroblemo down in distribution that I wanted to talk to you about.” He grimaces slightly. “Caught one of the new delivery guys sampling the goods.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

What a way to kill the high of the morning’s financial gain.

“Nope. Hank.”

Blaine presses his lips together. “You vouched for him, Don.”

The younger man winces. “I know, bro. I was trying to help him out. He used to be my barista before, you know”—Don E’s tongue lolls out and he raises his arms in a caricature of Night of the Living Dead. Off of Blaine’s flat look, he drops his hands to his lap. “I came to you as soon as I knew. I’ll take care of it. I just didn’t want my partner out of the loop.”

“And now you want to bring Darcy in to automate the ordering? When your boy is stealing from me?” There’s no way for him to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“She’s my wife, Blaine.”

His mood souring, Blaine shrugs. “I’m not catching your point.”

“I love her. She loves me. You don’t profess your love and then ask someone to share the rest of your life unless there’s trust, right?”

“The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose,” Blaine quotes flatly.

Don E’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, yeah. This from the guy who claims he doesn’t have it bad for the new livestock in town.”

Before Blaine can protest again, Don E puts up a hand to stop his reply. “You can say it’s money all you want, but I see the way you look at her, and all the other signs. If you’re not careful, you’ll fall, too. The indestructible Blaine DeBeers.”

The word isn’t quite right. Blaine knows a few other descriptors that are apt. Ones that were drilled into him young, and often.

Unlovable

Inadequate

Worthless

Blaine lifts his chin, smirking past the intrusive thoughts. “Other signs?”

“You’re dressing her up like your personal doll, Blaine. You’ve never done that with any of the back-room girls. And, last night, your pocket square matched her dress. “

Blaine remains silent, thoughtful.

Don E presses on. “You’ve given her every night shift this week—and, I might add, you’ve come in an hour early yourself every one of those nights. To throw some wisdom from your man Willie Shakes back at you, lovers ever run before the clock, bro."

Blaine rolls his eyes at Don E. "Don't save the date, my friend."

"See? Interested but cynical. Yearning for love but settling for cheap interludes. Face it, you have commitment issues."

"I suppose you have a YouTube video for that?"

"Your sarcasm is a defense mechanism. Look at the facts. My dude, you barely let your shoes get walked in before you toss them."

"It's been my experience that a quality woman hates scuffed soles," Blaine shoots back, toying with the edge of the empty martini glass on his desk.

"Soles or souls? Fifty-fifty chance you fail there, boss."

Blaine laughs and puts a hand over his chest, bending double in his chair as he pretends to clutch his heart. “Damn! Ouch.” Then, sitting up, still grinning, Blaine says, “I admit that our newest house human is aesthetically pleasing. And she knows how to make money. But if you think a little ‘ol steak dinner on a pair of nice stems is going to tempt me into forever, brother, you don’t know me at all.”

“I do. And you know me. And I love Darcy. So trust her because you trust me.”

Blaine nods. “Fair enough.” But he’s still more than a little annoyed. Not just by Don E’s too-keen observations about how he was beginning to feel about Kitty, but by the stress fractures he saw forming in his usually well-run businesses. The bartender that had just been caught pouring heavy for his friends last week. The delivery guy skimming brains. What did a dishonest businessman have to do to get good help in this town?

A sudden knock on the doorframe of the office yanks the attention of both men to the entryway.

Kitty stands there—and Blaine’s breath catches.

Don E swivels back around to face him, eyes wide. How long has she been standing there? he mouths.

Blaine ignores the question, but the possibility that she’d just heard their conversation makes his stomach twist. Instead of panicking outwardly, he opts for what gets him out of most situations—cocky, surface bravado, even if he’s a nervous wreck on the inside.

“Meals on Heels! Just the gal I was singing the praises of. How’d it go with the distributors?”

She shoots him an unreadable look as she makes her—brisk—way to his desk. “Really well. Two proposals, both great offers. Twenty or twenty-five percent off of current rates for your regular rotation stock. Higher discount wants a four-year contract, though.”

Don E seems to relax some.

Blaine smiles broadly. “Wow. Not bad, dollface. Not bad at all.”

“Not bad for cattle, isn’t that what you mean?” There’s a clipboard in her hand, and she slams it down on top of his closed laptop. “It’s your choice on which new supplier to go with—but maybe avoid the four-year contract if you’re commitment-shy.”

Both men gape at her.

"Anyway, guess this shows I'm good for more than a source of protein. I'll be out in the bar, trying to figure out what the hell you two are good for."

Then, she spins and marches out of his office.

Fuck.

Blaine rises from his office chair, shaking his head as he starts to follow her out onto the main bar floor. “Kitty, hold up. I didn’t mean…”

The office door slams in his face.

