#she’ll write just the prescription you need dear

[16bit-trash]

Now tell Nurse Gerard what ails you dear~

[bluemusickid]

Hi! I hope you're doing well 🥰 Can you I request one where Steve breaks reader's arm or leg by mistake during training and has to take care of her afterwards? Definitely won't mind if some smut is added 😅 Thank you!!

OMFGGGG MY FAV WRITER SENT AN ASK ASDFGHJKL (Also full disclosure: this has been one of my kinks for a while :P)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Warnings: slow burn (just a tad), 18+, SMUTTTT, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), did I mention NSFW? Read at your own risk.

A/N: I would like to thank @imdarkinme for sending in this AMAZING ask! She’s a doll and I’ve been a fan of her writing for so long!! I would also like to thank @donutloverxo for converting me to a Steve Stan loool. I wanted him to be a bit dark here, but in the end his dorky side won. :P Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!! Send in your requests here and you can join my taglist here (or you could just send an ask lmao)! Thanks!

I post my stuff only on AO3 and here, nowhere else. 

The Learning Curve

You groaned as you got up from the mat, yet again. It was dumb of you to ask Captain Rogers to train with you. As a new recruit, you’d obviously wanted to impress him; he was the leader of the Avengers after all. There was only one tiny problem you forgot to factor in: the man was a Super Soldier, while you were...not.

“Come on, get up! We still have two rounds to go!” a voice bellowed from above you.

You mentally cursed at the voice. You’d tried to not let it affect you, but like many others, you had a bit of a crush on the Captain. But it wasn’t solely because of his looks, it was more about his passion to help and save and to protect. He was always so passionate, it was hard to keep away(which was a fiercely guarded secret). You felt like Icarus, when you were with him.

Getting up, you tried to block his punches, while getting in a few yourself. It was impossible, the man was a champ. You saw your opening, however, when he seemed to be distracted by someone approaching him from behind you. Seeing this as a golden opportunity to catch him off guard, you threw a punch aiming for his face. Unfortunately, he blocked the punch and pushed you, to ward you off. It seemed as if he too, forgot that he was a Super Soldier, pushing you a bit too hard.

You screamed as you fell to the ground, twisting to save your face, your arm breaking your fall. Your suspicions were confirmed as you tried to move your arm but couldn’t. Steve heard you yelp and rushed to your side, carefully inspecting your injured appendage. You squealed as he touched your arm, the pain indescribable. Steve whispered his apologies a million times, trying to haul you up by your waist, in vain. Finally, he gave up and picked you up bridal style, like you weighed nothing.

You gasped, partially out of pain, but mostly out of surprise at the sudden move. 

“Umm...Cap..tain..I..can..walk..” you stuttered, unable to keep the pain out of your voice.

He looked into your eyes and smiled, shaking his head. Oh dear lord. This man truly was gorgeous. Nearing the MedBay, he slowly placed you on the bed, his mouth tantalisingly close to yours as he lowered you onto the surface. You never realised how blue his eyes were, which at the moment were filled to the brim with anxiety and some other emotion; which you couldn’t quite place your finger on. Deciding you were probably delirious from the pain, you tried to focus on what the doctor was telling you.

“...so you’ll have to be on constant bedrest for the next two weeks before we can check again to see if you need a rod put in.” 

“Err, I’m sorry doc, what?” you mumbled apologetically, embarrassed by your thoughts.

“As I was telling Captain Rogers, you seem to have a hairline fracture in your ulna, which could require support. You need to rest and take it easy for at least two weeks. Training will have to be put on hold, and I suggest you call a family member to take care of you in the meantime.” the doctor said, scribbling notes.

“Oh, that..won’t be necessary. I can do stuff on my own, I’ll be very careful.” you said with a grimace, not wanting to seem weaker in front of Steve.

“That’s not gonna happen.” Steve said, firmly. “She’ll stay in my quarters. It’s the least I can do after breaking her arm.”

You stared at him, a million things going through your head. You and him, in the confines of a room, alone. Oh no. This was going to be torturous in more way than one.

“Oh no no no, Captain. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t like to impose. Plus, I’m feeling better already! I’m sure it’s more than manageable. Please..I..I’ll be okay, really.” you rushed, pretty sure that your voice was betraying just how fast your heart was beating.

Steve smirked. “This isn’t up for debate. Plus, I’m sure it would be easier for the others to check up on you when we’re away on missions.” he said, taking the prescription from the doctor.

You winced as he helped you up from the bed, the warmth of his hand making you hyperaware about what your life was gonna be like for 2 weeks. You sighed. It was gonna be a loooong two weeks.

-------

You realised after a week that your worries had all been for naught. Steve was an excellent caretaker. He made sure you took all your medicines at the right time, ate properly and rested enough. He was also a thorough gentleman, always calling a lady nurse when you needed to take a shower or get dressed; really respected your boundaries. But you couldn’t deny the shift in his behaviour towards you. At first, you felt like you were reading into it too much, but then it started to get more noticeable. They were little things, but it meant so much. He would insist on having lunch with you, no matter if you were quiet or chatty; Steve always was there. He brought your favourite blanket from your chambers to make sure you felt more comfortable. At night, he would make sure you were comfortable, get you hot chocolate, maybe even sit next to you till you fell asleep. One time, he held your hand till you drifted off; but you were sure that you felt him leave a small peck on your cheek as you nodded off.

If you weren’t falling for him earlier, you sure as hell were now.

------

After hitting the two week mark, you went to the doctor again for a checkup. All seemed well, there was no need for a rod to be put in but the cast would have to stay on. Steve was there throughout the appointment, listening intently at everything the doctor said with his full focus. It was quite distracting and kinda hot, and you couldn’t help but sneak glances at him periodically. On one occasion, he caught your eye and grinned, catching you in the act. You wished the ground would swallow you up just then: this man fully well knew that you had a crush on him and was enjoying messing with you.

You nearly gasped as you felt his hand on your shoulder, guiding you to the lift. Something was different today. Steve seemed buoyant, which was very out of character for him.

“The nurse isn’t available today, she had some prior commitments. If it’s ok with you, I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” he said, softly. You gulped, his tone messing with your train of thought.

“Uh, that’s ok, I can manage things for a night. I’ve already imposed on you quite a bit and don’t want to create more of a hassle.”

Steve smiled. “Sweetheart, you’ve not been a hassle, trust me. It felt nice having you around, I enjoy your companionship. Just a few weeks more and you can get rid of me.” he said, with a mischievous grin. You groaned inwardly; this man was driving you nuts.

“Oh no, I really liked staying with you. You’re great company! I don’t think I want to get rid of you, ha.” you said in a flourish, mentally cursing yourself for being such a blabbering fool around him.

Steve looked at you, his eyes darkening. He stepped closer to you, opening his mouth to say something, but the elevator seemed to sense the tension rife in the air and opened at that exact moment. You both snapped out of the haze you were in with Steve beckoning you to his quarters, his hand resting softly on your back.

Back in your room, you realised you needed to take your nightly shower. You were about to call for the nurse, when you remembered that she wasn’t gonna come. Shit. You’d have to call Steve to help with your sling. Closing your eyes, you sighed before you walked to his room, praying to God that you would get through this. Just go in, get the brace off, and get out, you whispered to yourself. With that mantra in mind, you hesitantly knocked on his door. A muffled ‘come in’ reached you, and you timidly entered the lion’s den.

Steve was tinkering with the laptop, clearly engrossed in some work. You felt guilty disturbing him, but it was kind of an emergency. 

“Is everything ok?”

“Yes, I..just needed some help with my sling; I tried to take it off, but it’s not coming off. Can you..unfasten it? I’ll be out of your hair in no time..”

Wordlessly, Steve sauntered over to you, turning you around to face the wall. Softly, his fingers undid the clasp of the sling, pulling the straps off your neck, his fingers grazing over your skin gently. You jerked, surprised by the small currents you felt with these small touches. Turning you around, he helped you take your arm out of the sling, his hands accidentally brushing the sides of your breasts. You didn’t dare make eye contact with him; you were sure you would say or do something you would regret later on. 

“All done.” he whispered, his eyes not leaving yours. You realised he was merely inches away from your lips; the proximity driving you crazy.

“Thanks.” you mumbled, wanting to run out of the room.

“Are you going to bed? Do you need anything to drink?” 

“Yes, I was just gonna head to bed after my shower.”

“You can shower here. I’d be able to keep an eye on you then and you won’t have to worry about any mishaps. See? Win-win.” he said with a grin.

You were about to decline his offer but stopped when he held up his hand. “You need to stop thinking that you’re a burden on me. I like doing things for you, it makes me feel like I’m not totally alone. These two weeks have undoubtedly been one of the best weeks in my life. I like you, and I know you like me. I just want to show you how much I care for you in my own, peculiar ways.” he said, taking your hand in his, drawing patterns on your knuckles softly.

Your mind raced with all the information. You never knew Steve felt this way, he was always so taciturn. Your gaze flitted to his face, his eyes darkening the way they did in the morning. He didn’t need words to convey what his eyes said; he felt the same way you did about him.

You melted as he raised your hand to his lips, placing a kiss which felt like petals grazing your skin. Leaning down, his lips inched closer to yours, his breath tickling your face.

“Tell me if I should stop, and I will.” he whispered.

You waited a beat before making your decision. Raising your lips to his, you touched his lips slightly before murmuring, “don’t stop.”

And that was it. You were lost in the maelstrom of emotions that was Steve kissing you. It started off sweet, with Steve engulfing your lips within his, taking his time to make sure you were enjoying. It turned heated the moment you ran your fingers through his hair, gently tugging on it. Steve ran his tongue over you, begging for entrance. You moaned and opened your mouth, prompting him to unite his tongue with yours, as if to memorise every inch of you. You broke apart, the need for air greater than your desire. 

He picked you up and carried you to the bed, placing you on it carefully. Being extremely careful, he pulled off your tee, eyes widening as he took in your bare chest. Kneeling in front of you, he took off your sweatpants and your underwear, leaving soft but searing kisses at every inch of skin he exposed. You sharply inhaled, already feeling yourself get wet even though he hadn’t even touched you properly.

Lowering you to the bed tenderly, he made sure your arm was resting comfortably, placing a pillow underneath the appendage. Placing his hand next to your head, he kissed you deeply, pouring every emotion he felt into that kiss. You moaned as you felt his lips trail lower, leaving kisses along your neck, laving your pulse point. Moving lower, he kissed your breasts, leaving small bites along the way. Taking a swollen nub in his mouth, he sucked on it while massaging the other, prompting you to groan and run your uninjured hand through his hair, wanting him inside you.

While he moved his attention to your other breast, he trailed his fingers down your body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He finally reached his destination, his fingers soft against your wet nether region. 

“Steve, please..I need you..” you whispered in urgency. His intrepid fingers found your swollen nub and circled; gently at first, and then with more intensity. Moving lower, his digits swirled around your wet lips, before plunging into your tight channel. You gasped as he began thrusting, his knuckles bumping along your front wall, hitting your sweet spot. You had to refrain from arching your back, instead relegating to pulling his head down for a kiss. He increased his speed, adding another finger once he sensed how close you were. You shrieked as you reached your peak, breaking apart from the kiss. 

As you opened your eyes, recovering from your orgasm, you saw Steve look at you, an unspoken question in his deep blue eyes. You nodded, cupping his cheek, running your thumb over his soft, soft skin. You don’t know what power he wielded over you, but it didn’t matter. You had no qualms being caught in this spell he wove.

