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disgruntledspacedad · 4 years ago

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The Rules of Engagement (2/5)

part of the The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do.

words: 5.9k

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence. we are starting to earn that m rating now, folks

a/n: at the end. unbeta’d, as always.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

You wake the next morning feeling better than you have any right to feel, given the guaro you’d drank last night. You tiptoe into the living area to check on Javi. He’s slumped over, one arm thrown over his head, the other crushed under the throw pillow, blanket crumpled on the floor below him. He’s snoring softly.

You grimace, just knowing that it’s going to be a rough morning for him.

You start with coffee, naturally. While the water is heating, you rummage through the kitchen, not making any particular effort to be silent - Javi has to wake up eventually - but still trying to keep from banging around too much.

“Fuck,” you hiss, staring indignantly into the fridge. You’d cooked all the eggs last night, and there’s nothing left for breakfast.

“Whhhaa?” Javi sits up slowly. All you can see is a dark bird’s nest peeking over the sofa. Given last night’s realization and your fascination with his hair, you decide that’s probably a good thing.

“No groceries in,” you admit apologetically. He’ll have to make do with coffee.

“Ugh,” you hear him groan from the living room. He must have slumped forward or something, because you can’t see him anymore. “Ears.” His voice is pathetic.

You pour the coffee into two mugs, automatically adding creamer to yours, sugar to his. It occurs to you that making Javier Peña’s morning cup of coffee should not come so naturally to you.

You roll you eyes at the thought. All the more reason for this to stop.

He’s doubled over on his knees, head in hands, fingers carding through his wild hair. You bite your lip.

He does look pitiful, and admittedly, you are partially to blame. You set his coffee down in front of him, along with a couple of aspirin tablets. “Here,” you do your best to keep your voice soft. “This’ll help a little.”

He glares darkly at you, looking like an indignant little boy, and reaches for the coffee. Gulps. Grimaces as he burns his tongue. Slams the cup down. Sighs. Picks up the pills. Tosses those back, too. Closes his eyes. Falls back onto the sofa as easily as he’s able with his aching head.

Okay, then. Javier Peña is not a morning person. You’d known that already - it’s endearing, but old news. Javier Peña with a hangover, though, is an absolute drama queen. This, you file away as new information.

You reach for his coffee cup and refill it.

He side-eyes you as you approach him with his second mug. “You,” he says accusatorially, pointing a crooked finger in your direction and leering in a way that’s both disturbing and appealing. “You promised me magic eggs.”

“You’re not wrong,” You tell him, settling down with your own coffee cup. “But I did say to hold off on that last shot, too, didn’t I?”

He growls, eyes world-weary and bloodshot, and reaches for his mug. “Point,” he admits reluctantly. “Ugh.”

“If you’re going to puke, please try to make it to a trashcan first, preferably the one in bathroom,” you tell him as you start rummaging around the cabinets for anything that could be remotely edible. “The tiles there are easier to clean.”

“Christ,” he whines. “I’m not that fucked.” He stands, then wobbles, bracing himself on the back of the sofa and breathing heavily, looking a little green.

“Right,” you say dryly, turning back to your cabinets. Cereal, but your milk has probably gone off by now. There’s a pack of lentils in the back of pantry that you’d bought god-knows-when, but those take far too long to be cooked for breakfast, and besides, who even likes lentils anyway?

You jump as Javi presses his chest against your back, looking over your shoulder to inspect your depressingly empty cabinets. “Looks like we’re shit out of luck,” he grumbles as you try not to react to the fact that you can feel the rumble of his voice as he speaks. “What kind of woman are you, anyway?” he wonders aloud as he reaches around you to rifle through your disappointing pantry.

You whirl, jabbing him with an elbow. “The kind who doesn’t cook you breakfast!”

He smirks at you, moving closer, and oh, that caffeine must be working, because he’s grinning now. “Oh really?” he asks, damn near pinning you to the cabinet doors. “Because that’s not what I remember from last night.”

You roll your eyes, side-stepping him before he starts grinding into your hips. You couldn’t avoid reacting to that.

“What you remember was a rescue mission, Peña, not domestic bliss. If I hadn’t made you those eggs, you wouldn’t be capable of standing here teasing me this morning, and that’s a promise.”

His smirk softens into a genuine smile. “Well then, I owe you one, I guess.” He glances at his watch, then back at you. “Let me take you for breakfast? There’s a little cafe down the street that’s quick and discreet.”

You turn to frown at him, bag of lentils rattling as it drops to the floor.

He stares right back at you, naked save for his boxers and socks. His hair is a mess, his face a little swollen from last night, eyes just a tiny bit glossy, but his expression is dead serious. He holds a hand out to you, as if he’d like to escort you down the stairs right now.

You can’t help it. You laugh.

He rolls his eyes, downing the rest of his coffee in one go and setting the cup on the counter as he approaches you. “Ears,” he says softly, and something in you fucking trembles at that voice, all cracked and hoarse in the early morning. “I owe you breakfast.” He reaches for your hands, gathers them to his chest. “Let me.”

You tilt your face up, as if you expect him to drop a kiss on your forehead, then jump back as if burned. His erection is digging into your thigh, needy and insistent, and it takes everything in your power to step away instead of grinding into him.

You take a deep, shaking breath, feeling yourself flood with need for him. He’s looking at you, far more observant that he ought to be capable of, as hungover as he is, and it spikes something resentful in you.

“Yeah?” you say, keeping your voice light and teasing. “You gonna do something about that, first?”

He doesn’t even pretend to be confused, just reaches down to blatantly adjust himself. “If you aren’t, I guess,” he says evenly, one brow cocked in question.

Goddamn it.

You lick your lips, an unconscious move that makes his cock twitch.

You swallow back a smile, suddenly relieved. Even if it doesn’t feel like it, you still have the power here. “Nah,” you grin up at him, teasing, swiping your tongue behind your teeth in a way that you know drives him crazy. “It’s hardly been a week, remember? I’m not that desperate yet.”

His gaze narrows as he sizes you up. A hand deliberately slips beneath the hem of his boxers. “You sure, babe?”

“I’m sure you’re more than capable of handling that,” you tell him sweetly.

The expression that answers you is predatory. “I’ll just borrow your shower, then.” He winks at you. “Be ready in ten.”

♠

You’re ready in five.

He takes an absurdly long time. You halfway consider banging on the bathroom door to remind him not to run out your hot water, but decide not to give him the satisfaction. Just as you’re starting to get truly annoyed, the water shuts off. He opens the door moments later, all wet and dripping, towel hanging low over his hips.

Asshole.

He makes no issue of changing in front of you, but hell, you aren’t going to leave, either - you need access to your own bathroom, for godssake - and you do your best not to look at his glistening skin as he slips into yesterday’s clothes. You tell yourself that it’s no big deal, we all have bodies, and his is nothing you’ve never seen, anyway.

You can’t help but notice, though, when he bends over, fully dressed, and snatches a pair of your panties from the floor.

You eyeball him from where you’re perched on the counter with your feet in the sink. Javi meets your gaze in the mirror and holds aloft the panties, draping them suggestively over his chest, and then, before you can even scowl at him, he’s winking at you, balling them up and stuffing them into the back pocket of his jeans.

The fuck??

You decide not to say anything. They’re just cotton undies, some of your favorites, sure, but comfy, not sexy. Complaining will definitely give him points. Instead, you roll your eyes hard enough to dislodge your contacts, forcing yourself to sulk open-mouthed in the mirror as you blink to settle them back into place.

By the time you’ve done that, he’s standing beside you, brushing his teeth as if nothing is amiss.

You glance down. Even with a second day of wear, those jeans are tight enough that you can clearly see the outline of your panties in his back pocket.

Motherfucker.

“Ready, Ears?” he asks as you finish tying back your braid. Cool as fucking anything. You can’t even tell he’s hungover, the absolute cuntstain.

“Sure.” You hop down from the sink, allowing him to catch you, even though it’s totally unnecessary. For just a second, your body is pressed against his, heat and damp of the shower emanating from his skin, his belt digging into your belly.

He grins down at you, bright-eyed and thoroughly obnoxious, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “So this place has the best waffles…”

♠

You make it to the office just after 0830. Not late enough to truly raise eyebrows, but your face still flames as you slip into your headset. Nobody bats an eye except for Torres, who glances up suspiciously. You shake your head at him, and he ducks back down, attending his station as if he’d never noticed you walk in.

Work keeps you busy. The Search Bloc boys are swarming, prepping this and that for their afternoon excursion to Medellín. Centra Spike is flying two teams over the targeted neighborhood, doing their best to patch in for any last minute intel, and the whole day devolves into chaos.

You’ve forgotten all about Javi until you happen to pass him in the hallway on your lunch break. He’s in full Agent Peña mode, talking to Murphy with his fists on his hips, flaying his leather jacket out behind him like a pair of demon wings. You can’t help but notice the outline of your panties bunched up at the bottom of his left back pocket.

The contrast of the image, the smooth as silk DEA agent displaying the outline of your fucking underwear on his ass for all to see and wonder about, is enough to set your body on fire.

You make a quick detour to the bathroom, hunching over the sink to look in the mirror. The woman staring back at you has wide eyes and swollen lips. Her cheeks are burning. Her braid is frazzled, and she’s wearing a stunned, dumb expression on her face.

‘Oh, honey,’ you think condescendingly to your reflection, ‘you have no chill.’

It occurs to you, suddenly, that the women’s bathrooms at the CNP Headquarters are frequently cleaned and rarely used. Mirrors surround you on three walls. Anybody could walk in behind you, lifting your skirt and pushing aside your panties as he thrusts into you, and you could watch it all from your position over the sink.

Shame and desire are literally flooding you. Angrily, you enter the nearest stall, dragging your soaked panties down your legs. You bundle them up and swipe at yourself with them, stuffing in the wastebasket with a growl when you're done. 'That’s two pair of undies that man has lost me,' you think viciously, cursing your body for reacting so strongly. Goddamn Javier Peña for taking your underwear to work with him in the first place, the kinky-ass kleptomaniac bastard.

There’s too much going on for you to be preoccupied like this right now.

You exit the bathroom when you fucking finally feel clean again, smoothing your skirt over your ass and checking yourself out once again in the mirror.

This woman still looks a little flushed, but her eyes are glittering now, narrowed in annoyance. You definitely don’t have any panty lines to worry about. You smooth down the flyaways that are attempting to escape your braid and sigh, thinking you can easily pass for just having a busy work day.

It’ll have to do.

♠

Search Bloc is scheduled to board the chopper at 1400 hours.

It’s no big deal. You know with all your heart that your intel is good - you’d triple checked it twice before even handing it to Javi - but something about the hustle and bustle at the embassy has you on edge. You make your way to the landing pad, not even trying to justify a reason for being there.

You just want to see Javi one time before he leaves.

And there he is, standing just afield of the chopper with Murphy and some other member of the Colombian brass whose name you hadn’t bothered to learn. Their heads are pressed together, hair waving in the wind of the chopper blades, shouting, pointing.

Your heart speeds. Javi’s wearing that fucking bulletproof vest, the green one that hardly covers him in any capacity that actually matters. Dread pools in your belly as you take him in - salmon colored shirt sleeves exposing tanned arms, padded armor that extends over his subclavian artery with less breadth than a teenager could get away with wearing in a typical high school classroom. His heart is covered, thankfully, but his neck is vulnerable, as is most of his shoulder. One of your good friends had been a medic in Desert Storm, and you’ve heard enough of his horror stories to know that a gunshot wound to the clavicular area is nearly always lethal. Never mind one to the neck or head.

You take a breath, then another. You’ve done your job. You know without a doubt that the conversation you’d listened to, over and over, had verified Verdugo’s presence in Medellín.

More importantly, you’re confident in Javi’s abilities. He’s sharp, and he’s a survivor. He can protect himself, you’re sure of it.

As if he’d sensed your thoughts, Javi whirls, looking back at you with his hand raised to block the sun. You meet his gaze, waving subtly in acknowledgement.

“Be careful,” you mouth, not certain if you’re close enough for him to read you lips.

Please.

His only response is a sharp nod.

♠

It’s barely been a day, and already it’s burning a hole in you, missing him.

You tell yourself that it could just be libido that’s burning a hole in you, too.

He’s left one of his shirts on your floor, the asshole. It’s the yellow one that reminds you of your neighborhood mailman back home. You pick it up and immediately throw it in the dirty laundry, quick as if it had burned. You don’t want to see him. You don’t want to smell him.

You just want him safe.

You sit on your sofa, staring idly at the lopsided stack of playing cards that he’d left half-shuffled on your coffee table.

♠

Rumor is at Centra Strike that the Search Bloc team has run into some “legal problems.” The situation is pending intervention by the local authorities.

“There’s nothing for you to do, Ears. Go home.”

♠

You bump into Ana on your way up the stairs.

“Hey!” she lights up when she first sees you, but then her face settles into a thoughtful frown. “You look worried.” She moves closer, all gentle concern, resting a hand on your shoulder. Behind her, Emilio is watching, probably picking up on more than he lets on. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you tell her, mustering up a half-hearted smile. “Everything is fine.”

She grimaces like she doesn’t quite believe you, but squeezes your arm and lets you go anyway. “Men are the worst. Come find me, Ears, if you need to talk.”

You nod, biting your lip. “Thanks.”

♠

You’re just getting ready for bed when the front door creaks open, and Javi slips in.

Something in your chest leaps to see him, but your grins fades as you glance up from your book.

Javi looks terrible. His shoulders are slumped, motions jerky and exhausted as he drops wallet, keys, gun, cigarettes, pager, one by one, onto your kitchen counter.

“Hey,” you say softly, setting the book aside and rising to your feet.

“Hey,” he breathes, more of a huff than a word. He shrugs out of his jacket, skirting around the coffee table to settle heavily on the sofa. He leans forward on his elbows, head bowed, staring absently at the worn carpet.

Jesus.

Carefully, as if approaching a wild animal, you move in beside him, not quite close enough to brush his shoulder. You take a moment to reign in your palpable relief at seeing him here, alive and unharmed. How you feel is not important right now.

What’s important is Javi, who’s slumped with his hands clasped over his knees. Dejection leaks from him in tangible waves, and you can’t help but move closer, resting your hand on his shoulder in silent comfort. He trembles subtly at your touch, but doesn’t flinch away.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask after a long moment. It’s the only thing you know to offer.

He inhales sharply at your voice, as if he’d forgotten you were there, then heaves another massive sigh, pressing his palms into his eyes and digging his fingers through his hair.

“There’s a fucking leak in the Medellín force,” he bites out tersely.

You stiffen as if he’d poured ice water down your back. “Oh god.” All that intel, all those men, delivered directly to Verdugo, to Escobar…

“Yeah,” he growls, muscles of his back tensing. “We walked right into a trap.”

“Fuck,” you breathe, the implications hitting you one by one. You’re struck with the sudden urge to wrap your arms around him and cling for dear life, emotions tangling and snarling in your chest - gratitude, overwhelming relief, concern, curiosity. You manage to hold still, settling for slowly rubbing his shoulder, your fingers carding back and forth against the thin material of his shirt.

It’s overwhelming and frustrating, your powerlessness in this situation. He’s come straight to you, again, but you aren’t sure what to say, or how you can help.

“I’m here,” you whisper after a long moment, because it’s true. You are.

He takes a deep breath, then another. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t move, but some of the tension seems to drain from him.

“Somebody had prepared them for our arrival,” he says at last. His voice is stretched thin, eyes glazed as he stares into space, reliving the day. “Once we reached the house, we were surrounded. Had to shoot our way out.”

Oh, Christ.

“I lost four men.” He drops his head again, covering his face.

The thought of Javier Peña being ashamed, feeling like he has to hide from you, is so ridiculously unfathomable that you just can’t allow it. You reach for his hand, twining your fingers through his so quickly that you aren’t even aware you’ve made the decision to do so. He glances down at your clasped hands, startled and a little awestruck, and then raises his eyes to meet yours. They’re dark and wet, wide with wonder and a question.

You squeeze his hand once, tightly.

He inhales sharply, tipping his head over and back to rest against your chest. The movement surprises you, but it’s not unwelcome, and you shift to accommodate him, arching against the arm of the sofa, wriggling you leg out from beneath you and encircling his shoulder with your free arm.

You sit there in the dark like that for a long moment, just breathing, existing.

“And that’s not all,” he confesses after a long silence.

Wait, really? You’re not sure if you even answer aloud, you’re so caught up in what he’s saying.

“Afterward, they implied there was a problem with our warrants, that we shouldn’t have had access to that neighborhood to begin with.” Javi huffs. “Trying to get our visas pulled.”

Horror floods you. “But-”

He tilts back to make upside down eye contact with you. Any other time, you’d think he was being cute, but now, it’s nothing but exhausted desperation. “It’s okay,” he reassures you. “It didn’t go through - our paperwork was solid.” He chuckles mirthlessly, shaking his head at the stupidity of the situation. “Good news is, though, we know who the rat is. He won’t be a problem anymore.”