As Blaine goes stock-still in stunned silence, Don’s chair scrapes back as he stands. “Don’t chase her, dude. Let her go.”

Blaine rounds on him, snarling. “Shut up, Don E! I don’t need any more of your sage advice.”

But the other man is probably right. It won’t do anything except make things worse if he chases Kitty down while she’s angry. So Blaine steps back. It takes every ounce of willpower he’s able to scrape together, and probably some borrowed from whatever saint he last dined on to boot, but he does it. He leaves the door closed and paces back to his desk instead of storming out to ask her to forgive him—and to ask her who the fuck she thinks she is, slamming his own office door in his face.

“So, I’m going to retire Hank now, if that’s cool…” Don E says, shuffling in place. “Darcy should be here any minute.”

Maybe it’s his simmering annoyance at the employee messes, or the sudden, queasy unease he feels over Kitty overhearing what he’d said to his second-in-command. But whatever the cause, Blaine’s temples begin to throb, and anger suddenly swells in his chest. He’d been happy five minutes ago, head full of rainbows and unicorns and cotton-candy thoughts about the woman who’d just bitten his head off. She shouldn’t be so fucking sensitive. In fact, she should be grateful to him. He’d given her a job with very few questions asked.

Outside in the main bar, Blaine hears the sound of a door slamming. Then, muffled curses. She’s out there throwing a fit—and it makes his anger spike higher. It makes the part of him that is always simmering, spoiling for a fight, begin to boil. He pushes off of his desk, feeling the familiar red haze as the pressure of it begins to make his eyes burn.

“Dude?” Don E’s words after are a muffled mess of noise—nothing that will stop Blaine as he lets the anger rise, relishes it, embraces it as it climbs hotly through the stark, popped veins of his neck and into his head, taking over.

He is the boss here. Kitty works for him. And he’s going to show her just how much trouble her bratty little attitude has gotten her into.

Blaine doesn’t have to take his clash out to the bar. As soon as he flings open the door to his office, she’s there—so close, in fact, that he doesn’t even see her before they collide. But he hears her small, startled cry of surprise, and her softness registers against the lean, hard planes of him, and his raged-out brain indexes through a dozen reasons she’s coming back; and it settles hotly, and nearly instantly, on one reason in particular.

She’s come to insult him some more.

Unlovable

Inadequate

Worthless

And that isn’t fair, or accurate, or even related enough to be applied, but the anger doesn’t care. It siphons all the fuel it needs from the dark corners of his heart and grows, and grows…

I’ll show you exactly what I’m good for…

Blaine’s pissed enough that he rolls with the knee-jerk, Cro-Magnon urge that seizes him, gives in to the impulse, and throws out all care for the notion of what is prudent or professional or even safe—and he takes what he wants. What he’s wanted since that stormy Friday night when the city had delivered this lithe, magnetic mystery woman to his doorstep.

Kitty tries to pull back, but he reacts so quickly that she doesn’t stand a chance. He grips both of her upper arms, hauls her up, and through the blinding crest of the red haze, feeling as though his head might burst if he doesn’t, Blaine kisses her. He puts into the kiss all of the frustration he feels that has nothing at all to do with Kitty, and all of the lust that absolutely does. Just as he ducks toward her, he closes his eyes, peripherally afraid he’ll startle her with the blood-red in them.

Soft. You’re going soft, McDonough.

And that thought fans the flames of his fury higher, ensuring that the kiss is not soft. His lashes sweep her cheeks as his mouth attacks hers, and he lifts one hand from her arm to stab his fingers through her hair and fist the heavy, silky tresses to hold her still for his onslaught.

She stiffens at first. Blaine can only guess it’s in shock, but he hopes there’s a little anger of her own in the reflex. Something about his driving rage craves an answering anger in her. Maybe he wants Kitty mad to make it feel a little less like he’s the villain here. Predator, prey, hell, he isn’t sure which of them is which, anyway. Once he drops his other hand to haul her against him at the waist, she goes pliant against him, and Blaine wastes no time parting her teeth with his tongue, licking into her, withdrawing to bite and suck at her lower lip before pressing back in to steal the surprised gasp that escapes her when the last nip draws the barest taste of copper.

The blood excites him. It’s primal and elemental, and he doesn’t care if she bites him back. In fact, he’d go just about crazy if she did. He wants her to, wants to feel the sting of her canines in his lower lip, at the hollow of his neck, sinking into the meat of his shoulder through his shirt as he’s tearing off her panties. He wants a hundred little half-moon bruises left scattered over his body, despite the fact that he knows they will heal too quickly to be morning-after souvenirs.