Shedding his clothes, he returned to his place, widening your spread legs with his torso. Sitting back on his heels, he took in your body, his gaze running over every curve, every stretch mark, every beauty spot on your body. Taking his hard member in his hand, he gave a few strokes before lowering himself, running his nose against yours. He ran his tip along your wet folds before plunging into you in one swift move. You gasped and closed your eyes, your head falling back against the pillow. He gave you time to adjust to his size, your walls snug against him. After a moment, he began moving, careful to not move your arm. He started off slow, making sure you felt every inch of him. You hooked your legs around his hips, urging him to move faster. He took the hint, his pace increasing with each thrust. The coil in your belly was tightening and you could feel yourself hurtling towards completion for the second time. Running your hand along his back, your hand made it’s way to his ass, pushing down, begging him for more. Steve held himself up, looking deeply into your eyes, as he sped up his thrusts. You could feel him within you, each thrust hitting your weak spot over and over again.

You screamed his name as you reached your peak, your legs tightening around him; wrapping yourself around him like a vine. He was close too, his thrusts now becoming frantic as he was chasing his end. Your walls contracting around him set off his orgasm as he moaned, spilling every last drop of himself inside you. You both panted, as he dropped his head on your chest, trying to catch his breath. You both stayed like that for a while as you ran your fingers through his scalp, enjoying the feel of his weight on yours. 

There were many things to talk about, sure.

But for now, this was more than enough.

-----

Tags: @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @donutloverxo @worksby-d @gotnofucks @imdarkinme @chris-butt @ozarkthedog

[impala1967dwinchester]

Sorry to bother you, but can I please request a Jensen x wife!reader where she's pregnant (maybe twins) and while she's in labor things gets complicated and she starts bleeding and loses consciousness and Jensen is there with her and he's panicking and she nearly dies but it's all okay in the end??

Jensen Ackles: Mrs. Ackles? 

You didn’t bother me, I actually had a really fun time writing this. Thank you for the request. 

Word Count: 2.4k 

@akshi8278 @deanswaywardgirl

“I’d love to say we could go do that cute little picnic thing you wanted to do Jay, but I think my water just broke!” Y/n said, as she walked down the stairs. Well, I’m not upset, I figured that if we wanted to something, that our baby girls would want to come into the world.  

“Okay, stay there... actually sit down, and I’ll grab the go bag.” I said skipping stairs as I ran upstairs. I ran into the girl's nursey grabbing there little black bag, clothes and anything that they’d need on the way back home.  

Thinking ahead I had placed Y/n bag near the front door. When I came down stairs' Y/n was taking deep breathes, and had one hand on her stomach while the other rested on her lower back. I’d like to think that I was doing pretty well with the whole situation.  

Throwing the bags into the back of the car, I walked back up to the house, seeing Y/n trying to slip on her slippers. “Do you want some help, babe?” I asked getting on my knee and carefully slipping them on her feet. When she stood up, she winced. I raised an eyebrow, but let it go when she said “It’s fine. But can we get to the hospital now!”  

I wrapped my hand around her waist, and we walked out of the car. I opened her door, and she slid into the seat, leaning the seat back. I buckled her in before walking around the car and into the driver seat. “I promise to be careful while I drive.”  

As I drove, I made sure that I didn’t hit bumps, or drive to fast. Making it to the hospital via short cut. Months ago, I had traced the best, and fastest way to get to the hospital, but that regardless. I made to the hospital, I drove up to the emergency side letting a nurse take her in a wheelchair.  

I drove off finding a parking spot, unfortunately it was on the fifth floor of the parking deck. I ran to the closet elevator, clicking the ‘ground floor’. No elevator music played, just the silence. Then suddenly a loud ding altering me that I was now on the ground floor.  

When the elevator doors opened, I looked around the area of the hospital looking for the emergency entrance. In the corner of my eye, I saw the huge red blocked letters, so I ran across the crosswalk, and up the sidewalk until I made it to the doors of the emergency entrance.  

There was Y/n in a wheelchair a nurse holding the handles to push her, “Hey, I’m Y/n husband.” I said to front desk nurse. “Okay, well Mr. Ackles I just need to sign a few papers. Here and then we can get your wife in a bed.” The nurse said handing me clipboard. She had so nicely highlighted the section that I had to sign, a few signatures and a few questions that we asking if Y/n was taking any prescription drugs, or when was the last time Y/n had eaten.  

I handed the nurse back the clipboard. She looked over at the other nurse and saying “Take her up to delivery floor, Room 11.” The nurse started walking and I had to catch up with them. I hadn’t brought any of the bags with me, thinking that wouldn’t be necessary.  

We got into another elevator and the nurse pressed the floor 4. “So, what are you having?” She asked. Y/n was taking deep breathes, and I realized that she probably wasn’t going to answer the question. “We are having twins.” I said rolling on the back of my heels. “This must be your first?” She said Y/n shook her head “Thi.. This is our first yes.” She spoke  

“Well, my name is Taylor. I can’t wait to see your bundles of joy. I work in the delivery room.” Taylor said as the elevator ding that we had hit the 4th floor. “So let me ask you something Mrs. Ackles.’ Y/n shook her head ‘When was your last contractions?” Y/n put her hand stomach.  

“Last contraction was about 2 minutes ago. I’m thinking about 3 minutes apart, Taylor.” Y/n said. This part I hadn’t kept up, even when we went to classes. Apparently, I was supposed to pay attention, but I didn’t. Taylor pushed Y/n out into the hall, and up to another reception desk. “This is Y/n Ackles, and her husband, she’s having twins, and she says her contraction are about 3 minutes apart.” Taylor said.  

I gently rubbed Y/n’s shoulder and she placed her hand over mine. I crouched down and whispered into Y/n’s ear “Everything is gonna be fine. I can see you fidgeting” The lady at the desk came around with a medical alert bracelet. It had Y/n’s age, her weight, her name, and her room. “Take her to the room 11, Taylor.” The front desk nurse said.  

We again started to walk; Taylor started talking again. “There’s a gown for you to change into. Mr. Ackles you can help her, right?” “Yes of course” I said. “Oh, and there’s a gown for you as well Mr. Ackles for when Mrs. Ackles go into labor.” Taylor said as she walked into our room.  

I walked around the wheelchair and in front of Y/n, she gripped onto my hand and forearm. “Here Mr. Ackles.” Taylor handed me Y/n gown. “I’m going to go outside let you, and Mrs. Ackles have some privacy.” Taylor said sliding the divider sheet, and then the glass door.  

I walked with Y/n to the bathroom, she rests her hands against the marble counter. I slipped her shoes off, reached up to unzip her pants sliding them her hips thighs and finally off her legs. “I can’t believe that we are actually doing this today.” Y/n said. I stood up looking at her for a moment. She was just as beautiful as the day I first met her.  

Y/n took a deep breathe, and placed her hand on her stomach. “Shit, this hurts Jay.” She said “Just breathe. I promise I’ll be fast about this.” I said rubbing small circles into her stomach. Trying to take any pain she was going through. “This is like having a period on steroids Jay.” Y/n said giggling a little.  

“I have to take your shirt off, dear.” I said, Y/n placed her hands on my shoulder. I made sure to be careful of her baby bump. I lifted the shirt that was mine, up her frame, take her one hand out of the arm, and then doing that with the other.  

I unclipped her bra, and slipped her underwear off. Y/n put her hands back onto the counter behind her. I slipped the gown on to her arms and then softly turned her around, and tied the back loosely. We walked out of the bathroom and back into the room, I set her into one of the chairs. “I’ll be right back okay.” I said bending down to kiss Y/n on the temple.  

I walked out moving the divider back and open the glass door back. I walked out, “Taylor” I said as she came over. “I got her into that gown, I put her in one of those chairs.” I said rubbing the back of my neck. “Let’s get her in the bed.” Taylor said. Walking into our room. Y/n still sitting in the chair. “Hey sweetie, me and’ “Jensen” I said ‘Me and Jensen are going to move you to the bed.”  

Y/n smiled and shook her head. I went to one side of Y/n and Taylor to the other side. Y/n stood up bracing her weight onto both of us. Once we had her on the bed Taylor did somethings to make sure she was comfortable. “Okay so Doctor Becerra will in soon to check how dilated you are.” She said before walking out of our room.  

A few hours later Y/n went into labor, Taylor had put me into the gown, and went to Y/n other side to hold her hand. Everything was going fine, Y/n had given birth to our first daughter, the nurses taking her to clean her off and wrap her up in her pink little blanket, but as Y/n went to push for the second time. I could sense that something was wrong.  

The doctor was giving Taylor a look of concern. “Is everything okay?” I asked getting more and more worried by the second. “Taylor what is going on?” I asked again. She gave me a look before looking back at the doctor. “Jensen, Mr. Ackles I need you to go outside for just a second.” She spoke.  

“No. I’m not leaving my wife” I said worrying falling into my cracking voice.

“Mr. Ackles, Please just for a minute.” Taylor said coming over to me, guiding me out. When we pasted Y/n all I could see was blood, my breathing quickened and I walked a little faster out of the room. As I walked out of the room, I heard the doctor say “Mrs. Ackles? Mrs. Ackles?”  

I went to sit down but I couldn’t I instead paced through the halls. As I got closer to the room I heard “She gone unconscious, but she’s breathing. There a lot of blood. Looks like she had a clot.” I sat down, thinking of all the worst things that could happen.  

I could lose my wife and a daughter; I could only have a daughter have to raise her. I’d have to be all I had and all our daughter had, Or I could lose just my wife and have two amazing daughter that grow up to look like her. I could lose everyone and be alone. I’d be a lot of thing, but strong wouldn’t be one of those things.  

I saw another 3 nurses rush in. Taylor coming out, and sitting down next to me. “Mr. Ackles?” “hmm” I said my hand running through my hair as I started to stress even more. “She has a clot, that’s what making her bleed excessively. She’s still breathing, which is amazing. Do you want to go see your first daughter?” She asked me  

I fought with the idea in my mind. I didn’t want to leave my wife; I didn’t want to leave Y/n all alone. Swarmed with people she didn’t know, but I also knew that if she was awake right now, she’d be shooing me in the direction to where our first daughter lay. “Yes, that’d be nice.” I said walking next to Taylor.  

It was a quiet walk, no more than 20 steps from where Y/ns room was. Taylor pointed to which baby was Y/n and I’s. The name tag said Ackles family. I smiled as I saw my daughter little finger wiggle. Taylor patted my shoulder. “If you don’t mind me saying’ I shook my head ‘You and your wife have made a very beautiful baby girl. And Jensen if I may she’ll make it.”  

Taylor walked off, and let me there to take a long look at our daughter. I was starting to think we hadn’t even picked out names. That was actually my plan for today, go out on a picnic and eat some unhealthy food, and sit there go over names.  

But the more I thought about it. I was thinking that once Y/n gave birth to our second daughter we could maybe name her hope. Hope that everything will be okay. Maybe we could name our first daughter Nova, and maybe in honor of Taylor our nurse we could have her middle name being Taylor.  

I stood there and again smiled. I looked up and saw the nurse picking up my daughter. Her eye open her eye colored like her mothers. She was so cute and adorable, it looked like she had a small smile on her face. I couldn’t wait to hold her, and her sister. But most of all I couldn’t wait to hold their mother.  

Taylor come back a few minutes later. “Jensen, sir. She’s awake and holding your younger daughter. If you’d like to come back to the room.” She said with a huge smile. We walked a little pep in my step. When I walked there was Y/n holding out second daughter. Next to her was our first daughter.  

“Where’d you go?” Y/n said. I walked over to her and kissed her temple ‘I love you’ I said against her forehead. “I love you too Jay.” She spoke. A huge relief of breath left my system. I smiled looking at my family. “We have to name out kids you know.” Y/n said.  