You try not to think too hard about the implications of that.

“But still,” his expression hardens. “It’s a headache.”

Understatement. “Yeah,” you agree wholeheartedly. You imagine Javi having to deal with bureaucracy bullshit right after fighting for his life in a shootout. Anger flares in your chest. “I’m sorry.” The words burst out of you, impassioned and thoroughly useless. “They target you in the only way they know how, Peña. It’s because you’re a threat. You’re getting close, or they wouldn’t bother.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, tell that to the Lopez family. His wife is weeks away from delivering their first baby.” He raises the pitch of his voice, expression of mock sympathy twisting his face. “I’m so sorry, señora, but on the bright side, we are getting really close to catching Pablo Escobar.”

His words cut you like broken glass, rending you raw. You’re horrified to feel tears gathering in your eyes.

You can’t even be angry, though, because he’s right.

You inhale shakily, and he flops over, burying his face in your clavicle. You don’t even hesitate, just gather him closer, carding your free fingers over his neck and shoulders in earnest now. This is deep shit, goddammit, well beyond your realm of experience. You don’t know how to comfort him, you just know that he needs something, and you’re willing to offer whatever you have to give.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, squeezing your still-clasped hands to remind him that you’re here. He squeezes back, exhaling another deep, shuddering breath, and relaxes so far into your touch that his lips are resting in the hollow of your throat.

It occurs to you, suddenly, that you might be taking advantage of him. He’s here seeking your comfort, and as justified as that is, you’re not sure if it’s entirely fair to him, given how you feel. Not that you’re getting any sort of sexual or emotional gratification from this moment - not by a long shot. Still, though, it reeks of deception somehow.

Javi cracks an eye open, tilting his face up to question your sudden stillness.

“Is this okay?” you whisper, meeting his gaze. You’re not sure exactly what you’re asking. You’re feeling vulnerable, all flayed open and too-exposed, like you’re crossing a boundary of some sort. 'Can I touch you like this?' you wonder. 'Is it too intimate? Am I allowed to comfort you, just for comfort’s sake?'

‘Am I breaking the rules?’

He blinks up at you, and despite your best effort at remaining expressionless, those dark eyes pin you with an intensity that makes you swear he’s pulling the thoughts straight from your brain.

You stifle a gasp, barely managing to hold his gaze without blinking or squirming.

“Yeah,” Javi whispers after a long moment. He allows his eyes to flutter closed, and you breathe a long, slow sigh of relief. “It’s good.”

♠

You blink yourself awake early the next morning, squinting at the pale sunlight that filters through your smudged window.

You didn’t have the heart to leave Javi last night, and eventually, you’d both fallen into an exhausted sleep, an awkward tangle of limbs on your tiny sofa. He’s sprawled out with his head cocked back, right arm crushing a throw pillow beneath his jaw, one leg extended, the other foot draped over the coffee table. Sometime in the night, you’d nestled into the crook of his neck, unconsciously straddling his thigh, and he’d hooked his free arm around you, snaking a hand beneath your shirt to splay his fingers across the bare skin of your stomach.

You glance up, heart rate speeding double-time as awareness of your situation seeps in.

It’s not the first time you’ve woken up to Javier Peña. But never like this. Never on the sofa. Never pressed into him, all wrapped up and tangled in one another, warm and soft and sleepy. Never fully clothed, and definitely never after the vulnerability he’d allowed you to glimpse last night.

A rush of affection and deep, aching need floods your core. Your muscles tense unconsciously as your hips tilt into his leg, desperately seeking friction.

You stifle a gasp, sucking down the overwhelming urge to kiss him awake, to throw a leg over him properly and grind deliciously against his hips…

You stop, breathing raggedly.

You’ve always had a thing for morning sex. There’s something deliciously intimate about it, all hushed whispers and slow rocking beneath blankets, still clinging to the heat of sleep. It’s gentle and private, a secret without guile, and these new, intense feelings that you’re harboring for Javi have you absolutely leaking and trembling at the mere suggestion of it.

You have to get out of here.

Carefully, moving as slowly as your shaking muscles allow, you duck beneath his arm. He shifts, humming, and you catch your breath, watching carefully as he curls into himself with a soft sigh.

Goddamn.

You stand there for a long moment, heart hammering in your chest, confirming that he’s still out. You can’t help but trace his face with your eyes, noting the uneven patches of stubble that have grown in during the past three days, the curl of his dark lashes, the stripe of soft belly that his shirt leaves exposed, his hot, heavy breaths, slow and deep with sleep.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You run the shower hot, not even pretending to stifle your arousal. The thrum of the water is a welcome weight on your shoulders, tickling sensitive skin as it soaks your hair and sluices down your body. You follow its trail with your fingers, slipping them over pebbled nipples, teasing briefly, then dragging down your belly. The sound of the spray grounds you, drowning your moans. You recall the image that you awoke to, the pressure of Javi’s arm curled around you, your hips angled just perfectly over his thigh, the heat and slow, steady throb of life that pulsed from the crook of his neck.

You tilt your head just slightly, arching into him, peppering his jaw with gentle kisses. His eyes flutter open, and he shifts, opening himself to grant you access. You straddle him properly, sliding up his chest to curl into him, and he smiles lazily.

“Good morning,” you whisper, capturing him in a slow kiss, sucking gently at his lower lip.

“Mmm,” he moans incoherently into your mouth, still pliant with sleep. His erection digs into you, and you grind over it, one long, slow roll of your hips.

He bucks, hitching a sharp breath into your mouth.

“Javi,” You pull hard at your sex, mimicking the pressure of rocking against him, groaning and bucking into your hand. The water continues to beat steadily on your back and shoulders, and you slide to the floor, thumb teasing at your clit, fingers arching to find that perfect spot deep inside you.

You bring your opposite hand up to graze against your face, fingers spayed across your cheek, thumb dragging down your neck.

“Come here,” Javi grins lazily up at you. He cups your jaw in his hand, pulling you so close that your foreheads press together. You rub your cheek against his stubble, nipping gently at his pulse point as you line yourself up. You don’t need any foreplay - you’re already dripping for him. His eyes drift shut and his breath hitches as you slide down onto his cock as slowly as you can manage. You rock back and forth, finding an easy rhythm as you adjust to the pressure of his length inside you, and he bucks to meet you halfway, thrusting faster as you sink deeper.

“Is this okay?” he whispers up to you with doe eyes. He’s more awake now, but still soft, still gentle.

“Perfect,” you promise, adjusting your the angle as you bend down to kiss him again.

With no warning, he swipes his tongue greedily behind your teeth, sucking steadily as he circles your back to dig hard at your ass with those gigantic hands, arching deep into you at the same time.

You gasp. “Javi!”

The bathroom door slams open with a bang, and you’re jerked back to reality. Javi, real, live, awake Javi, is staring at you in wide-eyed shock.

You don’t even have time to be embarrassed.

His face hardens in an instant as he takes you in, eyes narrowing, lips curling into an expression that’s damn near feral. “What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses, spitting the ‘f’ hard.

“What’s it look like?” you answer breathlessly. You know you look ridiculous, panting on shower floor, knees hiked up with your feet pressed to the glass, fingers still nestled inside you. You are thoroughly exposed to him, and yeah, in the back of your mind, you know that there’s part of you that should be ashamed at being found in this position, but right now, there’s no room in you for any emotion except for anger.

It burns in you suddenly, white hot indignation. “Goddammit, Javi, what do you want??”

His face is disbelief and thunder, frozen in a snarl that is terrifying in its intensity. His fingers are curled at his sides, muscles braced for a fight. Your heart hammers in your chest. He is every inch the man who guns down killers for a living. “You called my name."

Ah, and there’s the shame. It floods you like water, cool and cloying, and suddenly, you’re desperate for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, shower and all.

“Oh,” you think you might say, or something similarly useless.

He growls, stalking forward as if he’s about to yank the shower door open, then stops as if jerked. You can only watch, transfixed, as his expression shifts from livid, to devastated, to carefully blank. It’s over in the blink of an eye, so quickly that you question the validity of your own observation, and then, before you can even think, Javi is whirling on his heel, slamming the door behind him with a ferocity that makes the glass walls shudder.

You lie there on the wet tiles, fingers still resting on your sex, reliving the scene over and over until the water runs cold.

You’d called his name.

Shouted it, or moaned it, or screamed it, who even knows. The point is, he’d heard you.

Wincing, you replay your fantasy, or what you can remember of it.

Well, shit.

The anger comes roiling back, poisoned with brittle resentment. You stand, shuddering as you slam the tap off.

That motherfucker.

He had no right. He’d slept in your house, eaten your food, barged into your bathroom, intruded on your private shower.

As if he belonged here.

‘But…’ shame whispers hoarsely in your ear, reminding you that you’d wanted him here. You’d welcomed him into your home, given him your goddamned spare key, rubbed his neck, tucked him in.

Fuck, you’d called his name.

With the second recollection comes vague fascination, and maybe curiosity. Javi was so angry. Furious, damned near trembling with it. That aborted little move toward you, as if he’d like to either strangle you or shove his tongue down your throat, you’re not sure which. The careful restraint, the hasty retreat.

What did it mean?

Arousal flares, but distant, dimmed. You��ll get off on this fantasy one day, you’re absolutely certain, but it will be a long time before the sting of the memory fades.

Slowly, shakily, you exit the shower, shivering as you reach for your towel. One thing is absolutely certain.

You really don’t want to go to work today.

♠

He doesn’t look at you.

You don’t look at him.

Well, then.

You’re tempted to make a snide crack about fragile masculinity’s fear of female sexuality, but then you remember how fucking observant he is, how attentive, cataloguing your every expression, noting what you liked and what you didn’t, how he’d make a point to watch you as you’d come, like he was savoring the experience every time.

Something shockingly akin to grief swells in your chest. Automatically, you shift to watch him from the corner of your eye. He’s hunched over his typewriter, shoulders slumped and head bowed, long fingers peck-pecking away, brow furrowed in concentration.

It’s the same little furrow that you recognize from when he’d first studied the card game you’d left on your coffee table. You recognize the shoulder-slump, too, and the stiffness he’s carrying in his body, as if stress is locking all of his muscles painfully in place. He’d been that way last night, too, when he’d first come home.

You inhale sharply. You can’t fucking do this anymore.

You rise suddenly, nearly knocking your chair over with the force of the motion. You gather your notebook and pens, nodding to Jacoby as you exit the room.

“I’d like to request a transfer,” you announce as soon as Strechner lets you into his office.

It’s bold of you. Bill Stechner, CIA station chief in Colombia, is your boss’ boss’ boss. He is undeniably a big fish, important enough that he is rarely available even by appointment, aloof and irreverent and informal by all accounts. You’ve spoken to him only once, for all of thirty seconds.

“Oh really?” Stechner hardly glances up from the magazine he’s reading. “And why’s that?”

“I’d like to take a more active role in Centra Spike,” you barrel on. “You’ve seen my credentials, sir - fifty-four recon fly-overs in Kuwait, along with advanced training in data analytics and RDF. The training required will be minimal, I’ve proven myself capable here.”

Stechner clicks his tongue, setting the magazine aside. “Have you?” he wonders. “Because I was lead to believe that the Medellín sting that was initiated on your intel was an unprecedented failure.”

Well goddamn, this was a mistake. Anger and shame flood you, and you can feel the blood draining from your face. Stechner’s thoroughly blasé tone isn’t helping staunch your reaction at all. You draw a deep breath, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood.

“I refuse to take responsibility for that, sir -”

He scoffs, waving you off with a lazy hand. “Bill, please. Or Stechner, if you must. We don’t do formalities here.” He tugs at his canvas jacket and lifts a brow in your direction. “You were saying?”

“I was saying, Mister Stechner,” you speak slowly and calmly, as if addressing a small child, “that I cannot take responsibility for the corruption of the Colombian National Police.” You take another deep breath and continue. “The intel that I vetted for Centra Spike was good. We both know it. Those deaths fall on Martinez and the men in Medellín. Not me.”

Stechner watches your for a long minute, head cocked in consideration.

You force yourself to shut up. Your heart is beating so loud that you’re certain that he can hear it, and you want nothing more than to slam the door shut on your way out of his office and be through with this conversation.

After an eternity, Stechner hums. His expression doesn’t change, but you get the feeling that you’ve passed some sort of test.

You hold your breath, waiting.

You need this.

“How’s your Spanish?” he asks after a long moment.

You don’t even hesitate. “Mejorando, señor.” It’s not quite a lie - you are getting better.

Stechner raises his eyebrows in challenge.

You meet his gaze, expressionless.

Suddenly, Stechner grins. “I’ll consider it,” he says, rising to his feet.

You return the smile tightly, a wash of relief rushing over you. "Thank you, sir."

♠

Word travels fast at headquarters.

“Heard you applied for a transfer,” Murphy calls as you duck past his little corner of the hallway. “Ballsy of you, confronting Stechner like that.”

“Applied,” you remind him firmly, doing your best not to react to the way Javi stiffens behind him. “We’ll see what happens.”

Murphy smirks. “Well, I heard you got it.” He clasps your shoulder. “Congrats, Ears. That’s great.”

“Thanks, Murph,” you smile wanly at him.

Somehow, you don’t feel like celebrating.

♠

author’s notes/confessions:

inspired by a conversation with @tiffdawg - she gets all of the credit for this hot mess. Tiff, if you’re sick of tags, just let me know. :)

masturbation scenes are a nightmare of tenses. Again, I welcome comments and gentle criticisms. I am well out of my depth here.

part of the Better Love ‘verse. Check it out on AO3 {here}.

Merry Christmas to those of us who are celebrating today. Love you all!

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deldeldel90 · 2 years ago

Text

2/3

Lance sleeping beside her, she looked at the man in front of her with apathy.

"You know, I could get in trouble for giving refuge to a runaway queen, your majesty."

"I know," Isolde said calmly, her hands in her lap. "But you won't, you see. I am useless to the king - and so is… so is Lance, honestly. He doesn't exactly need the boy. I can assure you, if any problem arises, I will go back to my original kingdom with dignity."

Back to her original kingdom, with Blaine and Fredrick and Antoinette (who she, sadly, had to leave behind, but who knows? Maybe Blaine would like her…) and Leland- she was leaving behind so many people, she knew, but this was all for Lance, her darling boy.

The man - Carl, a Pastel Kingdom citizen who was a farmer - chuckled, “so prim and proper, aren’t you, missy?”

Isolde rolled her eyes at Carl, “only when I have to be, now, is our deal still on?”

“Depends,” for a bloke who looked harmless, his eyes had a certain gleam in them - a greedy one that no innocent man could have. “How many diamonds do you have for my little summer home?”

Isolde was expecting this. She reached forward in her backpack, and brought out around five, hand-sized jewels. “Count them yourself,” she said, more snarky than she intended.

He did, and, from the way his eyes practically bulged from his head, he seemed impressed. “This’ll be enough, I’m sure,” he muttered, before rummaging in his pocket, and throwing a small key at her. Isolde caught it with ease.

“Have a nice day, your majesty,” he bowed his head slowly.

“Likewise,” she said, “oh - and I’m not royalty anymore, I suppose. If I see you again, it’s Isolde Durand.”

Carl nodded, and she rose from her seat, brushing off nonexistent dust from her pants. “Get up,” she patted Lance’s head, which made him sniffle in displeasure.

“Mama,” he slid off his chair, “I’m tired…”

“Don’t worry,” she decided to pick him up, as he was too exhausted to even stand, it seemed. “We’re going home.”

“Home?” he spoke so softly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But didn't we just leave that?”

“A new one,” she rocked him slightly in her arms - he was getting so big, “I’ll carry you forever, if you want.”

Lance had such an adorable laugh, didn’t he? Isolde wished she could hear it more often. “Maaama! You can’t do that!”

“I know, baby,” she said softly, “I know.”

The house was a two-story, cozy cabin that had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and was already furnished, even if blandly.

Isolde felt so, so, so lucky, as she put Lance in the room next to hers. He held her hand tightly, “Mama… can we make waffles soon? Been ‘aving them.”

She could see it in his earnest expression that it wasn't the waffles he wanted - it was the familiarity, the freedom, and what life would be like in this new area.

"Of course," Isolde answered happily, "maybe we can decorate your room soon too! I'm thinking blue curtains, and a few posters, what do you think?"

Her heart ached when she saw Lance's face light up.

"Mama!" He exclaimed, his smile so bright, "that'll be so great… Can I have lanterns, too?"

Isolde held him close, "well, most definitely. We have to make this house a home."

She left Lance's bedroom with a smile on her face. Her little boy deserved happiness, and he would give it to her, no matter what she had to do.

Her own bedroom was so big; a queen's size bed with light green bedding, a dresser carved with flowers, paintings of different animals on the walls, and the like.