She’s kissing him back now, pulling him urgently to her by the collar. It’s satisfying to feel that desperation, to know that he can make her so needy so fast. He feels a button on his shirt give way, feels her fingers slip over his throat, and he swallows an endless stream of her breathy moans as he turns the two of them and presses her to the doorframe, jamming a knee between her legs and leaving her lips to rake his front teeth down her neck. If the skin breaks, he’ll take it as sign from the universe that he’s meant to keep this enigma. And fuck Don E’s little H.P. Lovecrafting videos, Blaine will teach her everything she needs to know to become the undead queen of his dreams, and they can rule the gloomy, overprivileged burgs of Seattle together.

Forever, he thinks. A bride for Frankenstein’s monster.

It’s too close to sentiment for Blaine, too close to Don E’s cupid’s-arrow insights, and so Blaine simply pushes aside everything but the taste and scent and feel of Kitty against him. Every breath he draws is a tempest, his chest rising and falling with the fury of a Nor’easter. The veins on his neck stand out, dark and pronounced, as if they are bracing against the surge of anger pulsing through him. The hand he holds her close with trembles with barely contained rage, and in her hair, his fingers are still curled into a fist so tight that the knuckles whiten, nails dug into the palm, the pain a mere whisper against the roar of his baser emotions.

She’s practically climbing him, riding his thigh, a leg wrapping around his hip, the other en pointe like a ballerina to even out their heights, and he slams her back against the doorjamb with little regard for gentleness. This kiss edges on erupting into violence at any moment. It’s the rage, he knows, full-on zombie mode, but all he can think of is how he wants her begging underneath him—for pardon or pleasure, it makes no difference to him. He just wants her to submit. He just wants to conquer her.

Blaine clenches his fist against her scalp again, too tightly, and she whimpers into his open mouth.

“Blaine.”

The kiss has gone on for an eternity, or maybe it’s only been a handful of seconds. Blaine falters when the red haze begins to recede, when he registers that the pliant, pronounced curve at her waist is lower than he expects, and when he realizes that he has forced Kitty to a tiptoe with his hold in her hair.

Tiptoe?

And then, the voice saying his name…is not the husky, velvet timbre that he was listening for. Raspy, yes, the lilt of a woman well-kissed, but higher in octave. And Kitty wouldn’t need to stand on tiptoe to make their heights align. She’s only about an inch or two shorter than he is.

Blaine’s eyes fly open as he pulls away.

Staring up at him, eyes wide and pupils blown, lips bite-swollen and red, cheeks so flushed that her pale skin seems almost sunburned, is Darcy.

“Oops,” Blaine says dumbly, chest still heaving. “Wrong brat.”

“Dude. What the fuck.”

Blaine’s head swings toward Don. E, who stands facing them, frozen. His face oscillates between shock and disbelief.

Mortification swamps him, the last of the rage receding. Blaine eases the petite woman down from his thigh until her feet hit the floor, and then he lets go of the handful of Darcy’s hair that he’s still clutching, smoothing it with a few awkward pats as she sways on her feet and smiles dazedly. He takes a slow step back.

“I, uh—”

The frozen silence is broken by Kitty’s astonished voice from the bar.

“What the hell is going on?”

Blaine’s head whips to the right, where he sees her at the closest end of the bar, her eyes twice as wide as Don’s, a bottle held aloft.

Fuck. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit.

Blaine clears his throat, straightens his suit jacket, and waves a dismissive hand at her. He tries his damnedest to put a firmness in his voice that he absolutely doesn’t feel. “Nothing to see here. Just, uh, new employee appreciation.” He turns back to Darcy, who has sagged back against the door, still looking as though she’s been hit by some unexpected natural disaster. He picks up her hand and pumps it overzealously. “Welcome to the team.”

Darcy swoons. Don E is there to catch her, and as he carries his wife to a nearby table in the bar area, Blaine takes the chance to slip backward into his office, close the door, and lock it.

As Blaine sinks down into his desk chair, a last quote comes to him—appropriate to his current faux pas. He says it to the empty room, a mirthless chuckle rolling up as he buries his head in his hands.

“Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot that it do singe yourself.”

Blaine wonders how he’s ever going to show his face in his own bar again.

Find me at AO3 for more Blaine x Kitty fun in the motherfic of this one-shot (Lay You in the Ground) Here. Thank you for reading! <3

#ockiss24 #oc kiss week #blaine debeers x oc #oc otp: what the hell are you doing to me #oc otp: fight fight - kiss kiss - gtfo - now let's have kids #just that kind of vibe #fanfic #izombie #blaine debeers #catherine cohen (OC)#hey baby come here to work out your childhood trauma often?

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