“Yes, yes we do. I was thinking’ I said as I walked over to our first daughter to pick her up. ‘That would name her Nova Taylor.” I spoke. “Taylor as in the nurse!?” Y/n said with a smile on her face. “Yes, we can name her that Jay.” She spoke.  

There was a moment of silence. “I was thinking Jay... Maybe we would name her.’ swaddling our second daughter in her arms. ‘Hope. But if you don’t like that it’s okay.” Y/n said. “No, baby that’s... it’s prefect.”  I said rubbing her shoulder.  

“I know that you were scared. I know why you weren’t in here. I’m sorry that I scared you that much. But I want you to know that I’m here with all three of you. And I'm not going anywhere.” Y/n said a few tears falling down her already tired face. I put down Nova, and wiped away a few stray tears. “It’s okay baby, I know you aren’t going anywhere; Now get some sleep.” I said taking Hope out of her arms.

The minute I took Hope out of her arms, Y/n had drifted into sleep. “You gave me and mommy quite a scare. I have a feeling you’re going to be a trouble maker.” As I finished my talk with Hope, she opened her eye, they looked like mine, a jaded emerald colored.  

Another thought ran through my mind as I set down Hope. Nova was going to be a daddy’s girl, and my precious Hope was going to be Mommy's girl. I was happier for that though; I was so overly filled with joy that I had my entire family in one room.  

Completed: 02/28/2021 

[jaehyunspeachparty]

daddy jaehyun

ii.xl.

In the morning you wake up with terrible abdominal pain. You knew something was wrong. You suspected that you had an inflammation, so you immediately called your gynecologist. She had an appointment in the morning for you, but you had to find someone who would take care of the children. Jaehyun did not answer his phone, he had spent the night in the dorm as he was recording the songs for the album actually. Johnny was busy with his daughter, you didn't want to give Yuta two more children and for a moment you were really desperate. But then you remembered that the neighbor had said on her welcome visit that her daughter babysits now and then. You quickly search for the number you have saved and called her right away. "Hi Y/N!" Her friendly voice immediately calmed you down. You liked her from the start. "Hi, Yuri. I'm sorry to call you in such circumstances, but I need help." You didn't want to ask Yuri for a favor right away, but you had no choice. "My dear, are you all right?" She seems worried but still calm. "I have to go to the doctor urgently, it's really an emergency. You said that your daughter is also a babysitter and that there are school holidays. If she is there, maybe she could come over quickly? I also pay well." The next moment you got another cramp and you sit back down on the bed. "Yeah, sure, she'll be happy to do that. I'll send her over to you straight away." You were so incredibly grateful to Yuri. 

It was relatively early, Sunoh wakes up slowly, but you could hardly lift him up in pain. Miga tried to help you, but she was still too small to hold her little brother. With difficulty, you can bring the little boy in a cradle and the next moment it rings on the door. "Hello Ms. Jung. My mother said you needed a babysitter." She smiled shyly and you gratefully let her in the house. The girl's name was Soobin, she was 16 years old and looked like the classic Korean schoolgirl. "Thank you very much for coming. I'll show you ..." At that moment another cramp came and you went black. You try to hold on somewhere, but Soobin immediately supported you. "I'll find my way around, Ms. Jung. You need to see a doctor urgently." The girl tried to support you further, but slowly it was okay again. At that moment Miga came towards you and she looked at Soobin curiously. "Miga, you are already a big girl. Soobin will spend the morning with you, will you show her everything?" Your daughter knew the situation was serious and she nodded understandingly. "Ok mummy, get well soon." With her dark eyes, she looks at you seriously and Soobin had to giggle a little. "Well, I think everything is under control with Miga. Sunho has been very affectionate for the past few weeks and don’t like to interact with anyone but me, but he likes to be massaged on the earlobes, which usually makes him calm." The next moment there was another cramp and you didn't know which was worse, the birth or this. "Ms. Jung, don't worry, Miga and I will get it. Or?" She leaned down to the little girl and Miga nodded with a big smile. The two already had a connection and that calmed you down. You gave Soobin your number and then you took the taxi into town. 

Your gynecologist examined you thoroughly. In the beginning, she wasn't quite sure where the pain came from, but she found the cause with the ultrasound. "Ms. Jung, your IUD has slipped and that also caused inflammation." She points to the screen and sees the anchor shape as it was crooked in your womb. "Oh no, did I do something wrong?" You look worriedly at the doctor, but she shook her head. "No, it can happen in the first year. It should have happened a few days ago. I don't see any pregnancy here now, have you had sex the last few days?" She wiped the gel off and put the device aside. "No, I didn't." Jaehyun was hardly at home lately and mostly he was so exhausted from work that when he put Miga to bed, he often fell asleep in her bed. "Okay. I need to take out the IUD and then I will prescribe antibiotics for you. Should I use a new IUD again or do you want to prevent differently?" The doctor prepared the instruments and you sit back in the gynecologist's chair. "For my husband and I the family planning isn’t yet complete and we wanted to try again in late summer / early autumn." You weren’t sure whether it was necessary to have an IUD again for a few months. The gynecologist looks at the screen and looked through your file. "You gave birth to your son in mid-October, which means he is 9 months old. In principle, your body is ready to get pregnant again. I could see on ultrasound that your uterus has completely receded. But I can also give you the pill for a few months too." She came to you and looked at you questioningly. You weren't sure, should you use hormonal contraception again or should you use condoms again? "You don't have to decide now. Discuss it with your husband and if you choose the pill, just give me a call and I will write a prescription that you can pick it up." You nod and thought that was the best solution.

Removing the IUD was as uncomfortable as inserting it. But when you were outside, you felt better. She also gave you medication, which also relieved your pain. When you stepped out of the gynecologist's office, your phone rang. "Hey Jaehyun!" You smile because you were glad to hear his voice. You could hear him far too little and you missed him so much. "Is everything okay? You were at the doctor?" He implied the message you sent him. "Yes, I had to take the IUD out and I have an infection. But everything is fine now." You felt really relieved that the cramps had stopped. Apparently, the IUD had caused it. "What? Are you okay?" Jaehyun looked really worried, but now everything was clear. "Yes, everything is really okay again." You try to calm him down while you are walking down the street. "Are you still in Gangnam?" "Yes, why?" "I'm going to the dorm right now. I have an hour's break here. Are you coming over?" His voice was suddenly very calm and relaxed. "Yes, I just have to ask the babysitter if she can take care of the kids two more hours." "What? Babysitter?" Jaehyun no longer understood the world, but you promised to explain everything to him later.

You quickly call Soobin and ask about the situation. She was very calm, apparently, the children had accepted her. She didn't mind taking care of them longer. That made it easier for you and you go straight to your favorite restaurant and take something with you to eat. It was strange being alone in the old dorm. Somehow that reminded you of the years before. Jaehyun opened the door for you and was overjoyed to see you.

"I have food here." You lift the bag up and grin broadly. "You know that I'm on a diet." Jaehyun sighed and pulled you into his arms. "But you have become much too thin. You work too much anyway. I am your wife, I have to make sure that you are healthy." You wink and then you kiss. You lean your back against the door while Jaehyun pressed his body closer to you. "It's like you were never gone." Haechan came over and rolled his eyes. You broke away from each other and had to laugh. "Oh, Haechan, admit that you missed me." You wink and tease him a little. "Yeah, especially your love screams every night. Almost without it, I couldn't sleep." Haechan sighed ironically and Jaehyun and you had to laugh again but make your way to his room. He currently shared it with Mark, which wasn’t there at the moment. Jaehyun sleeps in Yuta's bed, but he's now moved out with Chichi. Jaehyun had put some photos of you and the children on his bed, and there were also some drawings of Miga on the wall. It was really cute. You sit in bed and you unpack the food. You tell him everything he missed and everything about Soobin who came perfectly in time. "Maybe she can take care of Miga and Sunoh more often. Then we could go on more dates." After you have finished eating, you will continue to sit in bed and cuddle. Jaehyun leaned against the wall and you against his body. "Yes, she seems really nice." You cuddle closer to him, then you suddenly feel his hand under your shirt. "Jaehyun, we can't have sex now. I have an inflammation." You also thought it was stupid because the little time you have with him you would like him to be as close as possible to him. "I know I just need some template for the shower alone tonight." He pulled up your shirt and played with your bra so that your nipples kept looking out. "Jaehyun, we have to keep talking about it anyway. What will we do for the next three months because of the contraception?" You slide your shirt back down and turn over to him. "I told the gynecologist that I'm not going to put the IUD in again. But should I take the pill again?" You sigh and look at him questioningly. Then Jaehyun had to think. But he quickly came to a decision. "What if we just don't use contraception?" At first, you thought it was a joke, but he was determined. "Jaehyun, you know how easily I get pregnant." You smile and instinctively reach for your stomach. "But back then, when I impregnate you with Miga and Sunoh, I fucked you every day and not just once." He whispered in your ear and you blush a little. "And when I was pregnant with our angel? We just had slept without a condom once and I was pregnant right away." At that time you were on holiday in Swiss, where you had a quickie in the laundry room and got caught from Taeyong, so Jaehyun couldn’t pull out of you in time. "Okay, but seriously now. I mean even if you're about to get pregnant really quick. When I'm done with everything, you're in the 3rd month at the latest. And then I can take care of you completely." Jaehyun was really serious and you think for a moment. "Should we dare it?" You smiled and you were kind of excited. "Yes absolutely." Jaehyun kissed you and from now on you would work on baby number three. 

daddy jaehyun masterlist

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

The Bad Guy’s Sacrifice - pt.2

Summary: Dealing with the aftermath of Mikhail’s kidnapping, Grayson was more than ready to retire and legalize his gang related work. However, his readiness to pull out of the business is met with a new bloodthirsty rival which puts a wedge between Grayson and Y/N just when they thought they could live a peaceful life together.

Warnings: fluff, angst, SMUT, VIOLENCE, DEATH, drinking, swearing

Word count: ~ 23k

The Bad Guy Masterlist (Gang AU)

He opens his eyes, the darkness around him seemingly moving through the cracks and pushing in. His right arm falls open to the side as he struggles to breathe, blindly reaching out for his nightstand, the top drawer where his inhaler resides. While his right hand struggles to grasp what nature intended to be his cure, his left one taps around the bed for his real remedy - his saving grace.

Finally finding the pump, he takes one puff for the wheezing to stop, allowing his mind to function properly.

His left hand comes up empty, void of what he holds dear and he sits up madly, looking around the room in a daze.

She's not there.

His already wild heart beats fast, letting his hands and feet numb further then when he awoke from his sleep.

But was it all a dream? Was Y/N ever real? If she is, did Mikhail really take her from him?

The questions in his mind drive him up the wall, his arms shaking and legs no longer able to hold him up, so he remains seated. Gripping at his hair, he feels the panic seep in, overtaken with cold sweat and trembling chin.

She must be real. He felt it in his heart. She wasn't just a dream, but her being gone could be more than his imagination.

She's not here.

Had she been there, she'd surely be tucked into his side, her cold feet warming on his calves or at the very least she'd drape a leg over him.

She's not here.

It's more than panic, paralyzing him. He can't breathe, his lungs are heavy. He feels the air around him, pressing in, overwhelming. He finds his phone, pressing number one on instinct, knowing he had put her in because she's his number one girl. If she is his, she is always his number one dial.

The line goes silent, his mind unable to process the generic response of the caller not being available, eyes widened and a lump forming in his throat.

Wanting to scream, he chuckles because there he is, a man who fears nothing and yet he's absolutely lost in his fear of losing one girl he is no longer sure exists.

Columbia.

"If she's real, that's where she'll be." He whispers to himself, scrambling to his feet without putting on any clothes. Only in his briefs, Grayson runs out of his mansion and sits into his Porsche, driving at an illegal speed toward where he might find her.