Isolde fell down on the bed. This would be her first time sleeping alone in a while, which made her both excited and saddened.

She fell asleep rather quickly, and when she awoke, the winter sunlight hit her face, the air cold, blanket wrapped around her.

Throughout the next ten days, she got herself a job, as even if the gold and various jewels she brought would last her years.

She was now a waitress, and had begun writing her own book - a fictional story on the dangers of fairytale princes.

After all, if her writing career worked out, she could stay at home as an author, and wouldn't have to worry about Lance when she was gone - but for now, a waitress job wasn't so bad.

It reminded her of when she used to work at that pet shop, where she met her husband, or, more accurately, Lance's father.

She wasn't really married anymore, was she? Nobody would even know, as she'd sold off her wedding ring, too.

Thinking back on the present, Lance would be starting school when he turned six - first grade - and he'd come home everyday to her, just like a child should.

Lance usually adventured the woods with the other kids, playing in the snow, absolutely careless - as a child should.

He wouldn't grow up a prince, no, he'd grow up a child.

Her son was well-liked among other boys and girls, being strong enough to help other children climb up walls and being kind enough to share whatever lunch he had.

Isolde cleaned the dishes of their spaghetti sauce, feeling more and more thankful by the second for being gifted such a wonderful baby boy who had the softest hair (which was perfect to ruffle) and the most eccentric personality (which always made her smile, even in her darkest moments).

As they were well established in their new life, there was only one more thing that'd make this place their forever home.

And Isolde knew exactly what it was.

#cursed princess club #cross posted on ao3 #very fluffy #cpc queen isolde #cpc lance

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saltymiraculer · 4 years ago

Text

Ceremonial Kisses (Part 1 of 3)

Part 2

So I decided to try my hand at the “Marinette, the princess of China” trope and see how I did! Tell me what you think?

Also, the first chapter is going to be fluffy, the second chapter’ll have a sprinkling of salt, and the third chapter will be a mix of piles and piles of salt and some fluff. Be warned!

“I’ve got a big, big, big announcement for you today, class!“ Bustier chirped, clapping her hands to get their attention. “China’s princess will be coronated in a week and a half, the day she turns 18, as many of you know, and one class from the school will be selected to travel to China and watch the ceremony. Guess which class it was?“

“Uhhh…Mme. Mendeleiev’s!“

“Ooh, M. D’Argencourt’s? They’ve wanted that trip for weeks!“

“No, class, it’s ours! In three days, we’ll board the plane to Asia and have a few days to sightsee and explore, then attend the coronation on the second-to-last day!“

“Wow! Why our class?“ Kim asked.

Marinette knew exactly why. Marc had told her that the entire school was sick of Lila’s lies and wanted to enjoy the coronation without her butting in in the middle of the assembly to tell a ‘story’ about herself.

But she couldn’t just say that.

“You know, I actually know the princess,“ Lila said, immediately drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “But her identity is being kept a secret for now. That’s how we landed the trip!“

“Wow, Lila!“

“That’s amazing!“

“So cool of you.“

“They know that’s stupid, right?“ Alya stage-whispered, earning a glare from Lila’s new puppy–more commonly known as Kim. She shrugged. “I’m just tellin’ the truth!“

Alya, who was now her only other supporter next to Nino (and technically Adrien, but she’d discuss that later–it was very complicated), had decided to Google Lila’s name during a sleepover and found…some rather incriminating Facebook posts.

After that, she was 100% team Marinette and an amazing friend, along with Nino, who had decided that he needed a theme song. No one knew why.

But they loved him anyways!

So while Bustier was rattling off facts about Chinese emperors and kings and queens, Nino was showing them his latest idea to expose Lila.

“Okay,“ he started. “First, we go to China. Then we do our sightseeing and shit, and then. I did some research, and we can ask the princess questions if we’re with a national news channel. Alya’s blog counts. For real, we can talk to the princess of China. And we ask her if she knows Lila.“

“Brilliant plan, Nino. I wonder how the princess will react to a few teenagers in the middle of a crowd of famous people.“

Nino frowned. “The princess is only, like, 17. She’ll probably notice us, Als.”

“Oh, that reminds me, your birthday’s on the same day as the coronation, Marinette! Weird, isn’t it? That you and the princess have the same birthday?“ Alya asked, pulling out her phone and swiping through something.

“Huh, yeah. You’re right. Maybe we can invite her to my birthday party?“

“Ooh, the wiki page says she likes custard buns, and I’m not sure how they know that,“ Nino chuckled. “but make sure to stock up on those.“

“Noted,“ Marinette said drily as Bustier turned to them with a condemning look on her face. “Alya! I hope what you’re doing on that phone relates to the lesson!“

“China’s princess’s identity is being kept a secret because the last two were sent death threats, dangerous items, highly innapropriate items, and several other things that prompted them to not reveal the princess until it was necessary.“

“C-correct, Alya. Good job.“

“Nice!“ Marinette mouthed, high-fiving Alya, who flipped her phone around to reveal a website about the princess.

-🌸-

The final bell rang as several of the students cheered. One school day until the trip over, three more to go. Alya swung her bag over her shoulder and bumped Marinette’s elbow. “We goin’ to your place to hang out?”

“Yeah, my dad’s out anyways and mom closed the bakery for the afternoon. let’s go!“ Alya took Nino’s hand and walked the short distance to Marinette’s house. They entered and immediately felt something off.

Ah, there it was.

Sabine was leaning over the counter with a cup of very strong-smelling peppermint tea beside her. She was rubbing her temples and muttering to herself in rapid Mandarin.

“Maman? Are you alright?“ Marinette asked worriedly. Alya and Nino stood by the door–they had only seen her like this once before, when her cousin had been run over and killed.

“Yes, dear, everything’s okay, it’s just–there’s something I need to tell you.“

“Oh, no, did something happen to someone?“

“No, no, everyone’s just fine. I can’t not tell you without there being serious problems.“

“So what is it? What’s so important you had to close the bakery?“

“You’re the princess. China’s princess. The one nobody knows about.“

“I’m what?!“ Marinette screeched, grabbing at her hair. “I’m the heir to the throne of the most populated country in the world, and you waited until a week before the coronation to tell me?!“

“Holy shit.“ Alya and Nino said simultaneously. Sabine stared at them, likely just realizing they were there.

“Oh. They know now, too. Perfect, that’s just what we need, a reporter knowing who–“

“Maman! Alya wouldn’t tell a soul, I know she wouldn’t.“

Sabine turned to Alya. “I’m sorry, dear, I’m just stressed. With that trip to China in a few days and all that, we’ll have to close down the bakery for about a week.”

“And we never close down the bakery.“ Marinette finished, putting a steady hand on her mom’s shoulder. “But I know just the person to run it while we��re gone.“

As she was about to say who exactly would run the bakery, Nino backed into the door, wide-eyed.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. My best friend…holy shit.“

“Nino, I know this is a lot, but we’ll have to stay calm,“ Alya said, grabbing his hand. “So we don’t spill her secret. That’s top priority, all right? Don’t–tell–anyone.“

Nino sighed. “Sorry, babe. This…“ he turned to Marinette. “Do you have any cookies?“

Marinette grinned and led them into the kitchen. “Of course! Chocolate chunk or raspberry frosted?“

“Raspberry, all the way!“

“There’s the Nino I know!“

After a quick cookie interval, Marinette pushed her plate away and sighed. “Anyone up for an impromptu sleepover? You all left a bunch of your clothes here the last few times.”

“Marinette. If you know us, you will know our answers.“ Alya said solemnly.

“Hell yeah. Wanna go choose which terrible rom-com to watch this time?“

They ended up settling on The Kissing Booth, one of Marinette’s personal favorites (”To lighten the tension, you know?” Alya had said. “Although the tension in here probably weighs the same as an obese hippopotamus at this point.”) and made a bowl of caramel popcorn, with a tiny bag of sea-salt Skinny Pop for Nino.

“Sugar on popcorn is a crime, man. I ain’t touching that.“

“You’ve tried it once, Nino.“

“Yes, and I hated it. Is there anything else to be said?“

So they spent the next two hours in a blanket fort that was made almost entirely of throw pillows laughing over Elle and Noah and Lee being idiots, with a few highlights such as the iconic “Ninth grade skirt, eleventh grade body” scene, where Alya snorted and said “You know, Lila’s skipped so much school, might as well be ninth grade brain, eleventh grade work.”

“Too true,“ Nino agreed. “The other day, she called Chloe’s mom Aurora Bourgeois. That was a pretty major mess-up.”

“Shhh! Let’s just watch the movie!“ Marinette said, effectively quieting them down.

They watched the rest in silence with the usual laughs., ending up falling asleep halfway through the second movie, snuggled up on their respective couches. Marinette mother shook them awake the next morning, telling them to take showers and eat breakfast and get dressed and for god’s sake, Marinette, finish your homework.

“Crap, crap, crapcrapcrap! Nino, we’re going to be late if we don’t get ready fast!“ Alya shouted as Marinette ran up the stairs to change. “Can I use your shower, M?“

“Sure!“ was the muffled reply.

After about 10 minutes of running around and shoving waffles in their mouths, they grabbed their bags and ran off to school.

They burst through the door in the nick of time, the bell ringing just as they plunked down their things.

Bustier wasn’t there five minutes into the class, so they started talking.

“Marinette, you have to listen to Nino’s latest track, it’s–“ Just as she was about to describe Nino’s latest track, a bouncy-ball the size of a walrus snashed through the wall, nearly taking off Kim’s head.

There was a cackle from outside. “I am Gradack! You will all feel the same sorrow that I did!“

-🌸-

The fight was over relatively fast, and everything was calmed down and restored before their next class. Turns out Chat Noir didn’t show, so Marinette had to ask Alya for assistance.

In hindsight, she probably should have picked a better place to transform.

“Tikki, spots on!“ After she transformed, she was about to go to Fu to get one of the Miraculous, when she heard a strangled gasp.

“…shit.“

“My best friend is the princess of goddamn China and Ladybug? What the fuck?! Who are you? How did I not know? When did–“

“Alya, I know the feeling, but you can’t tell anyone. Got it?“

“Nino?“

“Well,“ Marinette paused to think. “Yeah, I guess. I trust him enough. Now, take this and transform!“ she tossed Alya the hexagonal box, and after a quick transformation, they ran off to defeat the saddened graduate of an akuma.

As she said, it was an easy fight.

They comforted the victim with four minutes (each) to spare, then ran back to the locker rooms to transform back.

Time Skip!

It was the morning of the flight to China, and she was ecstatic. Of course, she had to get up at 3:45 in the morning, but it was worth it–the flight took off at six in the morning, of course.

She could see the logic of wanting to arrive at 12:00, but she would’ve much preferred a red-eye.

Then she wouldn’t have had to stay up all night reading, because no way in hell would she just wake up at 3:45 in the morning.

The alarm would’ve had to go off for hours.

But back to the morning, she poured herself a sasquatch-sized mug of coffee, with about a gallon of cream and enough sugar to put an entire city of diabetics into shock, she started getting dressed.

Trudging around and haphazardly pulling out shirts, she finally decided on a simple red-and-orange flannel, a white t-shirt, and a pair of cropped jeans.

The she downed the rest of her coffee with an apathetic “Bottoms up!” and slapped her cheeks.

She grapped her suitcase and walked outside to where her mother was typing away on a laptop in the pitch-black night.

“Mom, why are you up?“

“Because I have to drive you to the airport, that’s why. And no alarm would be able to wake me up at 3 in the morning.“

“Preach. I’m ready to go, so can we get in the car now?“

After driving to the airport and saying goodbye to her mom, she walked into the airport and immediately saw the group of sleepy teens (and a certain disheveled teacher) leaning on their suitcases, trying not to fall asleep.

Nino and Marinette were already there, their eyelids drooping. The only person who looked properly awake was Sabrina, who was–inevitably–holding a saucer out to Chloé, who was sipping from a teacup.

Alya rolled her eyes and walked over to Marinette and Nino. “Who’re we missing?”

“Kim and Rose. They’re carpooling, so they should be here any minute.“

Just as Marinette had said, a few seconds later, Rose and Kim walked into the airport. Kim was still wearing pajama pants.

Another Time Skip!

“Marinette.“ Alya groaned, shaking Marinette’s shoulders. “Marinette, wake up, we’re here.“

Marinette’s eyes fluttered open. “No. Five more minutes.”

“Everyone else is already off the plane!“

“Shit. Let’s go!“ Marinette said, jumping up, grabbing her purse (which she had recently learned concealed a kwami) and scrambling out the door.

Alya picked up the mini-backpack she now carried (which held Trixx, cookies, and some grape jelly) and followed her out the door.

Almost as soon as they stepped off the plane, they heard a loud wail.

“Great. She’s back on her bullshit.“

“I just can’t believe she would steal that, Lila! It’s so unlike her!“

“M-maybe, but there’s p-proof! Look!“

“Oh, great, what did we do this time?“ Alya asked exasperatedly. They watched as Lila held out the remains of–from what they could see from a meter away–a sketch of an orange mermaid gown with a black lace collar, ripped into quarters and laid out on the ground.

Marinette gasped beside her.

“That’s your dress, isn’t it?“

A small tear made its way down Marinette’s face. “It was going to be for you,” she said softly.

Alya threw her arms around Marinette and rubbed her shoulders. “It’s okay, sweetie. Once you’re princess, we’ll sue her for all she’s worth.”

Marinette detached herself from Alya and wiped her eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks, Alya.”

-🌸-

Nino stormed up to where Alya and Marinette were standing with a furious expression on his face.

“That fox,“ he seethed. “that bitchy little fox of a liar stole your drawing.“

Marinette chuckled wetly. “Yeah, we know.“

“Are you okay? I know how important they are to you.“

“I’m fine, Nino, and o–who the hell are you?“ A man in an oddly formal suit was standing next to her, holding out a small red envelope.

Marinette plucked the envelope from his fingers, opened it, and read the contents. She looked up and nodded at the suit-wearing guy.

“Good. In that case, Miss Dupain-Cheng, I’m going to need you to come with me.“ Alya and Nino immediately stepped in front of her in a protective shield.

“She’s not in trouble, is she?“

The strange man looked surprisingly amused. “Not at all–but you might want to come with us, too. You as well, headphone-boy.”

Nino put a hand on his chest and gasped in offense.

“Nino. He’s going to drive us to the palace. You’re coming, too, ya doof!“ Nino made a noise of realization and followed them out to where a black limousine was waiting.

They climbed in and drove off.

About five minutes into the drive, he moved his foot to the side, accidentally kicking a black box.

Just as he was preparing his final goodbyes, it sprung open, and inside was a junk food lover’s heaven.

“Dude.“

#ml #ml salt #ml salt fic #marinette dupain cheng #marinette deserves better #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #alya sugar #nino sugar #lila rossi #lila salt #lila bashing #adrien agreste #adrien salt #adrien bashing #marinette the princess of china #WHY ARE YOU READING THE TAGS

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lavenderahs · 3 years ago

Note

hi!!! can u please do 17, 22 and 26 with either cody fern or xavier plympyon?? i’m new to the cody fern fandom and am seriously craving some fluffy content. i’d appreciate it <333

ofc! ill do cody :)

prompts here!

a/n: this isnt the best, not rlly doing good mentally rn lol. trying to get back on my a-game

mini tag - @d3monslust @mllxngdonswife @kitty4860 @forevercountess

cody

17 shower. dinner. bed. -

cody & i spend most of our days working. since cody is currently on set for season 10 of ahs. [a/n: i wish !!] his nights get longer and longer. having home cooked meals together is a priority for eachother, just something we enjoy. not eating our meals till 9 or 10pm takes a toll on me, but i wouldnt trade the hour or 2 of sleep i loose, just to see codys face light up after a long day on set. "darling im home!" cody says in a singy-song voice as he slips in the door. i run up to him, greeting him with a warm hug. "ive missed you" his arms connect to mind as he slips them around my waist. "ive missed you too" he smiles. i look up into his warm blue eyes "ive got ravioli waiting for you" i slip out of his arms, trying to sway him to the kitchen. pulling back "no my love not yet" i groan as he drags me into our bedroom. "c'mon, lets both just knock out a shower real quick" he grabs us towels from the dresser. showering with cody is definitely a heart warming feeling, just the warmth and love in our veins. cody motions for me to get in; i gently step into the shower, warmth trickling down my spine. cody hands me my bottle of shampoo, other hand holding his. we stand face to face; washing our hair, giggling as we flick the suds at eachother. we share gentle kisses as we bathe. i squeeze out face wash into our hands "here wash my face and ill wash yours" he laughs as he cups my face and gently cleanses my face. i reach up to his and pinch his cheeks, causing us to giggle.

after drying off, and putting clean clothes on; we headed back to the kitchen. our ravioli still warm, cody decided to pour us some champange. slipping the glass into my hands, bringing us to a toast; "heres to us, 2 beautiful connected souls" he shines a charming rin as the glasses clink. throughout our meal, i always notice the small things; how his eyes never leave mine, how hes so invested into what im saying, in conclusion he just truly cares. most men are pure shit; but cody, hes different. after our last few bites, codys hands linger to the dirty plates "i got dishes hun, go finished getting ready for bed, ill be there in a sec" knowing how stubborn he is, you don't bother arguing.

the lamps in your bed room are dimmed, the only light being the television. laying with half open eyes, i wait on cody to come to bed. as i almost drift off, i hear his soft foot steps slip inside our room. he chuckles lightly "hey sleepyhead" he slides in beside me, wrapping his arm around me, bringing me to his chest. his calm heart beat hums in my ears. i take a few deep breaths "i love you so much cody" i whisper. i hear the smile in his voice "i love you too darling" his hands caresss my hair as i slowly drift off. "sleep well my love"

22 youre cute when youre mad

"i dont understand y/n! why can't you just pick something" his face hot from frustration. giggling, I say "babe I just don't know what to eat, theres so many choices" i trail off as i twirl my hair. out of the corner of my eye i see him roll his eyes. "i mean.. theres the deli on 4th street, the hotdog stand, oooh maybe waffle house" i do my best to irritate him. he looks over at me "so hot headed" i chuckle. "y/n, i swear, i dont under-" i cut him off "cody its because youre cute when youre mad" i say sarcastically even though it's true. he exhales "so im cute now" eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed he spits. "yessum you are, my cute lil hot head" i tap his nose. his mood lightens at my silly acts. "ugh i love you" he smiles as he leans in for a kiss. i return the kiss, slow yet with a smile. knowing that hes gonna have to deal with me for the rest of his life.