One of the cops recognize his car, not stopping him. As if he would stop.

Finally on campus, he parks in front of her dorm and rushes out.

Room 23, he thinks, already finding himself before the red door and his heart stumbles on itself when he realizes she must be there. He can't be imagining everything, believing he isn't that creative.

Connecting his fist with the door, he pounds on it impatiently. Until the lock is heard and the door creaks open, her nose and her right eye the only parts of her peeking out.

He sees her eye widen in recognition, the door opening instantly and her worried face meeting his unsteadiness.

"Gray?"

In one move, he grabs her smaller form and presses her into his chest, folding his arms around her. His nose buried in her hair at the top of her head, his hands at her sides, crossed at her back, her arms wrapping around him as well.

"Shhh. It's okay. I'm here." Her voice is muffled by his chest, but the sound of it alone makes his heart calmer and the smell of her hair puts his mind at ease.

She doesn't fight his embrace, for this isn't the first time he came to her room completely out of his mind. Physical touch is what he needs now and not the sexual kind. He needs to feel her, breathe her in and she allows him.

Slowly pushing him in, she kicks the door close and moves him to her bed. She notes the warm, naked back and the muscular built going up and down under her fingertips, realizing he must have had a bad dream. She told him to call her if he needed her, come what may she'd be there. But here he is, in all his glory, trembling like a scared child in her dorm room. Many men would take this state of his as a once in a million chance to kill him, so she thanked every god in existence for his safety in this moment.

Laying him down, Y/N snuggles into his side, enjoying his strong arms as they push her into him and the way his palms go up and down her skin to assure himself of her existence.

Tenderly, she presses kisses into his chest and neck, reminding him she's with him as she promised to be.

Ever since Mikhail nearly killed both of them, despite the man being dead, Grayson had been restless. They didn't talk much about his gang related work anymore, knowing it upsets both of them as result. But it didn't stop Y/N from insisting Grayson finds help for his nightmares that usually led him to her door at ungodly times and all in his underwear.

Although she insisted living on her own in a dorm, she's become quite aware he needs her with him. She's been splitting her time to the best of her ability between his bed and her own, not wanting to permanently give into his requests of her moving in. She wanted some independence, to give them both a chance to be who they are without holding back. It's hellish; making a decision between having all she wanted in the accelerated med school programme and having Grayson, what she never thought would be an option.

"You're really here." He mumbles, eyes closed and already drifting off, failing to notice the tears in her eyes as she chooses him above all. She always chooses him in the end.

"I am. I always will be."

Once the morning came, Y/N's alarm wakes them both in the most frustrating way possible.

The "I like to move it" song blares, startling them and as big as Grayson is and as small as Y/N's bed is, he nearly dropped Y/N on the floor when he jumped up. Catching her mid fall, pressed against the bed frame with his arms, a scream dies in her throat and her hands grab at him for support.

"You good?" Grayson chuckles, half thinking how he's too old, too rich for dorm rooms and half thinking how lucky he is to be in her dorm room.

"Think it's time." She grumbles, helping him pull her up into the safety of his chest, draping her leg over his stomach for a better hold.

"For what?" Grayson leaves a kiss atop her head, running his fingers up and down her arm, his ring grazing her skin lightly. She can feel his half hardened cock press against the inside of her thigh, already setting the mood for morning dorm sex. But as scandalous as that is for a man of his stature, she had more pressing matters to deal with.

"For me to move back in with you." She sighs, enjoying the feathered coldness his ring brings to her warm skin. She's always cold when she sleeps alone, yet sleeping with Grayson, a human volcano, she finds herself burning up.

Grayson's lips part, trying to hold in a confused, but excited gasp. She always makes him feel like a high school girl with a crush, still going through puberty: senselessly blind and constantly confused, wanting to gush about his feelings for her and write poems even if he's not particularly good at it.

"Didn't you say it would take you forever to get here and it would affect your grades because you wanna sleep in?" Grayson asks, still holding in his true feelings. He respects how hard she works, her ambition and drive endlessly, even admires her for it, but he also wishes she'd just be with him...all the time. God knows he had more money than he can spend in seven lifetimes, she need not work a single day of her life, yet he knows how important it is for her which is why he offers his home to her every month, but never pressures her into accepting.

"Yes. But I also want to wake up in your arms every morning like this without falling on my ass. I'll just have to take my Impala and put it into good use for the drives. A few hours lost is better than being away from you so long." She excuses, refusing to tell him the truth; that she's worried for him.

After all, Grayson is the head of the most formidable criminal organization, a gang as some would say, and he can't afford to show weakness and these dreams might come across as such. When she's there, the dreams tend to go away. Most of all, she makes sure he takes his prescription and attends his therapy sessions. But if someone would pry enough, they’d find he’s no longer as ruthless as he used to be. She might not be a gangster in the actual sense of the word, but she knows enough to be aware how dangerous that discovery would be for him and she can’t let that happen. Ever.

"You know I'd love that, but only if you're sure. It's a big move in a relationship and neither of us have much practice there. It's also a strain on you, so if you're absolutely sure, I would love nothing more." Practical, very self-aware and extremely protective response put in the sweetest, most gentle way possible. There's the charming, magnetic man she loves so much. Right underneath the rubble. But she found she loves the rubble too.

"I'm sure." She lifts herself up, just barely enough to peck the tip of his nose because that always made him scrunch up and his lips whirl to the side into the cutest smile she had ever seen and that's what she loved the most - having such an effect on him that she discovers new things about him that not even Grayson himself knows.

Lazily, his hand slides down her back and rests upon her bum, squeezing it a little too hard but not enough to make it painful, although she never opposed to a little pain. Releasing the flesh he wanted to take a bite out of, he taps her gently, like a summer breeze.

"In that case, get that cute ass to class and I'll call a few people to help me move all this by the end of the day." Grayson taps her butt once more, getting a happy giggle in return only prompting a crooked smile of his own to appear.

She tumbled over to her side, barely managing to survive the fall from grace she considered his chest to be, only to throw on the first thing she could find - a deep green summer dress, falling to her ankles where a tattoo rests; one she got after being saved by the members of The House Of The Rising Sun. As her eternal gratitude, the rising sun tattoo on her right ankle will forever be there to remind her why she's able to giggle with her boyfriend while running late to class.

"And take a banana and an energy bar with you!" He commands, the change in his voice now evident to her. She could always tell when he simply suggests something in comparison to when he orders her to do something, when he dared to do such a bold thing.

“Okay, dad!”

Y/N didn't mind this particular demand, knowing this is just another way Grayson shows his love for her because she does forget to eat on time and his nagging helps keep her healthy and at the top of her game.

Quickly pecking his lips, she stumbles toward her door and turns around to take him in. Just for one moment longer her eyes remain on his faintly lit sculptured body, the sun rays dancing on the tan skin. His hair is a mess, his eyes tired but bright and his lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk because he knows she's checking him out.

"Clothes are in the drawers." She begins, Grayson joining her for the last part to be said in unison.

"Second one from the bottom." Both smile, giving them enough soul food to survive the day.

Some would consider this a mundane thing, but for Grayson it was extraordinary, magic even. For a man who didn't think he'd live to see his thirtieth birthday, this was the epitome of happiness.

The men came quickly, packing all Y/N's things except her underwear, for Grayson had packed that before anyone even showed up. Maybe being jealous over his men seeing the sexy underwear he liked to provide her with is silly, but he wanted to be the only one with such privileges.

Just as they're leaving the day at its end, Grayson finds Ethan rushing in with a crazed look in his eyes.

"Where the fuck have you been all day?!" Ethan speaks through gritted teeth in hushed voices.

"Why?" A dark look befalls Grayson as he already knows something is happening and it's bad. It's always bad.

He spent the past year trying to make right of his wrongs, legitimize his work, but that can't ever be entirely done.

"Silver Snakes heard you closing up shop, and declared New York an open season." Ethan hissed, finding Grayson's face harden like stone.

"I am still the leader. I am still the Capo." Grayson's jaw clenches, only now seeing he and Ethan aren't alone.

"What does open season mean?" Her voice is determined, but the fear in her tone doesn't go unnoticed by either of them. She’s gripping her book bag so hard her knuckles paled, but her face holds determination they both admired.

"It means they want this territory." Ethan answers instead, seeing his brother had gone back to the cold person he was before he ever met Y/N. Grayson instantly reverted his mind to the killer instead of the gentlemen – a warrior without a cause as some would call it. But that’s in the past. This killer, this warrior now has a cause – to protect his family and the love of his life.

Grayson still considered New York his playground and he definitely had no intention giving up such a prized possession many died for him to keep. His fathered died for him to keep it.

"The Silver Snakes must have found out Gray has you now and in our world that means weakness. When one has a weakness, he can be dealt with. You're a liability." Ethan continues until Y/N starts to shake her head, her chin trembling instead of her lips because her jaw is clenched tightly enough to prevent that from happening.

"What does that mean? How does he get the territory?" Y/N insists, walking toward Grayson.

"It means Grayson has to die. Both of us. Heirs if there are any as well." And that's when her world comes crashing down once more.

"We can fight this. Them." She quickly moved ahead, standing on her tiptoes to cup Grayson's face and bring his eyes to her instead of the faraway place this piece of information took him to. She needed him rooted, with her.

"We will prevail. As always." He noticed her speak in plural, meaning she would fight with him and although he loved her for it, that is exactly why he's so scared now. That's a part of her magic; she sees the sun even in the darkest days.

"You will NOT be a part of this. Am I making myself clear?" Grayson all but growls, the change in his eyes from gentle hazel to nearly black instant as is his mood, but it doesn't frighten her. He doesn’t frighten her anymore, even when he puts in considerable effort to do so.

"Everyone already knows I'm your girl. There is no way in hell I'm sitting this one out, especially when I'm going to be under the same roof as you." Y/N puts the tip of her index finger against his chest, poking him as she speaks, the resolution in her mind clear in her voice; it doesn't tremble, not even breaks, the sound of her being in charge both frustrating and appealing.

"I can't, in good conscience, allow this to happen. If something were to happen to you...I'd rather not be alive to see it. I'd rather I die a moment before you so I don’t have to face another sunrise without you in this world." Grayson speaks from the heart, discarding the cold he was taken with because he can't be that man around her. He has to be an ocean breeze, gentle and loving, all consuming and promising. But in order to be that for life, he has to put his mask on for now - the same mask that shows how ruthlessness became his second nature and why his nickname has been Hellhound ever since he turned twelve.

That part of him was tucked away safely ever since she caught his eye, even when Mikhail appeared. Snippets of his persona wanted to ravage Damien, all of him wanted to RIP Mikhail to shreds every moment he spent under the ground in that bunker with their future uncertain, yet he never had the chance. And that's when Grayson realizes she has never truly seen that side of him, the never ending darkness that pulls him under until there is no good in him left and all reason is lost. She pulled him out of that, gave him air to breathe and a warm, safe place to rest his head. He can't go into the shadows again and not wash away, lose a part of who he is and quite possibly lose her in the process. That would be his ruin.

"You trained me for a year." She reminds him, tenderly placing a hand on his cheek, forcing his jaw to unclench and his face to relax as he looked like he'd grind his teeth from existence.

She's been treated so wrong for so long before meeting him, believing she'll become untouchable. She thrives in the dark. Without him, she's a slow dying flower. He is her sun. She needs the darkness, the sweetness, the sad, the weakness, a kiss from the love of her life, the angel she saw him be.

"Grayson...I'm not leaving. No matter how dark it gets." She says quietly, gently tracing his jaw with her thumb and that small scar on his chin she adored.

Grayson looks down, placing a finger to her chin; that stubborn little chin with a proud sternness and defiance like he never saw before meeting her. He loved that chin.