26 youre such a blanket hog -

"cody give it!!!" i whine as i pull our bed comforter back onto me "cody! we have a queen size bed! you dont need all of it!" he gives no response to the complains; just simply watching the movie. irritated, i hop up and find the closest throw blanket in our room. "look! i got my own now" hes trying so hard not to crack a smile. i hop on to the bed, wrapping it tightly around me. "youre such a blanket hog!" i say with a pout. his only response being "i know silly, gotta deal with it"

#american horror story #ahs #cody fern #michael langdon #xavier plympton #ahs apocalypse #ahs 1984 #ahs fandom #cody fern fandom #duncan shepherd #cody fern x reader #cody fern fluff #cody fern fanfiction #cody fern fanfic #eden #andy dolan

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coloradocowgirl3754 · 8 months ago

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Brand new Hotel Premier Collection Queen size NWT.

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stephthenewgirl · 4 years ago

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AGTAW — I: Twila Gilbert

“Twila, did you take my dark blue leather jacket?!” Elena Gilbert strides into her sister's bedroom without a simple thing as a kick. She halts upon laying her doe brown eyes on her sister; her mouth parted and her thin brows furrowing. There her sister stood in only a bra and panties but that's not what shocked her, it was the fact that Twila was in her underwear with a boy in her room. He sat at the edge of her queen-sized bed that was covered in gray and black sheets and heavy blankets. His elbows pressing down on his lap and his back hunched over. His deep brown eyes moved to the elder Gilbert twin.

The later twin — Twila — with celerity wheeled her body around, her large hazel brown eyes aimed at her sister sharply. Her body hiding the boy behind her midway. And the somewhat naked girl's medium brown hair that fell into a sepia reddish-brown moved sweetly and nimbly stroke her neck. A rainbow stripe shirt held between her fingers — a shirt she was about to put on before Elena intruded her bedroom.

Twila briskly put the rainbow shirt on, after she tugged the shirt down, stretching out slight folds on the fabric and she stomped her way towards the elder Gilbert. Elena's doe eyes stayed fixed on the boy that sits peacefully on her little sister's bed. She disliked this — and she disliked it even more that the boy who looked so peaceful and unbothered had no shirt on.

Why doesn't he have a shirt on? Elena query herself.

“Don't you know how to kick?” Twila asked heatedly. Elena's eyes fluttered to the younger twin.

“I-I. . .” The words just wouldn't come out. Her eyes wandered to the boy on her sister's bed. Elena wanted to say ''no boys allowed in the bedroom'', she wanted to ask why Twila had no clothing on and why was he shirtless, what was happening. Elena gasped as the boy known as Clarkson sent a wink to her then frowned.

Twila pushed Elena out of her room, slamming the door in her face.

“No boys in the room, Twila!” Elena finally found her voice.

“You're not my fucking mother, Elena!!” Twila waits to hear the footsteps of her sister walking away. It did not take long. Today, Elena had no energy to lecture her. Twila was grateful. She twirled back around, walking towards the end of her bed.

“Will, that was a show.” Clarkson Forsyth spoke, a lopsided smirk on his soft pink lips. Twila mocked smiled at the boy, picked up his black tee off her bed then threw it at him, hitting his face.

“Yeah, you would think that.” Their giggles bounded off the four walls. “Hurry up. Martin and Vera are picking us up in sixteen.” Twila told the boy as she made her way into her closet and yanked a pair of pants off the hanger.

“So should I hop out the window and wait for you outside?” Clarkson said, standing from the bed, the black shirt in his hold as he goes. He flipped the shirt over and slid his arms in the sleeves then pulled the shirt over his head and pulled it down over his body. Twila stepped out of the closet wearing dark blue loose jeans and held two pairs of black sneakers in her hand. She walked towards her bed, displaying a frown on her face.

“What? No.” Twila sits down at the end of her bed and pulls out the socks she tucked into her sneakers. “I'm fucking hungry, and I know you are too.” Twila slipped the sneakers on her feet and tied them up.

“I just don't want to start—” Clarkson started, taking small steps towards the Gilbert girl.

“Clark, you've been my best friend since kindergarten. My family knows you and Aunt Jenna is cool, and she likes you. You're not going to start anything. . .” Once she finished tying her shoelaces, Twila looked over to the obsidian hair strong-jawed boy. “. . . Okay.”

Clarkson chortle. “Yeah, okay.”

Twila nods slightly with a smile. “Okay.” She pushed herself off the bed. “Don't mind Elena, she's just being a prude. Elena's been all big-sister ever since mom and dad passed. The girl is only four minutes older than me but that is a mile for her.”

Clarkson cracks a tiny smile. “How are you feeling, anyway?”

Twila was quiet for a second, thinking of what to say. She looked up at her best friend and greeted him with a sad smile.

“Getting better. Can't do anything but get better. The world goes on.” Twila gives him a longer smile that forcefully reaches her cheeks. Clarkson pulls her into a hug. It took a while for Twila to react back, but she did; wrapping her arms around him tightly.

“Thanks — for being here for me. I didn't know what I would have done without you last night.”

It was late at night when the boy called, gasping with sobs and in need of his best friend. Twila immediately told him to come over. She sat up on her bed and rubbed her sleep away, awaiting his arrival. Finally arriving at the Gilbert home, Twila hugged him and listened to his recent problems with his father as he cried on her shoulder. Twila did not mind — Clarkson was there for her when her parents passed; even invited her to crash in his room when she did not feel like being at Caroline's. After his tears dried out, they watched Buffy together on her baby-blue-covered laptop — forgetting about the sadness as they laughed away.

“Of course, Clark. I will always be here for you.” Twila pulled from the hug, her hands clasping his biceps tenderly then she gave him a fast smile. “Now get off of me,” She pushed him jocosely. “C'mon, I'm starved.” Clarkson chortled with a head shake; the two grab their belongings and head downstairs.

Twila and Clarkson dumped their belongings on the sofa before passing the threshold into the kitchen. The gold sunlight streamed through the square window; the silhouette of the window slept on the kitchen Island and kissed Jeremy's naked arm.

“Good morning, Gilbert family!!.” Twila smiled wide at her family that was diffuse around the kitchen area.

“Morning, Twila,” Aunt Jenna says softly, tipping her head back from the refrigerator door, welcoming Twila back with a duplicate smile. Her eyesight moved to the boy beside her niece. “Oh, hey Clark. I didn't know you were here.”

“Yeah, I hope you don't mind. Just needed my best friend last night.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Jenna waves him off. “You are welcome anytime. Would you like some toast?”

Twila's eyes instantly widened, jerking her head from side to side, “Oh, no. I'm making waffles. Don't need you having us eating rocks, Aunt Jenna.”

“Not rocks, Twila. Just burnt toast.” The kitchen erupted with laughter for everyone's lips — even Jeremy's. The boy who had been in the dump all summer, spending his time with Vicki Donovan and drug heads. Both Gilbert twins were happy to hear him laugh again; they haven't heard it in a while. Elena shook her head in the corner with a smile and a mug in her hands. After, she pulled it closer to her lips, taking a sip. “Who needs lunch money?”

“Here!” Both Twila and Jeremy raised their hands, shouting.

“Elena?” Jenna walked to her bag that sits on the chair at the dinner table.

“No thanks, Aunt Jenna.”

“Okay.” The strawberry blond rummaged through her bag, pulling out three twenty-dollar bills. “Here you go.” Jenna handed Jeremy and Clarkson each a twenty.

“Oh no Jenna, you don't have to,” Clarkson says, declining the money.

“I know, I want to. So take the money.”

“Take the money!” Twila yelled, not sparing a glance over her shoulders. Her eyes were fixed on the waffles, she didn't want them to burn like Aunt Jenna does every time she cooks something.

“Yeah, or I'll take it.” Jeremy playfully stood up acting as if he was honestly going to, Aunt Jenna pushed him back on his seat.

“Sit down.” She told the boy. “Take it.” She utters to Clarkson, pushing it at his crest.

“Okay, okay. . . Thanks, Jenna.”

“No problem. Twila, yours is on the table.”

“Thanks, Jenna.”

“Don't you have a big presentation today?” Elena reminds the young caretaker.

“I'm meeting with my thesis advisor at. . .” Jenna glanced down at her watch and freaked, “Now. Crap!”

“Then go. We'll be fine.” Jenna nodded at Elena, she quickly put her hair up in a ponytail with a rubber band then grabbed her bag, and dashed out the side door.

Twila plopped the last waffle on top of the rest. Elena walked towards her sister, standing beside her.

“Why was Clarkson in your room?” Elena inquired.

The sepia brunette twisted her neck to her twin. “Because he came over last night.”

“Why?”

“Because he needed a friend, Elena. You know, like how Bonnie comes over when she needs you.”

“Bonnie's not a boy.”

Twila's brows narrowed down and her eyelids batted. She can't believe what Elena was saying to her right now. She angles her body, facing her sister.

“Elena, you know Clark for as long I've been friends with him.”

“Doesn't mean he's not a boy.”

Twila turned away from Elena; grabbing the pleat of waffles, she was done with this exchange. Before she walked off she targeted her big brown hazel eyes at her sister once more.

“I don't know when you've become such a wet blanket but stop with the mothering act. I can have whoever I want in my room.”Twila let Elena know, leaving her there speechless.

Twila was wordless while she ate her waffles, Jeremy and Clarkson on the other hand talked as if they were in a club meeting. The conversation with Elena left a sour taste in her mouth, she still enjoyed her waffles of course, but she was upset. Her big brown hazel eyes glared at her twin as she asked Jeremy a simple question: if he was okay. She snickers at Jeremy's response and rolled her eyes when Elena glanced at her with a confused pouty face.

Elena folds her arms and walks off from the three teens, not soon later Twila's phone buzzes. A text from Vera telling Twila she and Martin were outside. A small smile pulls at her perfect lips as she stares at the screen. Twila slides the phone back into her pocket and sights her eyes on her brother and best friend.

“Vera and Martin's outside.” Clarkson got the hint. He hopped off the stool, grabbing his pleat and then Twila's. She gave him a soft thank you. “Need a ride, Jer?”

“Sure.” Jeremy got off the stool taking his dish, going towards the sink. Clark and Jeremy end up in a —you go first, I go first— situation. Jeremy stepped aside letting Clarkson pass. Clark smiled up at him shyly. Twila looked at him with a knowing smile, and he ignored her smug look while he walked to the living room area grabbing his book bag on the sofa.

Twila walked up behind Clarkson, playfully bumping into him. “Oh, I'm sorry. You first. No, you go first. I go left, you go right? Oh, um. . . okay.” Twila laughed at her dramatic imitation of Jeremy and Clarkson's exchange in the kitchen.

“Ssh, shut up. He could hear you.” He whispered to the girl over his shoulder.

Twila rolls her eyes, “Oh, please.” She grins and moves from behind him, going to grab her book bag also. Clarkson shook his head, letting out a stressful sigh. Hoping Jeremy didn't hear his sister mocking.

“Come on, Jer!”

“Coming!” He placed the wet dish on the dish rack and rushed his way out of the kitchen grabbing his book bag on the chair head. “Hey Vera, Martin.” Jeremy greets his sister's two best friends. Vera is a square face, soft beige skin brunette with deep-set dark brown eyes. Her brows were black-filled and straight. Her hair was black and short in a pixie rat tail cut, her bangs were cut right above her eyebrows, and two long strips of black hair fell just under her chin on each side of her face.

“Hey, Jeremy.” Vera greeted back.

Martin was an almond skin boy with long brown hair and a handsome diamond-shaped face. His eyes are hooded, small, and brown. Martin is Vera's half-brother and was Twila's boyfriend of two years, now ex-boyfriend but still great friends.

“S'up, Jeremy. How's it been?” Martin made conversation.

“Okay. How about you?”

“Fan-fuckin-tastic. I got this new skateboard from my dad. It—”

“Please, stop talking about the skateboard. No one cares, Martin.” Vera twists her head briskly at her brother before aiming her sights back at the road.

“You're just mad I'm better than you.” Martin retorted.

“Ha! Better than me? Jokes. . . That was a funny joke.”

“You—”

“Please, can you turn on the radio? Don't need to hear your brother-sister bickering.” Jeremy and Clarkson chuckle at Twila's insult. Vera rolled her eyes yet she did what was told and made a turn; passing The Mystic Grill. The song WANNABE by Spice Girls blasted throughout the dark blue color car.

Vera, Clarkson, and Twila belled along with the song. Martin and Jeremy had no choice but to tolerate the ordeal of their boisterous singing.

“So, here's a story from A to Z. You wanna get with me, you gotta listen carefully. We got Em in the place who likes it in your face.” Twila bells.

“You got G like MC who likes it on a. Easy V doesn't come for free, she's a real lady. And as for me?” Vera follows.

“HA, YOU'LL SEE.” The three teens yell from the top of their lungs like a banshee's cry.

“C'mon guys.” An annoyed Jeremy wailed.

Martin's eyes traveled from the backseat to his sister. “Yeah, guys cut it off.”

“Slam your body down and wind it all around! Slam your body down and zig-a-zig ah!” They laughed at how irked the two boys were.

Twila pushed herself off her seat, her lips went to Martin's ear. “If you wanna be my lover!” Twila ear-splittingly sings.

Martin slapped his hand against his ear, “Twila, what the fuck!”

“You gotta get with my friend!” Vera sings.

“Friendships last forever!” Clarkson followed along.

��Friendship never eennnnds!” The three belled.

“That's not how it goes.”

“I don't give a shit, Martin. Now, get out of my car. We're here.” The long-haired boy rolled his eyes and pushed the car door open; he stepped out. The four other kids in the car followed shortly after.

“So — the boy had to sleep with her friends to be considered her lover?” Jeremy queried his eldest sister.

“That's not the message of the song, Jer.”

“Well, that's what it said.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Hey, Jeremy.” Vicki Donovan smiled making her way to Jeremy.

Jeremy copies and greets her back. “Hey, V.”

“Twila.” She uttered, moving her eyes to Twila.

“Victoria.” Twila gave a faint smile. Vicki and Twila were once good friends. They got especially close when Elena and Matt started dating but had a fallout this summer when she started to use her baby brother for his prescription pills and sleeping with him to avoid her own screwed-up life.

“Okay, let's go bitc—” Vera stops when her eyes set on Vicki Donovan. “Speaking of bitch.” Her hip cocked out, her fingers tucked into the back of her blue denim jeans pockets.

Vicki's mouth agape and her brows knitted. Her lips hastily retrieve with a curl and a scoff. Vera took hold of Twila's wrist, pulling the girl away from Vicki.

“See ya, Jeremy.” She said as the group of friends part ways from the young boy and ex-friend. “I still can't believe you allow him to be around her.”

“There are certain things I can tell Jeremy to do and certain things I could. He's hard-headed like that.” Twila explained with a shrug.

Lunch came fast for Twila. She had six-period lunch and had Mr. Tanner after. She was tired and glad the school day was almost over. Then she remembered she had to help Caroline with picking out some fresh faces for the new year try-outs after school. Great. She sighed.