"Even if we go full dark, no stars? Y/N, you're scared of the dark. You still sleep with a nightlight." Grayson smiles against better judgement, remembering when he had to install lights into his bed so she'd be able to sleep peacefully without her anxiety getting the best of her. He loved that about her too, the essence of innocence in the purity he tainted.

Maybe that's God's ineffable plan, pairing angels and demons to create balance on earth as it is in heaven and hell.

"Shut up." She giggles, unable to stop herself from reacting to his teasing tone, heartily welcoming any light he can afford to give.

"I'm more than capable. Taming your darkness was never an issue. This time I just have to let it snuff out the light." She says carefully, glancing at Ethan who stood at her door with a nervous look on his face. He clearly knew better than her, some details she wasn't aware of, but the love she shared with Grayson was strong enough to handle anything that comes their way.

"But you're the light. We are the light." Grayson sighs quietly, leaning down. His forehead touches hers, the weight of his head almost entirely supported by her and she didn't crumble like he thought she would. Instead, her eyes flicker from his now closed ones to his rosy lips, her hands both resting on his face to keep him in place.

"And we will shine again. Till then, you need to let me help. I'm in danger just by being with you as it is and I accept that. I can’t afford to lose you now. Not ever." Her reassuring touch and words give him enough strength to open his eyes and face the world once more, giving her a warning ahead of time for he knows it will be more than necessary.

"You won't like who I become. I'll be swimming in a pool of blood by the end of this."

Her heart jumps at the notion, her mind giving her an unwanted visual and it's one of those times she hates her imagination being so developed. Despite her rational thinking screaming to turn around and leave, she can't help herself. She'll always be there for him, shamelessly so. Darkest thought he ever has, the worst thing he ever does...she'll be there.

"As long as it's not our blood, I don't care."

Once they returned home, she found him giving her complete freedom on decorations. While she definitely wanted to change some things, she still had a few weeks of school left and she swore she’d get a team of her own to work things out once school was out.

So, the next night when she returned from class, just a little over ten, Y/N was surprised to find their room empty and the light dimmed in his office. The house was quiet, guards at their posts and Ethan clearly out for the night. It left her feeling cold, alone, so she decides to see where her man ended up.

Peeking through the door, Y/N’s eyes glided over the dark room. From her position, she saw an arm, clad in a dark coat sleeve with wide white cuffs sparking golden in the firelight, hanging over the side of the wing chair facing the fire she never saw him start before. The arm hung limply, long fingers almost reaching the floor and between their tips hung a crystal glass, its base balanced on the polished boards. It was empty, meaning he’s been drinking himself to sleep again and that either meant he was hiding important information that would worry her or he was having issues with his PTSD. He’d never admit to it, but his dreams and anxiety still catch up with him from time to time and with the looming threat, it must have increased tenfold.

Drawing a calming breath, Y/N waited for her heart to slow, then, carefully silent, glided forward and rounded the chair. Sprawled in the chair, his long legs stretched before him, his waistcoat undone, his tie untied, he still managed to look elegant. Elegantly dissolute, elegantly dangerous. His chest, covered by a fine cotton shirt she picked out for him, rose and fell regularly.

Y/N's gaze roamed then lifted to his face; she studied the lean planes gilded by the firelight - his face more relaxed than she'd seen it. With his eyes shut, it was easier to concentrate on his face, on what it showed. Strength was still there, glaringly apparent even now; the hint of not sadness, but a lack of happiness that hung about his well-shaped mouth was not something she had noticed before. Inwardly frowning, she committed the sight to memory, then shook herself and turned her mind to a way to make him feel better and forget what worries him...even if it’s just for the night.

Taking the glass from his hand first to prevent it from shattering, Y/N felt him move behind her. The black crescents of his lashes flickered. Then rose. He looked directly at her. His lips curved, kicking up at the ends first, then curving fully into a beguiling smile. 

“You’re home.” The genuine happiness for her presence nearly knocked the very breath out of her. Daring to breathe, just a little, Y/N slowly straightened and finished turning to stand before him. His eyes followed her, as his lids lifted farther, it is clear he is out of his wits and completely under the influence still. His pupils are huge, his gaze unfocused, not sharp and intent as it usually was. His charming smile, both inviting and evocative, deepened.

“I’m always surprised to see you around. Someone like you deserves better than me.” The words hurt her, hating him for even thinking such nonsense.

“I’m exactly perfect for you. As you are for me. I promised to stay, didn’t I? Now, I’m here to take advantage of you.” Her smile grew, turning his into a wicked grin.

“Isn’t that supposed to be my mission?” He quirked an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly so the fire reflected in his right eye in such a manor he transformed into a god before her eyes.

He seemed in no hurry to rise from the chair, smiling still. Y/N holds out one hand. Retrieving his right arm from over the side of the chair, he reached out and grasped her fingers; before she could urge him up, he drew her closer. His gaze swept over her, far warmer than the fire at her back.

"You need to get rid of that robe." She recognized the need in his voice instantly, deciding to play coy for the night instead of being completely at his disposal.

She hesitated for only a second; any argument might bring him to his senses and with his senses the lingering stress would take over as well. Drawing her fingers from his, still smiling, she raised her hands and lifted the loose robe from her shoulders then let it slide down her arms. His dazed, black gaze followed it to the floor, then slowly, very slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, rose, caressing her legs, her thighs and especially her stretchmarks, her stomach and by the time he reached her face her cheeks were flaming. A situation not helped by the wicked glint in his eyes or his openly lustful smile.

She loved how free, how wild he is with her, yet so careful and giving that she could never get enough of him.

“So perfect.” He purrs, wanting her in every way a man could want a woman.

His gaze slid from her face down her body hungrily again and Y/N realized that with the fire behind her, the silky nightgown he splurged to buy her would be translucent.

"Come to the bed." She held out both hands for him to take, hoping to guide him back to their bedroom with less danger of someone walking in on them. His gaze still on her body, he lifted his hands, every movement slow and heavy, as if his limbs were leaden. His fingers closed around hers, then he lifted his dark gaze to her face, to her eyes, and she saw the wicked laughter flare.

"Not yet." He pulled her into his lap.

She wanted to shriek, but managed to swallow the sound. She wriggled in his lap and managed to face him. His thighs felt like solid oak beneath hers, his chest when she placed both palms against it, felt like a warm rock. Around her, his arms lay heavy and relaxed - they might as well have been steel bands holding her trapped. They shifted; she felt his fingers slide up the back of her neck, splaying into her thick hair. He angled her head, his lips closing over hers. Lustfully, savoring.

She was kissing him back, exchanging breath for breath, caress for fiery caress, before she had a chance to think. Heat rose, pooling within her, radiating from him. As her wits whirled and desire danced in the air, she didn't think staying where they are considering what they both wanted to do would be a good idea. With an effort, she drew back from the kiss. He let her go, her head tipped back and back as he trailed kisses down her throat.

"The bed," she gasped. "We have to get to the bed."

“I’m just kissing you. It’s completely innocent.” Grayson pauses to say only to attach his lips to her neck again for an open mouth kiss.

“When have we ever just kissed without it leading to sex?” She cocks her eyebrows, running her fingers through his hair.

Instead of a response, she only felt long fingers, hard palms, tracing her body, investigating every curve, subtly caressing yet with a deeper purpose, as if he was searching for any possible changes since the last time he had her.

“Grayson.” She licks her lips, now dry thanks to him.

“Hellhound.” She calls out, using the nickname he’s known for in the underground. His movements halt, she senses his attention.

“That’s the first time you’ve ever called me that.” He breathed the words against her jaw, then feathered a kiss across her already swollen lips. 

“Say it again.” He commands gruffly, the Capo in him coming back to the surface.

Y/N dragged in a breath too shallow to steady her mind; she lifted a hand and brushed back a lock of hair falling across his forehead. "Hellhound?"

He kissed his nickname from her lips while his hands continued to roam, tracing the long muscles of her back, the backs of her thighs, and her bottom. Slowly arousing her and himself. When next he lifted his head, she was quivering.

"Someone will walk in. We should move this to our bed." She had no difficulty investing the plea with believable feeling. His reply was a deep chuckle, a sound that wreaked havoc with her overstretched nerves.

"Not yet. What's the hurry?" He tipped her chin up and nibbled his way down her throat. "We have all night.” And although that is true, she didn’t want to give a free show to any of his men.

“And what if one of your men walks in? Sure you want all of them seeing me naked?” She toyed with his sense of possessiveness, the primal need to protect her from everything - his men included. Especially in this case.

“They wouldn’t dare come close when you’re here. No one in this house has a death wish.” She looked down and saw long fingers, dark against the white of her nightgown, artfully slipping the tiny buttons free. Her eyes flew wide; she sucked in a desperate breath and lost it in a shuddering, achingly desperate sigh as his hand flicked back the open bodice and his fingers brushed the peak of her swollen clit. Cool air caressed her heated breasts as he pressed back her gown and bared them fully. One hand closed firmly, gently kneading.

She bit back a groan, cracking open her lids, she studied his face, lit by the fire's glow. She saw the sleepy smile of lustful anticipation on his lips, felt the heat of desire in his gaze, fixed on her, on the throbbing, aching clit his skilled fingers teased and taunted. He sensed her gaze, and glanced at her only to smile, oddly confiding, and returned his attention to her.

“So many women dream of this. So many of them will never feel my hands upon them.” His knowing fingers played over her aching flesh - never forceful, always teasing. His lips twisted, wryly triumphant.

“They better not.” Y/N breaths out, whimpering once his hands move to cup her ass, the gown now falling enough to entirely set free her chest.

She couldn't suppress the impulse to squirm, and felt his fingers firm about her bottom. He held her still and continued to play, tracing the long lines of her legs through her fine gown. His touch was tantalizing, she was breathing rapidly, her heart thudding in her throat when he reached down and caught the gown's hem. He lifted it slowly, then slid his hand beneath. The gown rose on the back of his hand as he traced, caressed her ankle, calf, knee, and thigh. He pushed the gown up over her hip, then, with complete and utter absorption, fell to caressing the inside of thighs he exposed. Beneath his fingers, a thousand fires sprang up, heating her skin. Very gently, he stroked the soft flesh between her thighs, which had parted of their own accord. 

“No one ever will. Not while I live and breathe will another woman lay a hand on me.”

She closed her eyes and felt her body surrender, felt the slickness he drew forth. Felt his fingers slide and glide, over and between the throbbing folds. Then his lips brushed hers. On a gasp, she kissed him back sliding her hands from where they laid passive against his chest, around and about, holding him to her. The kiss reached deep, then he drew back and chuckled, a wickedly devilish sound.

Eyes closed, her body so heated she felt liquid. Y/N felt him open her, felt him press gently, then slowly, deliberately as he slides one long finger into her. He shifted within her, gently stroking; the sudden tension that gripped her eased. She softened about him, about his probing finger, relaxing against him, sinking into his embrace.

“I am yours. Yours until I take my last breath.” She heard his words, and felt them, a breath across her temple, and a deep reverberation in his chest. That’s when he adds a second finger. He’s preparing her for what’s to come, she knows it. She tightened her hold on him, spreading her hands across his back, hanging on for dear life as if he was a rock anchoring her. Waves of pleasure he incited with every smooth slick stroke, every subtle twist of his fingers, every probing caress. 

She cracked open her lids just enough to find his head, to drag his lips to hers. She kissed him deeply, urgently, lustfully. Letting her thighs part farther, she urged him to reach deeper. Instead, he drew back. And chuckled wickedly again.

"Not so soon." He withdrew his hand from between her thighs. Breasts heaving, Y/N laid back in his arms and stared at him.