“You look exhausted,” Vera slid, sitting down on the curved seat. She set her tray on the round cafeteria table. Today's lunch is a ham sandwich, chicken nuggets, apple, and a side of salads with a dressing of your choice and beverage. The food at Mystic Falls High wasn't so bad.

“I am.” Twila pushes her hair back, fingers gripping her hair softly. “I just wanted to go home after school and have a nice bubble bath, but I have try-out picking to do after school.” She wailed and pouted. Twila felt like sobbing, she truly needed and wanted that bubble bath.

“Aww, don't be so down, Twila. I'm sure you'll be fine.” Vera grabs a hold of her sandwich, taking a big bite.

“Let me detail it for you.” Twila leans forward, her hair falling as she moves her fingers and locks her big eyes with Vera's deep-set ones. “I'm try-out picking after school — with Caroline.”

“Ohh. . .” Vera sees the problem now.

Twila smiled tightly and her eyes squinted a bit and a little hum leaving her lips. Her smile says: now you get it. “It's going to be hell.”

“Aww, Twila. I'll be there for you.” Vera's mouth was occupied by food, she kept her teeth locked while her lips moved. The words came out muffled. Twila smiled anyway.

“You will?” Twila's lower lip pushes out.

Vera nods and speaks after swallowing. “If you need me, of course.”

“Aww, thanks,” The short-haired brunette joined her palm on top of Vera's hand. “But I can't do that to you.” She removed her hand, stealing Vera's apple. “I'll go through the belly of the beast on my own.” She takes a bit of the apple. Vera laughed.

“The belly of what beast?” Clarkson arrives, taking a spot next to Vera; Martin follows beside him.

Vera's eyes travel to the raven-haired boy. “Caroline.” She informed him.

“What about Caroline?” Martin questioned.

“I've got some fresh cheerleaders to pick out with Caroline after school.”

“Oh.” Clarkson and Martin mumble. Twila nods at the boys, chewing through the green apple.

Martin swallows down his food with water before speaking. “Aren't you co-captain? Can't you just do it another time?”

“No.” She placed the apple down on the table. “I'll just get it over with.”

“Clarkson, where were you last night?!” Barbie Forsyth asked, approaching the small group. Clarkson eyed up his sister. She stood with her hands at her hips.

“At Twila's.” He answered honestly. Barbie's eyes went to Twila; they had a squint to them.

“Of course.” She scoffed, shifting her eyes back at her brother.

The bottled blonde — Barbie Forsyth — never had a good relationship with Twila Josephine Gilbert. Ever since Twila ruined Barbie's gingerbread house in elementary school; just because she wanted a piece. And the other time they were partnered up in a history project. Barbie had done all the work and Twila just plastered her name on the paper. But those weren't the reasons why Barbie didn't like the big-eyed Gilbert all that well. For as long as she could remember, Clarkson and Twila were inseparable. She always felt like Twila was more of Clarkson's sister than she ever was.

“Why were you at her house?”

“I, uh. . . I needed someone to talk to.”

Barbie's head jerked forward. Unbelievable, she thought. “You could have talked to me.” Her light green eyes stayed on her brother; it made Clarkson feel guilty the way they were intensely piercing at him. Her eyelids blinked and she rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I wanted to speak to you last night.”

“Okay. . . What?”

Barbie glanced at Twila, who like everyone else at the table was focused on them. Barbie looked back at her brother. “Not here in front of her.” She yanked the boy, pulling him off his seat and away from the group.

Vera chortle, aiming her sight on Twila. “I'm guessing she still hates you for not doing the history project in middle school.”

“Ha, guessing?” Martin uttered. “It's a known fact she does.”

Twila laughed along with her friends, brushing down the fact that deep down she felt awful that her best friend's sister hated her for something she did in middle school. Not knowing that Barbie didn't dislike her because of some petty school project issue, the bottled blonde felt like Twila took her brother from her.

“Once our home state of Virginia joined the confederacy in 1861, it created a tremendous amount of tension within the state. People in Virginia's northwest region had different ideals than those from the traditional deep south. Then Virginia divided in 1863 with the northwest region joining the union.”

In the back corner of the room, Twila sat near the large windows. Mr. Tanner's voice was inaudible to her ears as she doodled in her history book. Through the windows, the evening sun rays hit the desk of students and the classroom floor. One golden glint shimmers comfortably on Twila's hair. A rainbow hues sat at her open history book, making Twila stop her hand movement. She admired the reflection of the colorful lights. Rainbows are one of Twila's favorable things about nature. Rainbows and heavy rain on a lazy afternoon, but she always hated the after smell. It always smelled of wet soil and moist greens.

Her large eyes wandered to the windows, it landed on the tree just outside Ms. Tanner's classroom. A crow sitting perfectly inanimate, as if it was a statue.

It was larger than most. Its feathers pitch as black but the little sunlight that hits its feathers shine a rainbow on it. It was sleek and had greedy dark claws and a sharp beak. Its black eyes glittered, and they were fixed on Elena; the brunette that sits two rolls down from Twila.

Twila watched the crow leer at her twin with this inclination in its eyes. Like how boys' eyes linger on a girl wearing tight clothes; those tops that pop out their cleavage or dresses that outline their bodies.

It was creepy, to say the least.

Then its dark eyes blink at Twila. The girl flinched back a bit, her eyes got broader, but they stayed on the bird. It was like the bird was challenging her; playing with her. A game of who would look away first.

The school bell boom, Twila flinched once more. Her eyes flutter to the front of the classroom seeing everyone packing up.

She lost.

Twila stood up, grabbing her book bag along, and followed her way out the room behind the crowd of teenagers. The short brunette sauntered her way through the crowded hall; she made a right, passing four classroom doors before reaching the staircase. She walked four flights of stairs down, landing on the first floor she went to her locker, putting and taking some of her things then — to Caroline she went.

Twila walked through the football field towards the concern the school gave the cheerleaders to practice. Her eyes gazed at the wannabe cheerleaders of all ages and sizes perfecting their moves. It brought a smile to her face.

Until Caroline spoke.

“Ugh, there you are.” The blonde's voice reached Gilbert's. Twila rolled her eyes. Always Caroline, the extra control Queen.

“Hello to you too, Care.” Twila drops her bag on the green cut grass. “Let's get this over with, shall we?” Some in the flock of wannabe cheerleaders chortle.

Caroline narrows her light bluish-green eyes before throwing Twila a mocked cheesy grin. The blonde pulled the sheet of paper to her eyesight. “Okay, first off you are going to be asked some questions — okay.” The group nods. “Okay, any of you guys have experience with cheerleading? Like gymnastics, dance, or have ever cheered before? If you have, raise your hand.” Caroline nods and marks it down. Caroline glanced to her side, “You want to say something, or are just going to stand there. Co-captain.”

Twila steps forward with a smirk. “All who have experienced step forward, those who don't. Please take a seat at the bleachers.” They followed their orders and Twila continued. “Now I want you all to show me what you've got. Jump, tumble, split, dance? Whatever you've got.”

The fourteen that step forward show Caroline and Twila what they could bring to the team. Both girls watched with sharp eyes. Twila had nicely commented on one girl who intended to do a cartwheel backflip after Caroline rudely told her she shouldn't try it again.

Twila told her she should. She did and succeeded. It was much better the second time around.

Throughout the try-out, Caroline rolled her eyes, scoffed, and scored the wannabe cheerleaders. Twila on the other hand praised and nicely Judged their performance. But she had snickered here and there with the blonde.

“Okay, we are done.” Twila was glad. “Those who made the team will be getting an email in two days and those who didn't,” Caroline sucked air through her teeth. “Too bad.” She shines her big smile, “Okay, bye.”

It was late afternoon and the sun cast a golden shadow upon the sky and Twila didn't care that it was four something when she got home, she was just happy she got her bubble bath. Her arms rest on the top edge of the tub and her hair held up by a black hair claw. She relaxed peacefully in the warm water and the smell of cinnamon, she bathed in the quietness. That was until Elena ruined it.

“Elena!” Twila shouts at her sister that breaks into the bathroom.

“Sorry,” Elena says. “Bleeding.” She put her foot on top of the toilet cover and rolled the bottom of her jeans up.

Twila looked down seeing the dry blood, “What happened?”

“I fell in the cemetery when I was running from a crow.

“Running from a crow?” It's brought a chill down Twila back. Her mind wondered if it could be the same crow watching her from the tree outside Ms. Tanner's window. No, she's just being paranoid.

“Yes.” Elena rolled down the leg of her jeans after cleaning the scraps on her leg and putting on a bandage.

“What were you doing at the cemetery?”

Elena put her foot down on the bathroom ground, sighed, and sat down on the bath cover. “I went to see mom and dad.”

Twila rolled her pretty eyes. “But you didn't see them, did you? You went to see a stone with their names plastered on it.” Twila's fingers wave in the bubble, playing with them. It was stupid for Elena to go see a piece of rock with their parent's names on it. It wasn't gonna bring them back, She thought, nothing was gonna bring them back.

Elena sighs and brushes her hair back. “I'm going to the grill, you want to come?”

“No thanks,” Twila looks over her shoulder. “I had a long day, I'm just gonna relax at home.”

The elder's twin nods, “Okay.” Elena left the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Twila fell back to the bath and relaxed once again.

A.N— Maine focus characters & Twila's outfit

#tvd fanfiction #vampire diaries fanfiction #vampire diaries x reader #damon salvatore x oc #elena gilbert #bonnie bennett #salvatore brothers #stefan salvatore

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crazyhappybuys · 1 year ago

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Waffle Knit Blanket NEW Queen Size 90" x 96" Cozy Waffle Texture Blanket Blush.

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unsaidholland · 4 years ago

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we’ll be alright | h. holland

surprise?

was this inspired by still by niall horan? yes, yes it was. stream heartbreak weather.

warnings: sad (we been knew)

somehow everything had gotten out of control. it was as if they were trying to guide a tornado into a mason jar. everything was destroyed, broken, and neither of them were seeing eye to eye anymore. nothing would ever be the same to them, not as she and harry were on the verge of breaking up.

there was nothing left to salvage but broken bits and pieces of a love that was once so strong and immensely passionate. maybe it was broken to begin with, a small hairline fracture being the only damage they started with, but it didn’t erase the ending. it killed the both of them to endure this fighting. the living room had turned into a warzone, and there was no ceasefire being called. there was just the two of them, on opposite sides, both physically and in battle. they were both too full of pride to apologize, but they still wanted things to end happily.

harry couldn’t believe how angry the two of them had become and how quickly everything had escalated. they were so far away from how tranquil the relationship was, so far away from the beginning. they were getting closer to the end, and both of them knew it was coming. though, neither of them wanted to escape from the pain they were inflicting on each other.

“it’s like nothing i do even matters to you anymore,” she said, voice shaking from the tears threatening to spill. she didn’t even know what they were fighting about anymore, and neither did he, but neither of them wanted to admit that maybe they both were overreacting, that maybe they miscalculated each others’ words.

“of course everything you do matters to me,” harry responded. he didn’t even know what the argument was going to leave him with, but he was hoping that he’d be left with something.

they went back and forth for hours, only giving up when they both decided they were tired. the one-bedroom apartment felt much smaller, no escape from the arguments, but with harry set to sleep in the large queen-sized bed, while she was laying on the grey couch, it felt like they were miles and miles apart. it felt like they were only getting further and further away from their destination, taking every wrong turn, leading them to the middle of nowhere.

harry’s eyes wandered across the ceiling, trying to rearrange the thoughts flowing through his mind. he wondered how he was going to make it up to her. sure it was going to be difficult, but he would find a way - he always found a way.

as harry was searching through his mind for ideas of how he was going to make it up to y/n, she was sat on the couch gazing out of the window. the midnight sky was dark and cloudless, allowing the stars to shine. she couldn’t help but notice that the stars weren’t shining as bright as they used to, maybe it was the argument bringing her mood down, or maybe they never shone as bright as she remembered. with the white sherpa blanket covering her legs, and her elbows resting along the back of the grey couch, y/n continued to wonder what she and harry had turned into. it seemed as if they were constantly fighting. maybe the house they had built was made of paper, so fragile that it was never supposed to last, or maybe they were destroying everything from the inside out. y/n couldn’t figure it out, and she supposed she wouldn’t ever figure it out.

y/n wanted so desperately for them to just go back to the basics, he loved her, and she loved him. she wanted to rid their relationship of the complications of travelling for work, their schedules, and how they just didn’t align anymore. if they loved each other, then why were they constantly fighting? y/n stayed up until the twilight adorned the sky once again as it did every morning, and she got no sleep, too stressed about what she and harry were turning into.

•••

harry woke up midday. the sun was well up at the apex of the sky, and harry’s brown eyes adjusted to the light that was shining into his bedroom through the sheer white curtains. he rubbed his eyes, blinded by the light, and immediately realized the first step he needed to take to make it up to y/n was making her food. he knew it was the key to getting time to just sit with her and spend time with her, so as soon as he was awake enough, he strolled to the kitchen and got the ingredients out for their meal. though it was midday, harry knew she would want breakfast food, so he got out their waffle maker and began on the batter.

their meal was almost done when harry realized that she would’ve wanted tea to go along with it, so he boiled water in the kettle, and making her the tea that y/n saved for special occasions. she loved tea, and their cupboards were filled with different brands and flavours, many unopened. she collected them for when she wanted to spice things up, but in this case, harry knew y/n would need something to cheer her up.

he set the dining table up so they were sitting across from one another, hoping that y/n would want to have a meal with him and pretend they were okay. maybe if they pretended hard enough, it wouldn’t feel fake and they would go back to normal.

as harry placed the cups of tea down in front of their respective place settings, he looked over to where his girlfriend was sleeping, just meters away from where he was standing, but he still felt so far away from her. how did they get there in the first place? how did they leave each other stranded on separate deserted islands, left with nothing but their love the want for each other. to harry, y/n felt so out of reach and the good parts of the relationship too felt out of reach. he wanted to get back there, but he just didn’t know how.

y/n looked at peace as she slept, and it was one of the first times harry had seen her so calm, but he also couldn’t help but notice the tear stains that adorned her cheeks. the copper, curly-haired boy couldn’t help but notice the guilt that was running through his veins. she was so calm when she didn’t notice he was around. he hoped that she was dreaming of him. harry hoped she was dreaming of the house they wanted to buy, the dog they wanted to adopt, and the life they wanted to have - but they couldn’t have that life, and harry was no stranger to that realization. in admitting that, he realized they had to have that conversation. the conversation that could either rebuild everything or destroy it further. harry hoped that the latter was just an option and not their fate, and he said a quick prayer to whoever was above that he wouldn’t lose the best person to have ever entered his life.

harry was blessed with so many opportunities. getting to travel around the world for his work, and always being away from the place he called home was one of the reasons the relationship had began to crumble in the first place, and he knew that. he just couldn’t give up his home. he knew that home wasn’t supposed to be a person, but a place where you could truly be yourself, but harry couldn’t help feeling at home wherever he was so long as he was with you.

he began to wake her up, thumb caressing her cheeks. harry watched as her eyes began to flutter open, the confused expression painting her face.

“it’s half past noon, but i made us breakfast,” he whispered for her to hear, a hopeful smile appearing on his face. she nodded and sat up. harry sat next to her, wanting to hug her, but not knowing how y/n would feel about that.

“what’d you make?” she asked as she pulled the blanket closer to her body as if it was her final layer of protection against him. the ceasefire had been called, but for all y/n knew, they were still both at war, and she wasn’t planning on taking any chances.

“made us waffles, put some fruit on the side the way you like it, and then i also made bacon and tea.” he was quick to add, “ i made you the special one you always save for special occasions because i know you would’ve wanted it if i didn’t make it.” a soft smile appeared on y/n’s face, the small gesture already seeming to make her feel better.

“well come on then.” she got up and began to make her way to the kitchen table, harry following behind her.

•••

by the time they had finished their meal, they were just sat in silence. neither of them wanted to break the calm moment they were just having, but harry just couldn’t help but ask, “where is our relationship going?”

after breaking the silence he wanted to take his words back, erase the fact that those godforsaken words had ever left his mouth. while he was tearing himself apart over his brief action, y/n was contemplating where their relationship was going. that was the only thing running through her mind through the early morning as the sun was rising, but she never found a clear destination. neither of them knew where they were going, it was as if the windows were rolled down, and the map had flown out. thought they wanted a happy destination where all that mattered was each other, it seemed the car was taking them somewhere that was quite the opposite. the relationship juxtaposed their desires, and they didn’t know how to make the two align again.

“i don’t know,” y/n mumbled quietly, pulling the sleeves down her hands so her fingertips were just peeking out, her yellow painted nails contrasting against the purple jumper she was wearing. the anxiety flowed through her veins as she was wondering where this conversation was heading. she was sick of all the yelling and screaming that constantly occurred between the two of them, she wanted it all to stop, but y/n didn’t want to lose him.

harry couldn’t help but sense the anxiety flowing through the both of them, so he reached across the table to grab her hand, silently letting y/n know it would be okay in the end, but he wasn’t just comforting her. the longer they sat there, the eerier the silence became. the unknown became more and more frightening to them, and they just didn’t want to lose everything. they had a feeling that they were soulmates, and they couldn’t bear to lose each other.

the minutes passed and turned into an hour of them sitting in silence, both trying to organize their thoughts and figure out what to do. the conversation had taken a pause, both of them knew that, but it was better than them yelling at one another and getting nowhere. this was progress, and harry was starting to be glad he had let those words leave his mouth. he was hoping his mood wouldn’t change. on the other hand, y/n sat on the other side of the table fearing the worst. she was terrified that the conversation would end with them breaking up, and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes from just thinking about it. harry couldn’t ignore the tears that were threatening to spill down y/n’s cheeks, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. what was he supposed to do when he didn’t even know where they were heading?

they sat at the kitchen table all afternoon. the sun had begun to set when y/n decided to make herself busy by collecting the dirty plates and cutlery and started to do the dishes. harry followed suit and began to wipe down the table and the countertops, hoping that this distraction would help them figure out how to fix themselves.

•••

y/n watches as the suds swirl off the white porcelain plates and down the drain. too distracted by the thought of her and harry breaking up, she just swirled the plate around, making the water reach all edges of it. how were they supposed to fix whatever was going on when they couldn’t figure out the problem?

“should we break up?” she asked herself. y/n didn’t expect the words to come out, and truthfully, she was praying that they were just mumbled so harry couldn’t hear them, except he did.

“what?” he responded. y/n knew he was baffled that she would ever ask something like that, and she was as well. her mind was running marathons trying to figure out the right answer to their situation. though she was terrified of what harry was going to say or do next, she found the courage to look at him. all she saw was fear running through harry’s body, and she was no stranger to that fear. y/n could feel that they were terrified for the same reason - letting go - but she wanted to do anything before she had to let go of him.

“i don’t want to break up, but what if it’s the only thing that’s going to salvage this relationship? i’d rather break up now while i still love you than break up hating you.” it was a touchy subject for the both of them, but who really wanted to break up with their partner that they were still so madly in love with? maybe it was the right decision, but she couldn’t tell, blinded by how complete she felt with him.

y/n looked out the window only to notice that the twilight had left the sky and the stars were shining yet again. she hoped that the events from the previous night wouldn’t repeat, but as she focused on how bright the stars were shining, she didn’t see a difference.

“be honest with me,” she paused to look back at harry. looking into his brown eyes for some sort of sign that things would get better. “do you think the fighting is going to get better?” she hoped that he would say yes. she hoped that he would say he would do anything for things to get better, but part of her just wanted an end to the fighting, whatever that looked like, she just wanted the fighting to stop. she couldn’t take it anymore. she hated crying almost every day, she hated being so far away from him, but she mostly hated how they were together without seeing eye to eye anymore.

“you want me to tell you the truth?” harry asked, y/n just nodded, scared of what he was going to say. “i am still so madly in love with you, and it scares me because i don’t know what i’d do if we broke up.” she looked away from him, too scared of what was to come next. he cupped her face, making her look up at him, and for the first time in a long time, she had never felt such pure love from harry. “everything is going to be alright, we’ll be alright because we love each other darling,” he said softly, staring into her eyes.

“i love you haz,” y/n murmured, scared that if she spoke any louder, the tranquil moment between them would break.

“i always love you even when we fight, you know that right?” harry asked, his hands slipping down to her waist, holding her against him. his hands on her waist sent sparks up her spine and she felt the passion that they held for each other all over her body.

y/n rested her head against harry’s broad chest, eyes closed to fully savour the moment. she memorized the way he felt against her, the weight of his hands resting on her body, and the way he smelled. y/n memorized the way it felt when his thumb would rub circles onto her hip, never able to ever stay still, and as she opened her eyes to look up at him, she memorized the soft smile that appeared on his face as he looked down at her. she was terrified that this would be the last good moment they would ever have, the last moment that was argument-free, the last moment where they weren’t yelling at each other or ignoring each other.

harry leaned down to kiss the top of y/n’s head, and as he pulled away, she pulled his head back towards hers, capturing his lips with her own. the feeling of his soft lips against her own slightly chapped ones felt like home to her. he was where she belonged, and the kiss only reminded her of what home once felt like.

•••

later that night, harry and y/n were laying in bed together watching a movie on netflix. the feeling of her in his arms without any ill-feelings between the two of them felt brand new to him, and he didn’t want to ever forget how perfectly she fit in his arms. his brown eyes stared at her arm resting against his abdomen, and he wished that he could take a picture of the moment to keep it to memory forever. he knew that one day these little memories would be overwritten and wouldn’t last forever, but he was hoping that there would be more memories like this for him to keep.

y/n had quickly fallen asleep on harry’s chest and he was quick to notice her change in breathing.

“i genuinely don’t know what i would do if i’d lose you,” harry said quietly, speaking mostly to himself and not to his girlfriend laying partially on him. he continued to ramble, “it always kills me whenever we fight, you know that?” he pushed some hair out of her face and watched as she furrowed her brows at whatever was happening in her dream, y/n’s face then relaxing to one that was so peaceful.

“i was telling you the truth earlier when i told you i still loved you despite all the arguments we’ve had. i’m still madly in love with you even when i’m mad at you.” harry knew she wouldn’t hear him, but he still liked talking to her, despite her being asleep.

that night harry realized they had quickly gone back to the basics, to their love being the only thing that mattered, but harry knew in just a few months he would have to leave again, and he was terrified. he loved his job, but he knew that y/n hated being away from him. she was his home, and he had a feeling that to her, he was her home, but he needed to go on this press tour with tom. maybe he could bring her along, travel the world with her while working. harry was quick to push that thought aside, remembering that whatever ends up happening, it would be alright.

“whatever happens, we’ll be alright,” y/n murmured in her sleep and harry smiled. somehow, she knew what to say even if she was asleep.

anything and everything taglist: @hollanderfangirl @hxrryhxlland @ohmy-moonlightx @musicalkeys @notsosmexy @writertoo18 @icyhollands @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh

harry holland taglist: @euphorichxlland

#harry holland #harry holland x reader #harry holland x you #harry holland x y/n #harry holland fic #harry holland imagine #harry holland imagines #harry holland fluff #harry holland angst

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charmandhex · 3 years ago

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I saw your tags and would actually love to see you talk crochet

Well, like a big dummy head, I forgot about this, but here we go!

For some context, I started crocheting in March of last year and started a nine month break in June. So, this is not something I’m super good at.

Right now, I have a few projects.

First, an amigurumi bee, which is not going to turn out great, because it’s my first attempt at amigurumi and I haven’t done nearly as much work with working in the round, so that confused me. Listen, unless you TELL me it’s a spiral and not concentric rings, with no diagram, after LOTS of “chain 3 to get up to the next level” my dumbass will assume concentric rings. Also, turns out you’re supposed to turn amigurumi inside out. Who knew! (I did not; thank you internet)

Second is a virus blanket. Yes the name is unfortunate, but the pattern is lovely. I’ve done three virus shawls for this point and opted to do a virus blanket to use my blue yarn and because I wanted something less intricate in terms of requiring my attention for watching TV and listening to podcasts. Like, it looks intricate, but pattern makes brain go brr.

Third is a dice bag for a friend. It’s modified dragon scale bag. It uses the crocodile stitch, which normally has a good number of holes, so I swapped the chain stitches for half double crochet in my first trial bag. Which is confusing, hang on.

First bag was a giant dragon scale bag for myself with an unmodified crocodile stitch so I don’t keep loose dice in it.

Second bag was a small trial run at modifying the pattern and was given to a friend.

Third is a larger scale modified version also for a friend.

Fourth is a C2C blanket, which is a corner to corner blanket. I was sulking because I felt like I only knew how to do two things (virus shawl and dragon scale), so I watched a video on C2C. And promptly started what will be a queen size blanket. I am not a smart woman.

And fifth is I wanna try to start a hat tomorrow but yarn sizes confuse me and the smallest hook I have is a size D so we’ll see if I can match gauge with that or if more shopping is required.

I also want to experiment more with other stitches. Like, I’ve got the basics of single, double, half double, and treble down, but I wanna learn like waffle and alpine and moss and pretty ones like that.

#charm talks #did this answer questions I have no idea #the future project list is even longer

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centuryofdean · 4 years ago

Text

Of Food and Comfort - Part 11

Author Disclaimer:: Marvel and its characters are not mine. I take no credit. Instead I claim the maybe not so great plot, writing and characteristics of the reader insert character. I am not a die hard Marvel fan, I haven’t read all the comics, but have watched the movies. I may get some things wrong, so please don’t hate me. I also have been incorporating Old Norse as terms of endearment.

Summary:: You worked for Tony Stark as a…mechanic of sorts. Anything around the Avengers compound that needed a technicians touch, you handled. With working and living there, you had grown to be friendly with the super heroes. Of course you had grown to have feelings for one of them. The muscled Thunder God to be exact.

Rated:: M for Mature. Please do not read this story unless you are 18+. Smut. NSFW

Pairing:: Thor x Reader

It was the middle of May when Thor finally had to be pulled away from you to go back to Asgard. Since the night he returned from the mission with the rest of the Avengers, things were better than great. The both of you were worse than teenagers in reality, constantly touching and attacking one another at a moment’s notice of privacy—sometimes even without the privacy.

Then one day you awoke in the middle of the night to Thor getting dressed.

Groggily, you turned on your side and grabbed for his back pants pocket, dragging him closer to the bed. “Where ya’ goin’,” you mumbled.

Thor sat on the edge of the bed next to you, using a hand to sweep the hair off your face before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I am called back to Asgard,” he murmured softly. “I will only be gone for a few days.”

This woke you up entirely, slightly panicked at the idea of him leaving you for Asgard. He was leaving, was he even going to wake you up before he was gone?

It seemed he sensed your panic because he laid his hands on your bare shoulders, smiling softly. “Do not worry, I was going to wake you before I left,” he pressed a quick kiss to your lips this time. Slowly, he pulled away but his eyes roamed lazily over your bare chest.

“Just be careful,” you laughed softly. He was being lecherous, lifting a hand to rub your shoulder and travel down towards your chest.

“I will schat. I will see you soon,” he said, kissing you softly again after lightly squeezing your breast. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Thor,” you replied before snuggling back into the blankets and let sleep reclaim you.

One Month After Thor’s Departure

A few days passed and Thor had not returned. Instead you slowly started to lose the ease of everyday life. Days blended into weeks achingly slow. Every morning you woke up, you wondered if he was okay and if that day was going to be the day he would return. Trying to distract yourself from the worry, you turned to one of the few things you knew besides technology.

Food.

Every day you slaved over the kitchen making a big breakfast, lunch and dinners for the entire team. In doing this, you were eating and snacking almost constantly. The kitchen was stocked with anything anyone could have imagined as well, thanks to you. If you weren’t cooking or eating, you were off to the store to get more things to cook and eat—or working on something technology related for Tony.

You were just grateful for the distraction in any form you could take it. Before you realized it, one day you looked in the mirror and noticed you seemed to have filled out more. Subconsciously you knew you had to have been gaining weight from the excessive eating and lack of exercising. Overall you weren’t bothered by the fact, just bothered that Thor never came back a few days like he had promised.

It wasn’t like Thor to make a promise and break it so easily. This leading you into a constant state of worry that was consuming you whole. The others tried to reassure you that he had been gone for long periods of time before. Something must have come up and he didn’t have time to come back and let you know it was going to be longer than a few days.

So you held hope that eventually he would return unharmed, and then you could finally breathe easy.

Two Months After Thor’s Departure

“Alright, Y/N, please stop cooking,” Clint sighed. He had stumbled upon you in the kitchen at eleven in the morning, covered in batter and a little out of it due to lack of quality sleep lately. It was hard to sleep, because every time you closed your eyes you dreamed of Thor. Either the both of you were together and happy, or he was covered in blood breathless.

All you wanted was something sweet, because honestly sweets sounded good to you lately. Maybe it had something to do with dopamine or whatever, but just the thought of French Toast had you drooling.

“Do you want some,” you asked with a yawn, flipping another slice of battered bread on the frying pan.

Clint just sighed. “I ate the waffles and fruit you made earlier,” he said slowly, “remember?”

“That was yesterday,” you said. “How many pieces do you want? There is enough bread for me to make enough for everyone. Do you think anyone else—”

“Honey,” he sighed again, cutting me off, “you’re not sleeping right. We ate the waffles this morning, you made them around eight. You haven’t even looked at me since I walked in the kitchen.”

What did looking at him have to do with anything? A little confused, you turned to appease him.

There Clint stood, struggling to hold a giant bundle of moving fur in his arms just a few feet from you in the kitchen. Taken by surprise, you tossed the spatula in your hands onto the kitchen counter, getting closer to what appeared to be a dog in Clint’s arms.

“We all talked about it, and we are okay with it,” he grunted trying to contain the animal.

“Okay with what,” you asked in awe. He crouched down and deposited the ball of fur onto the floor. The animal scrambled up and immediately started chasing its tail. It had to been at least forty pounds. The thing was already taller than your knees, but looked like it was a healthy weight, not over fed.

The black colored dog gazed up at you with dark blue piercing eyes.

Clint reached down to scratch it between the ears, gesturing for you to do the same. “We are okay with you having a dog! It was Tony’s idea really, he said you always asked him to get one. So, I went to the pound and picked up this guy,” he cooed affectionally at the animal.

You slowly lowered yourself to the floor, knees hitting the cold tile, letting your fingers pet at the soft fur on the dog’s head. It was so soft, it had to have been baby hair still. The pup barked softly, leaning forward to nip at your fingers and then lick at your face. A wave of puppy breath filtered in through your nose, making you cringe slightly but ultimately melt into a puddle.

Before you realized what was happening, you were crying softly, grabbing the large puppy and bringing it to your chest while you let the tears fall.

Ever since you started working for Tony Stark, all you did was pester him about letting you get a dog. Whenever the whole team left for missions, the base got pretty lonely. Even when everyone was home, sometimes the days were lonely because everyone was so busy doing their own things.

The fact that he is finally agreeing is what brought you to tears. Not because you are finally getting your wish of a pet companion, but that Tony saw how deeply you were hurting due to Thor’s absence. Tony had always been a good man at heart underneath his jerkish demeanor. This act of kindness from him also showed you how much he cared about you and your happiness.

French Toast completely forgotten, you laid down on the floor with the dog and played. You gently batted it back and forth on the floor, slowly it began to get annoyed and barked more and nipped at your hands and fingers. Eventually everyone converged in the kitchen to meet the newest addition to the compound.

Once Tony arrived to see, you jumped up and eloped him in a large hug, trying to hold in the tears. “Thank you so much,” you whimpered softly. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

“No worries kid,” he chuckled softly. “Just make sure you take care of the beast. I don’t want to smell dog crap in the building, alright?”

“Of course! I will be the perfect dog parent,” you swore.

Three Months After Thor’s Departure

It still hadn’t been easy. You had first expected to see Thor only a few days after he left. Now that three months had passed, you were trying to save your hope. Sleeping had gotten easier since Clint brought home your furry bundle of joy. At first you tried to prevent the dog from crawling into the bed with you, but ultimately caved when it whined softly at the end of the bed. When you would finally struggle to heft it up onto the bed with you, it was pure bliss of cuddles and love.

The name you picked out for him was one you forced yourself to practice daily. Mjölnir.

The puppy—who was not really the size of a puppy when he first arrived—seemed to almost double in size in the month he came home with Clint. You were convinced that if he stood on his hind legs, he was almost taller than you. None the less, Mjölnir was the perfect dog. He followed you around the base, didn’t whine or bark much and didn’t leave any sort of messes.

It didn’t happen overnight, but you soon realized that you had moved into Thor’s room. You had been sleeping in his bed since he left (the dog had been too), but you had slowly started to bring the things from your room into his. The couch and mini fridge from your room came, as did all of your clothes, toiletries and bedding. The room you used to stay in now looked like a new empty room for the next person.

Thor’s room had transformed into a mixture of both of his and yours. You continued to use his bedding, only because he had a king-sized bed whereas you had a queen. This was a good thing, because now that Mjölnir was much larger, the bed was just big enough for both of you to lay out comfortably.

The dresser vanity from your room made its way into Thor’s. It was big enough to hold the majority if your clothes—and Thor’s—and you had taken to covering the edges of the mirror with pictures that you had taken of you and Thor. The pictures ranged from before you two were dating up until the day he left. A few pictures of Mjölnir even made it onto the mural.

You wanted to say things had gotten easier over the month you had Mjölnir, but it would be a lie. Nothing had gotten easier. If anything, it was slowly getting harder because with each day that passed you continued to worry that the worst had happened. The dog helped make you content at least, keeping from turning to food for comfort.