“Gray, I need you.” She whines, just as he loves it. It’s always a dance of who will submit first, allowing the other to take control and he always told her he loves the sound of her begging for him.

With that, he lifted her and set her on her feet between his thighs. Her legs quaked; his hands steadied her. Her gown slithered down to cover her legs and as she steadied, he rose, frowning as he immediately tottered.

His frown is fleeting, replaced by a chuckle as he mumbles against her lips.

“Never drinking so much that I can’t safely take you to our bed again.” He could barely set one foot before the other. Certainly not in a straight line.

Three more lurching steps and they reached the room she insisted on, barely giving her time to slam the door behind them as he took her to his side of the bed. Swinging him around so his back was to the bed, she placed both palms against his chest and shoved. He obligingly toppled back across the bed, but took her with him. Landing half-across him, she couldn't manage even a squeak. She immediately wriggled, fighting free of his arms but not of his hands, they were everywhere. She tried to ignore them long enough to undress him.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him and tugged his tie free. She flung it over the end of the bed, then, kneeling beside him she tried to take off the jacket of his suit. No matter how she tugged, she couldn't get it even close to his shoulder. Exasperated she sat back only to notice that his chest is quaking, even though his expression remained innocent.

She glared at him. "If you don't help me undress you, I'll leave you with blue balls for days."

Laughing softly, he rolled onto one shoulder, then sat up. "It's impossible to get a well-cut coat off me without my help."

She humphed. She watched as he shrugged the coat off and sent it to join his tie. Driven by desire, she reached out and ran her hands over his chest, pressing aside his waistcoat to explore the wide expanse. Beneath her curious hands, muscles shifted, rippled, and then set only for her to catch a quick look of new ink right over his left rib cage. He caught her wrists and yanked her to him, then bent his head and kissed her. She sank into his embrace, felt the pleasurable waves surround her, rise within her, lick tantalizingly up her spine as he pulled her closer. With a mind of their own, her fingers quickly undid the buttons of his shirt, then slid inside, spreading wide over warm tight skin, over ridged muscles, hard bands of hair covered skin. He broke from the kiss with a soft curse.

From beneath her lashes, she saw him fight free of both his waistcoat and shirt and fling them aside. She also saw one hand drop to his waistband, undoing the buttons there. She reached for him, relieved when he captured her lips with his and kissed her witless, deciding to ask about the ink later. He shifted, coming up on his knees and guiding her back, down onto the bed. She sank back obediently, eyes closed, silently willing him to be faster. His weight shifted on the bed; she heard the dull thwacks as his shoes, then his pants hit the floor. Then she felt him beside her; he leaned over her, and his lips covered hers. He kissed her deeply, commandingly, more intimately than ever before. The claiming was complete, unrestrained for he knew she was his even in this state. His for the taking. And he took.

The next morning came with a new plan, one Y/N had every intention on carrying out. She carefully pulled down the covers, watching her sleeping man not move an inch as she does. Nearly gasping, she covers her mouth as the slightly red, but clearly stated inked skin stands out from the rest of his chest, giving her a clear view of what’s changed about him in the last week.

Her initials displayed on his rib cage, right over his heart had left her speechless, her heart pounding as if his hands were still wandering her body and he was still sinking deep inside her.

“Got it a few days ago.” His voice scares her into a small yelp, but not as much as the definitive ink on his skin. She had never thought someone would have her etched into them for all eternity before and although she was more than aware of how serious she and Grayson got, it still brought uncertainty to her mind and soul. What if he regrets it?

“I…I wanted you to be safe. I tried so hard.” Grayson’s voice changes, delving into a pained tone she hated on him. If anything, she wanted him to be happy, always.

“What do you mean?” She knits her eyebrows together, her lips parted in concern of all the things he could have done in her name that would taint his.

“I tried to legalize my work. I closed a lot of the illegal branches and started the same work on many more and I think that’s what drew them to us. The Silver Snakes wouldn’t have even considered this turf is up for grabs if I didn’t try to change everything so drastically.” Grayson swallowed thickly, pursing his lips. Sobering up is never an easy job, but this morning is proving to be particularly difficult and not because his head is pounding or his dry mouth and even less about his stomach turning like a washing machine…it’s about all the worries that seemed to multiply over night as he tried to dull them. It’s about the demons he tried to drown, only to find they learned how to swim.

Seeing his inner turmoil, Y/N places the tip of her index finger to his jaw, tracing it lightly before gasping and quickly retracting her hand.

“What? What happened?!” Grayson jumped up, catching her hand in his bigger one to examine the finger she hurt only to find it’s completely fine. Lifting his eyes to meet her gaze, he saw the mischief behind her beautiful orbs and the smirk on her lips.

“Ouch. Cut myself on your jawline.” She giggled at her own joke, seeing his usually intimidating glare and firmly pressed lips unravel. That intimidating flare is substituted with a ‘that's so cheesy’ chuckle of his where he's basically choking on air and his own spit and not many people got a chance to see his face light up like she just did, nor did they ever hear his laugh like she just did. There’s nothing better in this world than what she just witnessed, nothing she’d ever want more than to have that a permanent part of her mornings.

Once his laughter died down and he prepared to stand up and dress himself, a soft touch of her hand on his shoulder stopped him from moving so fast. It called for his attention, keeping him in his spot for a moment longer.

“I appreciate you wanting to protect me, Gray. I do. But I knew what I signed up for when I chose to be with you. I knew once we were plastered on magazines that night you came to pick me up at my dorm. I knew and I willingly walked out with you. Life is short and if I get to live it with you by my side, a gun at my head won’t stop me from doing just that.” With her reassurement, Grayson swallowed back a lump growing at the back of his throat, certain she meant what she said, but determined not to put her in that position once more. A gun at someone’s head shouldn’t be something they’re used to as much as she is.

“And I want you to take me to a shooting range or something today. You and I both know I might need it.” She adds, already holding up her hand, palm open and turned to him to stop the assertive ‘NO’ he had prepared for her. This entire year was filled with their training sessions and that included guns – but he didn’t think she needed any more exposure to violence, even though she takes it better than anyone expected. For a woman who never faced the gore before she did with him, she took it all better than he did – and he was raised in this business.

“Just in case.” She bites the lower left corner of her lips nervously, watching the storm in his eyes shift from the assertive, dominant man to a puppy-like uncertainty and then finally, caving.

“Okay, but we won’t be doing target practice like usual then.” Grayson smirked, his lips curving to the right as her eyes narrowed at him in suspicion because that smirk paired with that sneaky glint in his eye is known as his ‘I have something planned’ smirk in her mind, meaning she should be ready for everything.

“What do you mean?” She drags out carefully, her eyes remaining narrowed and head tilts to the left ever so slightly.

“You’ll see.” He winks at her, the hazel in his eyes returning and the brown swims in green once more with the mischief he’s prepared for her. But she’s learned how to deal with his mischief by now.

While she pouted, Grayson sent a few quick texts and went into the bathroom because he had his routine and she used that opportunity to prepare her own trap for him. Once he walked out, his eyes nearly bulged out their sockets and his face contorted into a ‘hell no, don’t even go there’ kind of a look, but she just stood proudly by with a smile on her lips and her hands on her hips.

“Finally! I need to pee so badly. Your clothes are laid out for you on the bed.” She snickers, trying to run past him in her baby blue pants and white tank top, matching exactly the baby blue shorts and white tank top on the bed. Grayson manages to catch her by the arm as she attempts to maneuver around him, turning his head toward her and lowering it so they are at face level.

“We. Are. NOT. Matching.” Grayson emphasizes each word, his voice low and threatening to which Y/N only chuckles and raises both eyebrows.

“You’re my boyfriend. You’re matching outfits. Or you won’t get any for a long, long time.” She threatens on her own, matching his tone.

Grayson narrows his eyes at her, clicking his tongue. “I’m a leader of a gang. I can’t be seen matching outfits with my girlfriend…plus, you’re bluffing. You want me as much as I want you, doll.” His self-satisfying smirk only causes her to rip her arm out his hold and her face to darken significantly.

“Have I ever bluffed on any threats I made in the past?” With that, she leaves him alone in the room, missing out on his pensive face and the sudden realization she was most certainly not bluffing.

Long story short…

“You guys are matching!” Ethan screamed out, fishing out his phone so fast he nearly dropped it in his excitement.

“This is the best day of my life!” Ethan chuckled, snapping photos of a very grumpy, defeated Grayson and a grinning Y/N who posed for pictures.

“I will dropkick you, bro. Try me.” Grayson states, making Ethan raise both hands in mock surrender while he actually used the position to send the photos to a group chat he had with his mother and sister.

It took them an hour to drive out the city, taking them to an undisclosed location Y/N never knew about. She was confused for the most part, wondering why Grayson took three SUVs of security with them, but she didn’t question him. However, once they arrived and the situation was explained to her, she nearly lost her mind.

“I’m not shooting ducks!” She exclaimed, shaking her head vehemently.

Grayson rolls his eyes, folding his arms over his chest instead of taking the gun one of his men held out for him. While he’s used to Y/N’s stubbornness, he never once realized it would always be a tug of war with her. He enjoyed that on most days, but when things are serious like they’ve gotten, he needed her to be compliant and she was anything but.

“You have to practice on moving targets and ducks are both a moving target and good dinner!” He raised his voice ever so slightly, his irritation evident to all who surround him. Despite his hope of her cracking, all he got in return is a defiant shake of her head and the gun in her hand loosely pointed at his chest.

“I will not shoot cute baby ducks.” She repeats herself, this time more commanding.

“Can you not wave a loaded gun around like that?” Ethan pipes in, only to get ignored by both parties who were in a standoff of their own.

Grayson’s eyes take on a darker look, one that pushes the hazel out and the brown takes over until his eyes look almost black.

“You say you want to be a part of this, but you can’t even shoot a duck?” He challenges, sure this is the way to make her back down and start listening to what he has to say. In fact, this plan of his made him believe she’ll finally realize what shooting a gun actually means and drop her constant attempts at being the Bonnie to his Clyde. He knows he’s being unreasonably difficult, but he refuses to let her get mixed up in all his crap and this is one way to make her understand what’s truly at stake.

“The ducks haven’t done anything to me. Those men would. They would hurt me, you, Ethan”, she pokes his chest with the barrel of the gun at each word, her voice more determined than before and that’s when Grayson knows he can’t fight her on it. She’s far too stubborn.

“And if they dare to do so and I have a way to fight back, you best be damn sure I won’t sit back and watch all I love be put in harm’s way.” The words sounded as if they'd been said through clenched teeth, staring up at him, her gaze collided with his.

Only to have him kiss her voraciously, ravenously, until her wits whirled and she lost touch with reality. Then he drew back.

“Flying plates then?”

Grayson is a fool for her, he knew that very well and today he has been fighting her on it. So, instead of keeping his act up, he made a different decision. He wasn’t going to spend the day pushing her to abandon him, because she had made it very clear she had no intention of leaving. It both calmed and terrified him.

While she proved to be a perfect shot even with a moving target, he watched her with glee and a growing light inside his chest. If anything, she’s capable of defending herself as long as she had a gun on her and he would make sure she carries one at all times. Just not in the way she expects. Their hand to hand combat sessions rarely worked since they always led to defiling his home gym and in the end Ethan took over, but he made it clear she’s not a natural.

Satisfied, his hand around her, Grayson strolled out the little reserve with his woman on one side and his brother on the other, feeling like he’s on top of the world.

Until the first gunshot sounded.

Y/N’s POV

The man beside me is the first to fall. The bullet hit him in the chest, propelling him backward in an awkward cartwheel before he fell to his death on the grass. I can sense an arm around my waist, a hand resting on my outward hip as fingers dig into the skin so hard I’m certain I’ll bruise. I’m twirled into a firm chest, my vision blocked as all I see is white before I’m pulled off my feet and thrown behind one of our cars. The smell of Grayson’s cologne assures me he’s with me, his body over mine as his chest rumbles. He’s barking orders left and right, the words missing me as I hear only ringing in my ears.

Blinking, I tilt my head to the side, seeing Ethan leaned against the car with his gun in his hands. He takes a quick shot over the hood, hiding back under the cover right after.

The ringing in my ears is drowned out by the sound of my own heart hammering, Grayson’s raw voice next.

“I don’t fucking care, Brad. Lead them the fuck away from us!” His order snaps me back to reality, feeling my own gun pressing against my back. Trying to move my hand enough to grab the handle has been made impossible with the pressure of Grayson’s body pinning mine in what he’d consider safety. But I saw it as a mistake. I’m a perfect shot. I should be helping, not hiding.

However, the shots died down, cars screeching substitutes them as a chase we aren’t a part of begins and Grayson’s weight shifts away from me. I grab at the chance to drag in a deep breath, feeling as if I wasn’t breathing at all during the reckoning.

“Fuck! Doll, are you alright?” His hands cup my face, eyes searching for answers in his desperation. I nod to reassure him, licking my lips as I turn my eyes to Victor, the first man to fall. He’s been my ‘shadow’ for the past year, a man Grayson made sure was close by so I’d be safer. He didn’t know I knew about him, but I did. I crawl toward Victor, hoping he’s alright and we can save him. I know basic field aid, perhaps I could keep him alive until the real help arrives?

Grayson allows me to move, using it as an excuse to check on Ethan as I make my way to an unmoving Victor. His eyes are open, almost living. For a few seconds I could have sworn he looked up at the sky as if trying to admire it one last time, but the moment my fingers pressed against his carotid, I knew he was gone.

I feel tears prick at my eyes as my hands begin to shake. But I have no time to mourn.

“Y/N! Look out!” Ethan shouts and I whip around in fright, grabbing my gun on instinct as I am faced with three men – all pointing a gun at us – one at Grayson, one at Ethan and another at me. However, I hold a gun too and unlike what they thought, I had no issue pulling the trigger. The underestimate me, paying the price.

The bullet hits its mark, straight into the man’s chest, forcing him down and giving the guys a momentary distraction to fight back as well. And they used it wisely, bringing down both men in one swept, well-coordinated move.

I stand up, smiling as I move to step over the man’s body, not sparing him a second look. Until I see Ethan rushing toward me, throwing himself at me and another shot is fired.

Slammed down into the ground, my breath is knocked out of me. I gasp for air, my eyes wide and arms at either side of me as Ethan moves off and nods back to what I can only assume is Grayson.

“Doll?” His handsome face comes into view, his worry lines showing.

“How did he? How? I shot him!” I shout out, coughing. Ignoring the ache in my back, I sit up and look at the man in confusion, but that’s when I realize the truth.

“Those were blanks.” I frown, my jaw clenching as a surge of anger overtakes me and I find myself wishing I had enough strength to do actual damage to my lovely boyfriend who clearly has no regard for my feelings and opinions.

“You fucking asshole!” I slam my right fist on the ground, rage within unstoppable as a hurricane takes over my heart.

“You put fucking blanks in my gun?! I could have been killed because you don’t fucking trust me enough to handle a weapon?! You could have been killed!” Grayson’s face remains emotionless, just as it was when we first met. The worry lines are gone, his skin smooth and his intimidating mask back on. He remains quiet as I shout, only offering a hand for me to use in order to sit up. I refuse to take it. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

I have every right to be furious. I have every right to scream at him. I have every right to want to rip him to pieces right now. I have the right because we were ambushed and we could have been killed and he gave me a gun with fucking blanks instead of real bullets. It’s reckless and downright stupid and I have the right to be upset with him.

Standing up on my own, I throw both hands in the air in exasperation before my left one lowers to reside on my hip and the other’s palm presses against my forehead. Taking in a deep breath, I stop and close my eyes before racking my mind for proper words to say.

“Your need to control me and every situation at hand almost killed us all. I’m a good shot Grayson and if I can help protect you and your men, you can’t bench me. Especially not when I’m in the pit of hell with you and I already told you I’m not leaving. Either give me proper ways to defend myself, because I’m a target whether you like it or not, or…Or be prepared to mourn me, because you won’t always be there to save me.” With that, I walk past him and enter the car, lying down in the back seat with tears welling up in my eyes.

What else can I do to show him the right way? I’ve become a target since the first night he chose to turn on one of his ‘partners’ to come to my rescue. I’ve been dragged out of his bed in my underwear, held at gunpoint and tortured. I’ve been to hell for him and I’d do it again, because whether we’re together or not, they will use me as a pawn against him. Might as well be the angel with a shotgun by his side, instead of a damsel in distress. He might be blind to it, but I have been smelted into a warrior since we met and though I cling to some of my old ambitions, he and Ethan are the only things I care about in this world. I can’t afford to lose them.

Sometime during the anything but silent drive back, I’ve fallen asleep. The twins bickered as twins do, only these ones did it about life or death situations.

I have no recollection how I found myself in our bed, nor how I was changed out of those dirty clothes smeared with blood and grass. But I woke up clean and comfortable, despite the painful bruises that lined my body. I could tell the purple hip that peaked out under my shirt is the least of my injuries as they looked like Grayson’s fingertips and we were no strangers to rough sex, so hip bruises weren’t new. But I knew immediately my back is black and blue, the result of Ethan’s body slam.

And then I realized I forgot to yell at him. The idiot jumped in front of me! He could have taken the bullet meant for me! He could have died and it would be all my fault! Dammit! What is it with these guys and their need to sacrifice themselves for me?!

Rubbing my temples, I sigh at the empty spot beside me. His side is made, unwrinkled and spotless. He didn’t sleep next to me last night. Perhaps he didn’t sleep at all.

My stomach growled and I squirmed to try to silence the rumbling. I glance at the clock; there are only two more minutes until noon. I slept through half the day. Great.

Unable to stay in bed, I give up on my stubborn need to avoid human contact and wrap myself in a robe to properly cover up. Who knows how many of Grayson’s men are walking around the premises.

Expecting people in the hall, I find myself frowning when I see it’s empty. I can’t remember the last time the halls were empty like this…I can actually, but that night I try not to remember. Grayson always says I’m incredibly brave and he says he’s proud of me for not being too affected by the ‘incident’, but in truth, all I do is repress the memories. It’s how I survive – push it all down as emotional baggage and help him.

The door to his study is wide open, revealing his desk to be empty and the fire out. There are no signs of life whatsoever and I can’t help but shake the nauseating feeling in my guts that something isn’t right. He always says goodbye before leaving, so why am I alone right now?

Swallowing the lump growing at the back of my throat, I ignore the pang of hurt inside my chest. It’s funny how humans feel actual pain when their heart chips away.

I walk into the kitchen, there's no-one around. Opening the refrigerator, I am greeted by a cheery light and feel that pleasant wave of coolness. My stomach snarled and howled and from it came the not-so-subtle undertone of pain. It came in waves and it seemed as though my stomach was slowly digesting itself. I clutched at it, looking over the food for something I could eat, smiling once I locate a melon previously cut and prepared which meant Grayson DID come to the house last night. And even better, he did this for me, knowing I love melon more than anything when I wake up.

“Sleeping beauty is finally up!” I jump, turning to the intruder with narrowed eyes and lips pressed together.

“Not cool, Ethan!” I say through gritted teeth, setting the melon bowl on the counter.

Ethan chuckles lowly, nearly choking on his own spit in triumph. I would describe his laughter as warm and hearty, a little wicked but hey, it also applies to his personality.

“Where is everyone?” I question, sitting to munch as he takes a seat across from me, the smile from his face fading.

“Oh, uh. The attack on us wasn’t the only attack.” His words chill me to the bone, cold sweat collecting at the back of my neck and a violent shiver runs down my spine. The melon in my mouth barely manages to pass through my tightened throat as I struggle to breathe.

“What does that mean?” My voice is quiet, fragile in its shakiness, surrendering to the shock.

“We’ve lost a lot of men. Some close to us.” When the frustration builds and I think I might explode - I take a deep breath. Is this what Grayson meant when he said I’d be in danger again? How is he even dealing with this? Why had he let me sleep instead of coming to me?

“And Grayson?” I manage to speak, wanting to scream and shout, but what good would that do? It won’t help now.

“He’s doing damage control. Y/N, you need to realize the Grayson you’ll see for the foreseeable future won’t be the Grayson you fell in love with.” Knitting my eyebrows together, I frown and bite into the soft flesh of the inside of my bottom lip.

“The ruthless, coldblooded leader will take over and you might not like what you see.” Nodding, I decide to keep his warning in mind. After all, he’s his twin brother and he knows him better than I ever will. But I also know there is nothing Grayson does that would push me away. He made concessions to be with me, but so have I. I’m no longer the innocent little girl he met and maybe that’s a bad thing, but I wouldn’t survive in his world otherwise.

“Okay.” I pipe up, focusing on the melon. I hear a chair creak and steps move toward me, an arm wrapping around my shoulders and pulling me into a familiar side hug Ethan usually offers.

“It’ll be fine. The worst is over. I’m sure of it.” Ethan’s soft lips press into my temple, remaining a few seconds longer before he lets me go.

The days that followed were empty and lonely, filled with classes and missing Grayson. Even though we live in the same house now, I haven’t seen him at all since the shooting. Sometimes I’d find the place next to me wrinkled like someone laid beside me, his scent lingering on his pillow, but no Grayson.

Deciding to leave him a message if I can’t seem to find him, I leave it upon his desk to read.

I've poured warmth into you for so long and you love it, I know you do. Then you turn on the cold to shut me down. It hurts. Every time is a new wound, a new scar to add to the collection. You know it never stops me from loving you, but I need you to try real hard, try not to go cold in that way.

With a sigh, I turn around and walk out, using my Impala to get to class in time.

The hurt is like a spider web, intricate, yet strong. I know in time it will pass and the sun will regain its warmth, but the joy from my heart is gone. I cannot cry, cannot grieve for Grayson, for he stole himself away. I am still angry at him for his actions, but I don’t hate him. In fact, I need him. How are we to solve these issues if he refuses to be in the same place at the same time as me?

3rd Person POV

The day dragged on for both Y/N and Grayson. The distance between them feels insurmountable, but that’s only because neither made the step to close it. Grayson is too wrapped up in the war The Silver Snakes started, wanting vengeance. But he wants Y/N to be safe too. He needs her to be protected and if cooling their relationship for a little while is the price he pays, he’ll pay it tenfold.

Little did he know he’d feel his heart shatter once he returns home, finding the heartfelt note on his desk.

“Dammit!” Grayson throws the crystal from his hand into the fireplace, watching the glass shards litter the study. It’s the same room he last had her in, held her so close he could feel every beat of her heart against his chest. She longed for him, melted into him and although his mind was intoxicated by alcohol, he was drunk on her for a lot longer and she was a lot stronger poison.

She was always his whiskey on the rocks in a world drunk on cheap wine.

But that’s when his phone rang and her beautiful face lit up the screen. Unlike the previous days, he couldn’t send her to voicemail, longing to hear her voice even for a moment – even if she yells at him. Hell, he loved it when she screamed at him because that’s when he’d see how deep her feelings run, just how much she cares. The problems start when she stops yelling…when she starts leaving heartfelt notes instead of angry voicemails.

“Oh, doll.” He begins, cringing at his choice of words.

“What do you want from me?” Grayson grew quiet, his eyebrows furrowing and his forehead wrinkling at the odd reply. Didn’t she call him?