Steve tried to help by involving you with as much as possible with anything he could. Once you even ended up in a meeting reviewing the next mission. That had never happened before, so it was mildly interesting. At most all you did was listen. Natasha asked your opinion on how you think they should handle the situation, go in guns blazing or under the radar.

If he wasn’t trying to get you to help with projects or missions, Steve was always offering to take you and Mjölnir to Central Park to get fresh air. After he ran around the park in its entirety—multiple times—he would come find you and the dog to walk around and enjoy the hot days of July in New York.

Four Months After Thor’s Departure

Some days you only got out of bed to take Mjölnir out. Food always seemed to appear at your door when you started to feel hungry. Sometimes when Steve asked you to help with something or offered to hangout you declined softly and stowed away into Thor’s room with Netflix and your dog for company. Some days you turned to wine early in the morning and didn’t stop until you went to sleep, waking up with horrible hangovers the next day.

Other days you tried to pretend nothing was wrong and Thor was going to show up any second to sweep you up off of your feet.

One day in particular you decided to take Mjölnir to Central Park for a nice long walk. The July sweltering heat dimmed down to a nice warm August day. You had invited Steve, but he got pulled away to work on something for the team. Everyone seemed to be busy and couldn’t come with you to the park, so it was just you and the dog.

Trying not to let it get you down, you loaded up in the Jeep with Mjölnir and headed into the city.

The sun had already dropped down significantly, but the sky was still bright and blue for six in the afternoon. You had opted to go later in the afternoon because even though midday wasn’t horrible to be in heat wise, Mjölnir’s thick black fur made it hard for him to stay cool.

The dog had already grown even bigger since you had gotten him. On his hind legs he had surpassed you by a head. On all fours? Well his head came to a rest at your chest. You wondered what kind of mutt he was, with his stature it seemed like he was a Great Dane, but he looked more like…well a wolf.

Whenever you got stopped in the park with him—people would ask if they could pet him or simply gawk and ask what breed he was—you insisted he was a Malamute and Great Dane mix. It was the only thing that would make sense to you, but overall stopped caring.

He was a good dog, overly friendly to anyone and everyone you both crossed paths with. Sometimes when someone walked up behind you, he growled softly. Whenever someone knocked on your—Thor’s—bedroom door he barked until you touched his fur softly. This led you to believe he was affectionate and protective.

Leash in hand, you took a deep breath and latched Mjölnir up to start your walk. You usually walked through half of the park when you went, but tonight you might just do a quarter because you didn’t like to be in the park too late. You never stayed long enough for it to get dark, because that is when it was most dangerous. Sometimes you do get lost though, and it takes a little bit longer for you to find the Jeep to get back home.

There weren’t too many people out and about this time, but you liked that. It was peaceful to just walk and not have to force a smile at those who would wave or want to stop you and ask about Mjölnir.

About an hour passed before you decided it was time to turn around and head back to the Jeep, leaving enough time to find your way back if you were lost.

Suddenly a stray cat darted out across the walkway and into the nearby trees, taking off into the distance. Even as it happened before your eyes, you were at a loss when Mjölnir jerked so suddenly he ripped himself out of your grasp and after the cat.

Frustrated, you took off after him, swerving in and out of trees and calling out his name. In a matter of moments, he became a dot in the distance.

Heart beating frantically, you started to call out his name, hoping he would turn around and come back to you. All thoughts of Thor had suddenly left your mind, a new worry that you had lost your new bundle of joy. What if someone thought he was a wild wolf? What if someone thought he was so perfect and wanted to take him away for themselves and not try to find his owner? What if animal control got called and he was gunned down for looking so big and menacing?

“Mjölnir! Mjölnir come here! I need you to come back Mjölnir,” you called out scared, a quiver starting to take your throat.”

Slowly the sky started to darken, clouds growing grey and thickening, small droplets of rain filled the air.

“Mjölnir!”

A deep rumble happened around you, you felt it in your chest like the thunder was right next to you. It messed with the beating of your heart, causing it to speed up and then slow, only to repeat in a weird manner.

“Mjölnir,” you whimpered softly, feeling the hot heat of tears start to hint at your eyes. What would you do if you truly lost him? Like you lost Thor.

A sob left you, forcing you to take a gasping breath as you felt your hair become soaking wet by the increasing rain. Even with your hair soaked, a weird tingle went up your spine and onto your head, almost as if your hair were trying to stand on end from static.

A deep hard vibration started, almost as if it were the heat of someone staring at you, but from above?

Looking up into the sky, you could see something moving fast—towards you.

Your arm was heavy, but the sudden heat in it caused you to gasp as it rose up to attempt to cover your face. A gust of wind hit you before heavy metal collided with your palm. On reflex your fingers curled around it and your muscles constricted to hold it in place and not allow whatever it was to knock you over or hit you in the face.

With a heaving breath you cracked open your watery eyes, only to cry out at the sight that met you.

Clutched in your hands was Mjölnir—Thor’s hammer. It was just as you remembered, slightly warm to touch and sleek with perfection of Asgardian carvings.

A small ray of hope sprouted in your chest, if the hammer was here—did that mean Thor was here? Your head quickly swiveled around the rainy terrain to see if you could make out a mop of blonde hair.

Instead you were met with a familiar face that was most unwelcome.

Just a few yards away, Liam was leaning against a tree, watching you with a furrowed brow.

It had been well over seven months since you had seen him last. Since he had hit you—twice. Just seeing him set a fear in your chest you weren’t ready to deal with. Ever since the night he attacked you, you thought you were okay. It bothered you for a few days, maybe a week, but you thought that was it.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

Shaking slightly, you took a few steps back, hand taking a better grip on the hammer you now held. “Are you following me,” you asked, voice coming out calmer than you felt.

At the sound of your voice, Liam pushed off of the tree and into the now pouring rain, approaching you. With every step that you took backwards, Liam took two forwards.

This cannot be happening. Why in the Hell would this be happening? How come everything seemed to always go to shit when Thor was gone? Was Thor gone though? If the hammer was on Earth, that must mean he was on Earth, right?

Unless—unless you calling for the hammer and it coming to you easily meant that he wasn’t around it—that he was gone.

“I was waiting for your boyfriend to show up,” he scoffed, “but looks like the idiot isn’t going to come, is he?”

“Thor doesn’t come everywhere with me,” you spoke back just as annoyed. “I am my own person, not his child to look after.”

The hateful smile Liam returned escalated your fear again. When he was only ten feet away, you finally lifted the hammer towards him in threat.

“Come any closer and I will fry your ass,” you snarled out, slowly becoming furious instead of afraid.

“You’re packing a taser? You won’t use it,” he laughed.

He must not pay attention to anything but himself, especially if he didn’t realize what Thor was the God of, or what the hammer could do. Was the power just through the hammer, or was the power through Thor?

Did you just threaten to electrify Liam, not knowing if you could actually do it?

Where was the dog?

“Mjölnir,” you called out as loud as you could, “come on boy! Time to go home and get treats!”

During the silent stare off between Liam and you, he had slowly inched his way closer to where you stood defensively.

“What do you want Liam,” you asked. “I thought I made it clear we were done.”

When he was only a handful of feet away, he relaxed into a stance that indicated he wasn’t going to come any closer. “I just want to know why you cheated on me,” he asked.

A little dumbfounded, the hammer drooped down to your side lazily. Cheated on him? He couldn’t be serious.

“Liam,” you said softly. “I didn’t cheat on you with Thor. Nothing ever happened between us while I was seeing you. Nothing happened between us until a few weeks after you assaulted me.” The last few words came out as a hiss.

“There’s no point in lying about it Y/N,” he snarled. “Just tell me why and for how long. You think I assaulted you? I was the one assaulted by fucking Capitan America and his bird brained friend.”

The grip you had on the hammer renewed at his words. Anger was fueling him almost as easily as it was fueling you, but it seemed to be building quicker in him. The next words you were about to utter were lost as a loud snarling bark came from just behind you. Before you could turn to look, Mjölnir bound out to stand just in front of you, his hind legs up while his front legs and head were lowered as he bared his teeth.

Relief filled your core to see him return safely. “I can go blue in the face trying to tell you the truth Liam,” you said, “but it doesn’t matter. You are only going to believe what you want to believe, and sadly what you believe is not the truth.”

You watched as he took another step forward quickly, but what happened next you felt as if you had no control.

The hammer in your hand rose—on its own, you weren’t sure—and a flash of piercing bright light illuminated the park around you. Heat filled you hard and fast, brimming on the side of too hot, a little too painful. A racing tingle started from your hand holding the hammer and down through every nerve in your body to your feet.

Then a nice hum vibrated through your body, a constant one.

Liam’s eyes grew wide and panicked, darting across your face and body before he turned and ran.

Five Months After Thor’s Departure

The night you saw Liam in the park felt so long ago, although it were only about a month. It was also a garbled mess in your mind. You could remember vividly everything that happened up until he turned tail and ran for it. What was the garbled mess was what happened after.

You vaguely remembered gathering both Mjölnirs and trying to find the Jeep. The drive home was what you didn’t remember, or getting into Thor’s room.

Once you crossed your reflection in the mirror, everything came back to a startling focus for you. You remembered your H/C hair was braided elaborately from your crown to your back. The simple sweats and sweater you were wearing had disappeared somewhere. Instead you were dressed in a familiar simple shirt and trousers that you had wore one day in Asgard. Even your tennis shoes had changed to boots.

Even your eyes had changed to a startling ice blue.

The effect had only lasted until you went to sleep. Before you went to bed that night you undid some of the larger braids and changed into one of Thor’s shirts. In the morning when you were getting up to take Mjölnir out, you saw your eyes had changed back to normal.

The only conclusion you could reach is that Mjölnir the hammer had done this when Liam took a threatening step towards you.

A month later you hadn’t touched the hammer again. Instead you leaned it up against the vanity and looked at it from time to time, but never touched it. Your thoughts tried not to trail down the dark path of wondering what it meant to have the hammer there and not Thor.

It had been five months, he hadn’t returned but his hammer had. Was Thor lost to you forever?

A deep whine from Mjölnir woke you. His wet cold nose was pressed against your cheek and while he licked softly and whined a little louder. “Ugh,” you groaned, pushing him away. “I’m up. Let Momma get dressed and I’ll take you out.”

At those words the large dog hopped off the bed and yipped in excitement. As you started to pull on a pair of leggings underneath your Thor shirt, you gazed at Mjölnir and tried to calculate how big he was now. Thankfully his height stopped with his head at your chest, but he seemed to be filling out more now. He easily was a hundred and twenty pounds.

Groggily, you exited the bedroom was watched as he slipped out in front of you. A woman was walking towards you, but your eyes were so squinted at the bright lights of the hallway you couldn’t make out who it was. “Mjölnir,” you growled softly, “get your ass back here. Mom goes first, you know better.”

The dog could sense the reprimand in the tone of your voice and stopped walking to wait for you. Throughout all the dog books you read, you tried to train him into believing you were the Alpha of your little family, and that meant that you led and he followed. Lately new people were popping up on the base and you didn’t want anyone to be scared of him if he was out wandering about.

The woman only paused a moment and jumped to the side and out of the way when you both passed.

The kitchen was even brighter than the hallway, so you actually covered your eyes and yawned when you stumbled into it. Creaking an eye open, you could see Steve at the counter stirring a cup.

“Mornin’,” you grumbled, trying to peak over his shoulder. Usually in the mornings he makes you a cup of tea. Instead you saw black coffee in the mug.

“Morning,” he said, sounding a little amused. “Yours is on the counter sweetheart.”

Smiling softly in thanks, you turned to the counter and picked up the steaming cup of tea. It smelled great when it reached your nose and was just cooled off enough to take a small sip from. The peaceful bliss was broken when Mjölnir growled a little too aggressively. Your eyes popped open in alert, concerned as to why he was growling in the first place.

Breath left you just as your cup of tea did. It slipped from your fingers and onto the floor, shattering and spraying hot tea all over. The heat from the hot liquid was dimmed by your leggings, but you don’t think you could have felt it anyway. Could you have felt anything?

There, sitting just at the end of the island was Thor.

Previous Chapter << Part 10: Chilli

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 4 years ago

Text

A Moment of Rest || Morgan and Kaden

TIMING: Before the cabin in the woods LOCTAION: Woods PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: A very normal picnic in the woods with a surprise guest.

“You could look happier to be out in the sunshine, you know. There’s not even any mushrooms in sight.” Morgan said. She spread out the picnic blanket in the shade, and settled down, a little smug today at being beyond heat exhaustion and squirming when she started to sweat through her cami. Corpse chill was so severe, she wasn’t even sure if she would sweat anymore. Morgan squished down the thought, determined to maintain it as a positive. She could look cute in any kind of weather. She didn’t even need ice baths like Deirdre did. Shaking back her hair, she gestured for Kaden to come sit. “In honor of us needing a serious break, and your favorite band of all time, I’ve got a mamma mia mimosa for you, a super trooper brain smoothie for me, and gimmie, gimmie, gimmie, gimmie waffles. Obviously, I can’t tell how much better they are from my last ones, but I’m feeling really confident about how I tweaked the batter. If nothing else, these are at least twice as fluffy. Come on, you know you want some, right?”

“I don’t even want to think about the mushrooms, thanks,” Kaden said as he found a spot on the picnic blanket across from Morgan. “I don’t even know how to begin explaining that one to Regan. She’s finally not five fucking inches so it’d be nice if we could get a two second reprieve from the fae bullshit.” Not to mention, he still wasn’t completely sure about the details on these mushrooms, he just knew he wasn’t ready to face whatever they were going to do to Regan. Part of him considered asking Morgan for advice but no, this was supposed to be a break. Maybe later. He sighed and was about to reach for the mimosa when he heard her little intro. Kaden sat there, blinking at her, fully ready to get up and walk the fuck away. “Erin fucking told you, didn’t she?” Putain. That was his guilty pleasure, not something he wanted out in public. It was embarrassing enough admitting it, he didn’t need ABBA rubbed in his face like that. Still, clear enough she meant well. Teasing. That’s all it was. Like they were friends or something. Fine. “Only if you quit making fun of me, dead girl.” He grumbled a little as he took the waffles from her. “And don’t tell Deirdre.”

“Don’t you know, Kaden? Up in White Crest you don’t think about fairy mushrooms; fairy mushrooms think about you.” Morgan didn’t know how to tell him her flippancy was the only thing keeping her from giving into the dread of being surrounded by those fucking fungi for months. But if he didn’t want an early ticket to the horror show, she didn’t blame him. She laid out all the tupperware and popped off the lids one by one. There was nothing in the make or decoration that signified anything ABBA related. She’d considered arranging berries on whipped cream to spell out the band’s name, but couldn't find any containers that would fit it just right, Lucky for Kaden.

“Of course Erin told me. We’re friends. But I think you still come out ahead of Ms. EDM Queen. I am ribbing you, but I also think there’s nothing wrong with liking ABBA...until you start making faces like that.” She wagged her finger at him, grinning. “And that’s a terrible request to make because she already knows. Sorry, but we tell each other...pretty much everything.” Morgan shrugged and took a deep, satisfying slurp of her shake. “It’s not that deep of a secret, is it? Will you feel better if I say I sing to Rogers and Hammerstein in my car? Or if I had my own brief ABBA phase when the stage Mamma Mia first came out?”

“You joke but if any town had sentient mushrooms, this is the one,” Kaden said. It was fine, Regan was sensible, unlike Deirdre. They didn’t have to worry about fairy mushroom crap. A pit dropped in his stomach out of nowhere, like some part of him knew he was lying to himself. Guess that was a problem for the future.

Kaden sighed. He hated that Deirdre had one up to embarrass him with. She would, too. At least with Erin they were fair and square. “There’s nothing wrong with ABBA, I just don’t want people laughing at me, alright,” he mumbled. It was stupid to admit, considering for the most part how little he cared about what other people thought of him, or at least that was what he told himself. The more he stayed in White Crest, the more he wondered if that was true. Reputations hardly matter if you don’t stay put in one spot for too long. But here he was all settled and cared and shit like that. There were so many days he wondered if that had been a mistake. And here he was, having waffles with a zombie. Probably a fucking mistake. He sighed and bit into the waffles. For a mistake, it was damn tasty. “Of course you sing musical ballads and shit, that’s completely expected from let’s talk about our feelings girl. Hell I bet you’d live in a musical if you could. Everyone belting out their private fucking emotions. I’d put money down that’s your idea of a good time.” He shook his head before taking another sip of Homs mimosa. Sounded like hell to him. Talking about feelings was bad enough. Kaden’s brow furrowed as he heard a soft small rumbling sound. Almost like a… bleating? Odd. “Do you hear that?” he asked.

“Oh, you’re damn right I would,” Morgan said. “You may not know this, but Deirdre and I kill at karaoke. Give me a moving, hummable love ballad, a solo in the rousing group number, maybe a breakaway hit ‘I want’ song. Maybe if I had one I could actually get more direction in my life going.” She took a deep slurp of her smoothie. ��Are you saying that’s not your idea of a good time?” She pouted. She was going to relent a little, ask him about the waffles or, heck, whatever else he was interested in outside of work, when her senses perked at a strange sound from the bushes. “Yeah,” she murmured. Setting her smoothie down, Morgan got to her feet and started creeping towards the sound. The leaves rustled. Something was there alright. She positioned herself in front of Kaden, gesturing, sshhh. “We should probably stay quiet,” she whispered.

“Fuck no,” Kaden said with no hesitation. “I can’t imagine wanting to burst out into song or anyone appreciating that, either. All of that sounds tedious. I’ll stick to darts and trivia nights, thanks. Hard pass on the karaoke.” Plus, Regan couldn't sing (by her own admission) and he was fairly fucking ceratin a tone deaf banshee would make everyone else wish they were deaf. He watched, though, as she crept towards the sound. Guess they were going to investigate, huh. He stood and followed behind, nodding and remaining silent at her request. There it was again, the sound. There was no doubt what it was this time. The gentle bleating of a lamb. Which was impossible, there weren’t any farms out here. No livestock was going to survive on its own in White Crest, not out in the woods. He edged up next to her and peeled open the branches to reveal what was beyond them. Sitting there was a small, white lamb. Shit, they had to bring it in, probably take it to the shelter. He didn’t have any of his equipment with him. “Do you have a rope or something? A long string? Anything? We could try to get a loop lead around it,” he whispered.

Morgan gestured for Kaden to keep back as she came up to the bushes. “What are you doing? My limbs grow back, yours don’t!” She hissed. But Kaden peeled back the branches and-- “Aaaw!” Morgan squeezed his shoulder in excitement. “It’s so cute! What do you mean get a rope? Look how small and cute it is!” Morgan reached out a hand to let the fluffy little critter sniff her. It let out a soft bleat and licked her fingertip, testing to see if she was food. Morgan scooped the sweet creature up while it was occupied like this and inspected the little guy on their hands. “Oh, Kaden,” she cooed. “This cutie pie isn’t running off anywhere, are you honey?” The lamb bleated and wriggled in her grasp, ready to be put down. Morgan settled its forelegs on her lap and gave the lamb chin scratches for its trouble. She gave Kaden a look, trying to see if he’d put it together yet. “...It’s a little attached right now?” She prodded. “Because it’s a plant?”

It was always strange to remember that Morgan was damn near indestructible. Sure, Kaden had seen her tossed by a mime moose like a rag doll but so much of him still remembered when a vampire pulled her into the trees and nearly tore her apart. Thankfully, no such danger was there today. It was just a lamb. Well, mostly. It was… tethered to the ground? “Putain. Animal control is ruining me,” he said with a grumble. A year ago, the first thing he would have noticed was the supernatural element of it all. He also probably would have killed the lamb. With how cozy she seemed to be with it, he thought it best not to announce that. Kaden exhaled and plopped back down on the picnic blanket. “I thought it was a lost lamb. Like a real one. I was going to make sure it didn’t get away and bring it into the shelter because I thought it was normal.” That was certainly not the case. “I know what a vegetable lamb is, alright. I grew up knowing this shit, come on,” he grumbled before taking another bite of his waffles. The small supernatural animal across the way bleated and started sniffing the blanket and all the contents there. “Hey. Don’t eat my food; not for you!” he said as he tried to direct the lamb away from the berries on his plate.

Morgan couldn’t help but laugh. “Hey, at least we don’t have to spoil brunch by fighting giant spiders or running from creepy tics. It’s just one sweet little veggie lamb! And still has about another year left in its cute little life, judging from the size.” Morgan booped the lamb’s nose and pet its fur. “Oh, yeah, you’re a real big bad expert. What’s the protocol for this one anyway? It’s just so fearsome and terrible.” This, just as the lamb tried to take some of Kaden’s blackberries, made her laugh even more. Morgan lifted the critter out of the way and wiggled its forelegs in Kaden’s direction, ventriloquising sweetly, “Put ‘em up, Kaden! That’s my berries! I’ll fight you for them!”

She made a show of gasping with horror. “What a very rude vegetable! Should we pacify your gloriousness?” She picked up one of the berries from the tupperware and hovered it over the critter’s mouth. It bleated, thrashing and pleading until Morgan relented and brought it close enough to be eaten. “My mom had one once, apparently. They’re hard to grow in the first place. A lot can go wrong and it’s sort of gross when it doesn’t work out. But I’m not sure what this little guy is doing out here…” Bringing the lamb back to her lap, she pushed herself out of her thoughts and smiled over at Kaden. “How’s the food? And the whipped cream? I’ve never made it before and I can’t taste, but I measured everything really carefully.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve got a point there,” Kaden replied. He was sick of being told that normal was a relative word, but at this point, he’d take normal adjacent. And avoiding monsters that ate people, or well, at least actively planned to eat them, was an improvement to most days in White Crest. “Uh, you really want to know?” he asked, mouth pulled into a thin line, looking down at the lamb and then back to her. “Langley code is everything supernatural should go.” He knew those words would fall like a lead weight between them, but it’s not like he could change his past or his family or what he was raised with anymore than she could change what she was. And he was admittedly still a little uncomfortable how much he’d changed himself. He much preferred it when he didn't have to face that reality, it was much easier when he could ignore it, not have to examine what all his contradicting bullshit meant. Good thing he didn't have to think about it long. He couldn’t help but crack a smile at the lamb as she held it up and made it act out a scene. It was so easy to forget that she wasn’t human and that it wasn’t an animal.

Okay, alright, stupid thing was cute. Putain. “Yeah so I’ve heard.” He couldn’t imagine going through all that work for a vegetable version of a sheep when there were standard sheep. Not that he needed one of those either. He rolled his eyes before he held out some of the berries in his hand for the stupid vegetable. It bleated before timedly wobbling towards him, nose sniffing and snuffling to find the fruit in his hands. Funny how similar it was to a normal animal; the corner of his mouth pulled up into a smile all over again as he watched. “Hmm? Oh. Yeah, it’s great. Almost too sweet but that could just be me, I don’t have a huge sweet tooth surprisingly.”

Morgan went stiff as Kaden explained the Langley code. Her eyes did nothing to hide the gravity of what he’d said, the danger she and the vegetable lamb were ostensibly in. She couldn’t help but hold the lamb a little tighter, any number of arguments rising in her throat. We have as much right to be here as anyone else. We didn’t choose how we were made any more than you did. What even gives Langleys the right to determine what counts as ‘natural.’ Cholera is natural too. So was Ted Bundy. ‘Natural’ isn’t a basis for… Morgan stopped herself. It was almost disturbing how easily she forgot what he was. But he was her exception just as she was his. The space they shared as friends wasn’t any more “natural” than the magic keeping the vegetable lamb alive. It had to be crafted with intention and suspended with care. And then, when the moment passed, it would weaken. One day, Morgan feared, it might even break.

Morgan watched in silence as Kaden fed his berries to the small creature, beaming thoughtfully as it nuzzled his hand. Animals were innocent and trusting even when they shouldn’t be; Deirdre had explained that to her enough times when talking about her childhood farm. But the way Kaden handled the lamb, even nervous as he was, was so gentle. She struggled to imagine him stabbing the life out of a creature just because with those hands. “I guess it’s a good thing for both of us you’re only kind of a Langley,” she said quietly. Clearing her throat she pressed on, “I’m glad, though. About the whipped cream. A little surprised since French cuisine is so rich, but, hey, so is Southern food, I guess, and half of my family didn’t have much of a sweet tooth either.” She shrugged, reaching for some thread that would steer the mood back towards levity. Wherever it was, she couldn’t find it yet.

Kaden couldn’t help but bristle hearing her call him “kind of a Langley.” He didn’t know if he wished she was more wrong or more right. Either way he hated feeling like he was either failing or had wasted a good portion of his life. He wasn’t sure which it was yet. Every inch of him screamed at him to fight, snap back at her comment the way he had for so many years at anyone and everyone, especially those who disparaged him. Spit back something about still being a hunter, legacy, any of that. But something stopped him. Maybe it was the waffles, maybe it was lamb, maybe it was the expression on Morgan’s face mere moments ago. Maybe it was because he remembered everything that had happened with his mother’s ghost.

The lamb started to bristle its little lips around Kaden’s fingers to see if there was anything worth nibbling there and he let the thoughts fade away. “Rich and savory is one thing. And I don’t hate sweet things, they just need a balance,” he said as he plucked a berry of his plate and held it out in his hand for the lamb to eat. “Like a good piece of fruit, just ripe. That’s perfect. If it’s too saccharine, it hurts my teeth, all that.” As much as he wished that had pulled his mind from the previous topic of conversation, it didn’t. “Most of my family didn’t have much of a sweet tooth. Not that I remember too much by now.” He hadn’t meant to make it heavy again with talk of loss and death, as inevitable as it was around them. Still, he could try to shift. “I told you my uncle was in town, right? He’s German. Lived with him after--” After he lost his parents. Putain. “Anyway, picked up a decent fondness for good German cuisine, too. Feel like I almost always forget until I see him again, you know? Brings things back.”

“Balance, huh?” Morgan said with a fond smile. “I can get behind that.” But this strange tangent didn’t last long. Kaden hadn’t just lost his family, he’d lost them so young even his memories were faded. For all she knew, his awful ghost problem was the strongest memory of his mother was of her attacking him as that awful creature. She couldn’t help but think about her own mother yelling at her on the beach more than the painfully strained visits in her care facility and later, the home of one of Ruth’s old friends. Neither end was especially wonderful, but the burn was newer in one place than the other.

“I am sorry about your family, Kaden,” she said soberly. “I know how hard it is not to have anyone, to miss people like that, even when your relationship was complicated.” She leveled her eyes at him so he would know she meant it. She wasn’t sure if he realized she’d lost all her family either, that this wasn’t pity, but something about him she might actually understand. “I’m glad Oscar was there for you, at least. It sounds like you two are really close. That has to feel...I don’t even know. How does it feel…? Having him back in your life and accessible in a way he hasn’t been in awhile? Um, cooking and all?”

“Yeah. It’s-- It is what it is,” Kaden said as he tried to keep his eyes on the lamb’s little mouth greedily looking for more berries. It was his constant defense when someone talked about his parents like this. Still, something about the way she said that she was sorry rang true. Kaden could never say where the line was that made it clear to him when people understood loss or not, but it was there, invisible but stark. He didn’t know if it was anything more than just the loss of her own life, though he did recall she also was visited by the ghost of her mother during the whole coin debacle. He wasn’t sure it mattered what or when, if you knew the pain of it, you knew all the same.

“Yeah he was around a lot of my life. Always sort of looked up to him. But ever since I was, I don’t know, twenty or so, we’d split up, reconvene, catch up, repeat.” Kaden shrugged. “It’s always nice to see him. He’s really all I have left of--” Kaden swallowed back his words. Oscar was what he had left of family. His life before anything changed. “But this is, I mean, this is way more complicated than it used to be.” Nothing illustrated it more than this moment right now. He was chatting with a zombie over waffles while petting a goddamn vegetable lamb. There used to be a safety he felt when Oscar was around. Now he felt like the most dangerous person in town. And he hated feeling that way about Oscar of all people, the only person he could always count on to look after him. “Every time I’ve gotten myself into deep shit, I always knew I had someone to turn to. It’s weird not going to him now that I feel like I’m in trouble.” Because the trouble was him.

Morgan didn’t examine the impulse to reach out to Kaden. It came so quickly, and there was something so painful about the way he brushed aside his own loss with such ease, she wondered if he ever let himself feel it now that the wound was starting to numb, or let other people understand what he was feeling. Her hand settled on his shoulder and she squeezed carefully so as not to hurt him. “Yeah, it is what it is, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the worst, or that it doesn’t trip you up almost out of nowhere sometimes.” Life with Oscar wasn’t like anything Morgan could imagine. She craved to have her hands around anything precious she managed to have. But to have a touchstone you could pass by at all must have been special. Morgan was endeared, even relieved by the way Kaden talked about him, even as his mention of ‘complicated’ put a stone in her stomach. Right. Oscar and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, good for nothing supernaturals that couldn’t possibly be people. Of course.

“I’m sorry that things are different between you now,” she said solemnly. At least for now, she thought, though she couldn’t bear to entertain the idea for long. “Do you have a plan, for how you’re going to deal with his visit here? I mean, is it going to be dangerous for you if he finds things out, or just...well, just more normative levels of terrifying encounters and really hard conversations?”

Kaden never knew what to make of physical contact. Well, when it was from people he wasn’t dating or trying to date. Even between family it had been strained. Or, well, perhaps not strained but it certainly wasn’t frequent. It was unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. Funny, her skin was cold, sure, but cold hands barely registered any more. “You don’t have to be, though. Sorry. I mean-- I don’t know.” Talking about what happened was something he was about as good at dealing with as physical affection. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience, though. You don’t have to explain, just-- You can always tell.” He gave the lamb another berry and gave it a small scratch behind its ear. It was easier to just think of it as a real lamb, not supernatural. Focus on the parts that were normal.

“Dangerous? For me, no. But that’s not what I’m worried about.” Kaden tried to swallow back the lump forming in his throat. It felt impossible for him to imagine what Oscar would do if he found out what Regan was, who he was friends with, the fact that he was keeping a pixie as a roommate, any of it. None of it was behavior that he’d ever imagined for himself, so how could he anticipate any reactions? He suspected, at the very least, that Oscar would try to kill them, encourage Kaden to. But maybe he could make exceptions. Or better yet, maybe he’d just leave town before finding out about any of it. He never had to know Kaden had changed any of his views. He could keep thinking his nephew was still a worthwhile hunter, holding up the legacy.

Right. Doubtful. Kaden let out a sigh. “But yeah, no plans. No clue what to do.”

Morgan gave Kaden another squeeze for good measure. “I do, yeah. Family curses of true suffering don’t exactly fuck around,” she gave a small laugh, breathless and humorless to mark all the anguish that had gone numb from her picking at them over the years. Kaden had probably coped by keeping silent, or leaning in extra hard into the ‘it’s fine school of thought.

“Well, lucky for you, I guess.” Morgan said the word gently, meaning it in earnest. “I just mean, you can use that. You can focus on protecting people you care about, and when the time comes, you don’t have to worry about having to save yourself. That can be really important. And, you know, taking care of people can look like a lot of different things. I think you should consider doing a little more than waiting for the sky to fall down, but I’m just paranoid that way. But, you know, if you’re clear with yourself and your intentions, if you tell yourself enough that you’ll protect Regan no matter what, maybe the right plan will come to you later. But then that’s just one hippie zombie’s opinion. What do you think, veggie lamb?” She lifted the fuzzy critter and steered it up toward Kaden so its bright, guileless eyes were level with his.

Kaden looked up and finally met Morgan’s eyes and gave her a nod in return. It was what he could manage. Too much and it would send the grief and pain flooding back, he was sure of it. No need for that. It wasn’t produc-- He froze, the thought rattled in his mind. It was something straight from his mother’s mouth. He wasn’t sure what to do with that. Or what it meant. He tried to let it roll off him. “Yeah, good point. Guess you don’t get to be free of it even when… you know.”

The way she was approaching the situation wasn’t in a way that had occurred to him at all. The thought of having to save himself from Oscar just didn’t--- His brows knit together at the thought. It didn’t make sense in so many ways; it was a scenario he could never imagine himself in. Needing to protect himself from Oscar. Standing against him. Not being just like him. Not wanting to be just like him. And what did it even mean to go against the small scrap of family he had left? What if he-- That possibility was too difficult for him to even begin to consider just yet. Seeing the veggie lamb sitting there brought him out of his thoughts and put a small smile on his face. “Hmm I think he doesn’t know how to plan for that sort of thing. But he’s also a lamb. Well, technically a plant.”

“You mean even when I’m technically un-cursed but still dead and a zombie?” Morgan said, her smile sad for all its warmth. “Yeah. That stuff sticks forever. Get it?”

Kaden seemed confused by something she said, and it took Morgan awhile to figure that he’d never been given a reason to fear the people who were supposed to take care of him. Or at least not enough that he was willing to admit to himself. She wasn’t sure if he was really lucky for that or not. She quirked her brow up at Kaden as he dodged the question. I see you doing that. She held his gaze a moment, debating whether she should give him this out or not. “Lamby over here is both, thank you very much. Lamby is one of two worlds and lives that way in peace. But, as much wisdom as Lamby almost certainly possesses, I think you’re right. He just wants more of your berries.”

#wickedswriting #chatzy #morbeckmoreproblems #morgan #a moment's rest #writing

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