“I want your allegiance.” But then another voice joined the conversation and Grayson stilled, his fingers tightening on the phone and his eyes staring blankly at the fire he started.

“You know I have no intention on betraying The House Of The Rising Sun.” Her defiant answer is followed by a dry chuckle, one that forms rocks in Grayson’s stomach that cause a sharp pain of pure fear. Someone’s with her and she must have dialed his number in hopes of him knowing it. And Grayson had a pretty good idea who it is that’s so brave to break all rules. He once promised her anyone who tried to take action on his soil would die screaming, but he keeps failing her. First, it was Mikhail and now Scott Richards has done the same.

“The Hellhound? Oh, little one…he’ll be dead by the time his charity ball is over and I, for one, plan on being the last man standing. New York will be mine.” The determination in his voice is enough to make Grayson move fast, grabbing a confused Ethan on the way. He covers the microphone as he speaks.

“Get the men ready. We need to go to Columbia. Now!”

Listening to her voice again, Grayson’s heart clenches in his chest.

What if he hurts her? What if the last thing she knew of him is his coldness?

"You're sorely mistaken. You are here, threatening what is mine and while you have fashioned yourself a fantasy where you are something more than a pest, I must remind you Grayson may not wear a crown, but he is king and he rules with an iron fist. And I...I am his queen. A snake needs only one swift move of a blade to lose its head and the danger will pass, but the sun? The sun will always rise no matter how hard you will it not to." She’s stubborn and proud and incredibly obstinate. She’s giving him every reason to kill her and it rattles Grayson to the core. And she is reckless. So damn reckless and careless, as if she doesn’t care for life at all. She’s doing everything he wants her not to, putting herself at risk for him.

"Alright, darling. If that's what you want, I'll be on my way." Grayson draws in a sharp breath, eyes widening as he wonders if he’s about to listen to his love die and he can’t do a single thing about it.

"You're not going to kill me?" She speaks his mind, making him roll his eyes and lick his lips before sticking his tongue out as adrenaline keeps him going. He’s already on the road, so close and still too far for it to matter.

"You're a beautiful woman, loyal. I appreciate beauty, admire loyalty. The latter one will kill ya. Not tonight, though. I’m not known to be a wasteful man." The sneer is almost visible, even through the phone. It’s palpable, the sheer arrogance he displays in all fields – speeches, battle…all of them.

"Why not?" Grayson shakes his head, thinking how badly he wishes he was there to shut her up. It’s like she’s wishing for death.

"Because I want to see your beautiful face when I bring you your king's head." Scott sneered once more. In a subconscious gesture of disgust his nose wrinkled and he drew his head backwards. What little color he had drained and the pear drop remained quite stationary on his tongue. It was a threat and a jibe in one.

"Or maybe he'll bring me yours."

And that’s when the line dies.

“NO!” Grayson’s scream ripples through the coms, his entire team witnessing the pain behind it. Tormented with what could have been and what should have been, words and regrets taunt him with a savage intensity. The images are so acute, so crystal clear, it feels like living with her ghost.

Did she provoke him enough to lose her life? Did she really just engage in a fight of her own, even if her weapon of choice was words? Did Scott use more than words?

Eyes widened, breaths ragged and harsh. Grayson’s foot had long pressed onto the gas and his speeding had given him a view of Columbia rather fast. Just as he’s about to enter campus, he’s met with a sight of an Impala he once ruined, seeing his Y/N behind the wheel at that.

Slamming on the breaks, he swerves the car just enough to block her way, almost causing a crash.

“What the fuck?!” He hears her swear in anger, but then the silence takes over as she sees who caused her to stop so suddenly.

Without a second to waste, Grayson is getting out of his car, pulling her with all his might through the window instead of waiting patiently for her to move the car enough to exit like a normal person.

“What?” Is all she manages to say as he drowns out any sounds she wishes to make with his lips pressing against hers possessively, so urgently she knows it’s best not to challenge him.

And she kissed him. With a devastating sweetness, an innocence—as if this were the first time. Strong fingers curved about her jaw and warmth seeped into her bones, her skin, driving out death's chill that remained after Scott walked out. The lips held to hers, reassuringly alive. Grayson had reassured her by the strength of his arms surrounding her and the steady wilderness in his chest, beat of a heart not her own.

She was no longer alone in misery. Someone was here, keeping her warm, holding the memories at bay and dangers of the world could no longer get to her. The ice in her veins melted. Her lips softened; tentatively, she returned the kiss with all her heart.

“Great to see Tinkerbell is still alive. Now, we gotta move because the paps are closing in!” Ethan interjects, not particularly sorry about ending the shameless PDA they had no issue showing the world.

Breaking the kiss, Grayson’s arms leave her, the warmth going with him. She stumbles, catching her breath as the brothers engage in a hushed argument few feet away.

“Get in the car.” Grayson turns around, facing her with his jaw clenched and an emotionless coldness on his beautiful features. The Porsche moves behind them, allowing the freedom of doing what he asks of her.

He looked down at her - then stepped closer, towering over her. He took another step; eyes locked on hers. She halted, raised her hands and pushed against his chest. "Stop that! You're deliberately trying to frighten me."

“I’m not trying to frighten you, doll.” he growled through clenched teeth. “I’m trying to intimidate you. There’s a difference. Now, stop being so damn stubborn for once in your life and just do as I say.”

He opened the door to her Impala, watching the flames in her eyes dance as she sends a glare his way. But she does as he says and that’s all he cares about, feeling the anxiety that took over him finally dwindle.

She’s safe.

She’s alive.

She’s here.

That’s all he can focus on.

“I didn’t expect you to be here.” She mumbles, starting the drive back to Grayson’s mansion between two black SUVs, like that’s not suspicious at all.

“You called, didn’t you?” Grayson retorts, tilting his head to watch her – the wind pushing her hair back as it gushed in through the open window, the way her nose crinkles when he responded to her, even the way she swallowed thickly and tightened her hold on the wheel.

“You don’t really have a great track record of taking my calls lately.” She snaps back and Grayson shakes his head, biting on his lower lip to stop himself from swearing because starting a fight now wouldn’t solve anything.

But she’s fighting at least. She’s not giving him the silent treatment which would mark their ending, rather baiting him because she does care.

“And I fucked up. A lot lately, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Doll, I’m sorry I keep putting you in danger.” To his words, she snorts. He watched her in disbelief as an ironic smile pulls at her lips and stretches them into a sour looking smile with venom brewing inside her.

“I’m not upset you put me in danger. I fucking knew danger was a part of your world. Hell, you’re danger itself Mr. Hellhound! I am upset you pushed me away! You left me to deal with what happened alone and refused to be in the same room as me! You just checked out. You can’t check out when you’re in a committed relationship, Grayson! Not when I’m concerned. For crying out loud, you have the word tattooed on your body!” She screamed at him the whole ride home, not pausing to even take a proper breath. She didn’t stop screaming until she was red in the face and the vein on her forehead looked like it would pop in anger.

And he just smiled. He loved every minute of it. Her anger meant there was something there to cling to and that his actions didn’t alienate her entirely. He knew just how to convince her to stay.

So, after her little remark about him smiling and being completely inconsiderate, he followed her upstairs. But not before warning his brother and guards to stay clear of the second floor.

Grayson sat down on his bed, already naked, waiting for her to come to him. The moment she entered the room, her eyes found his and her heart gave in. Her lips lifted in a crooked smile that had him stiffening. Lifting her hands to her shoulders, she slid her robe off and let it fall, revealing all the things about her he loved.

Grayson loved every crevice, every scar she tried to hide from him. He loved the birthmark she had right above her right bum just as much as loved the one nestled between her breasts. He fought the urge to reach for her; he couldn't stop his gaze from devouring her. She sensed it, looked at him, and smiled once more.

While Grayson got under the covers, she lifted the covers and slid in beside him.

He turned and drew her into his arms before she could touch him. She sighed softly and sank against him, then lifted her face to his. He kissed her gently, unhurriedly, content to savor the soft warmth of her body pressed freely against his, content to explore the soft warmth of her mouth, his to claim as he willed. As was she. He held the thought back, channeled his aggression into anticipation, and kept every touch languid.

So he held himself back and let her urgency build, let her grow hot, her skin fevered, her kisses increasingly demanding. He sank back on the pillows and let her take the lead - or at least, let her think she did. Grayson knew his doll liked to feel in charge, to take on the more dominant role in bed and he didn’t want to take it away from her so fast.

Half atop him, she kissed him wildly, and squirmed. Heated, soft as velvet skin of hers is pressing caress after intimate caress upon his.

He grits his teeth - and enjoys every minute.

But he keeps her hands high, lacing his fingers through hers to prevent her speeding up this night – the night he intended to be in charge of. He seemed content to wallow in the heatwave; with a mental snort, she tugged her fingers from his, framed his face, and kissed him eagerly. Greedily.

She sank into the kiss, caught in a sudden flare, her limbs heated still until she melts against him. Wanting to melt beneath him, have him finally be one with her. Sliding her fingers into his hair, she let her lips, her tongue, taunt him, and challenge him. Incite him.

Despite responding ardently, he remained beneath her – giving her the dominance without a fight this night. She avoided his hands and set hers to trace the ridges and hollows of his chest, the heavy bones of his shoulders, the tensed muscles of his upper arms. His arms locked around her, heavy and warm across her waist, denying her quest to reach lower. Not that she needed to touch his cock, he was already fully aroused. The steely length of him rode against her hip, hot and urgent. That much of him, at least, was cooperating. The rest of him was not. She wanted him to fight her for dominance as they always do. She wanted him to care enough to push her limits like he always does.

Shifting, she lay fully atop him, settling his erection between her thighs. She rolled her hips, experimenting until she found the particular shifting slide that most evocatively stroked him and the muscles in his arms shift, tensing, relaxing, and then tensing again, as if he couldn't make up his mind.

Swallowing a curse, she trapped his lips with hers and put her heart and soul into a slow, deliberate pace, moving her thighs - even the curls at the base of her belly - coming into play. Deliberately suggestive, she called to him.

And he answered. She felt the wave of response building in his body, felt the need she baited flare and swell. Felt hard become harder, felt tense muscles turn solid like rock.

With a gasp of relief, of anticipation, she dragged her lips from his and half wriggled, half slid to the side. Puppet-like, his body followed; as she turned on her back, she grasped his upper arm, tugging him over her.

The reins of his lust locked in a grip of iron, Grayson followed her lead, let her shift, let her tug, let her believe he was dazedly following her directions as she urged him over her. He complied, moving heavily, unhurriedly.

While she panted, he smirked, enjoying the view.

“Hello there, my Queen.” Using the name she called herself in his absolute, mind numbing passion, Grayson couldn’t help but agree. She is his queen, always was. She’s been the one he waited for since the dawn of time and he couldn’t let her slip away.

At his touch, her thighs parted. He swung heavily over her, then let himself down between. Taking his time settling himself and her, Grayson watched her frown. Impatient, she arched, and he felt her heat calling him, touch and cling to that most sensitive part of him.

He caught his breath and felt, in his chest, something shift, something lock. With a soft, desperate gasp, she arched again and he could no longer refuse her need, so he eased into her, completely forgetting to use a condom in their mind-numbing need for one another. He sunk deeper, slowly, savoring every inch of her hot softness as she stretched to accommodate him, savoring the subtle easing of her body as she accepted him. She sighed as he sank even deeper, then her hands, tensed on his arms, relaxed. And skimmed down his sides.

He caught them; first one, then the other, letting his weight down on her as he trapped them. And gently but firmly removed the reins from her grasp as he claimed his dominance. Beneath him, she shifted, sinking deeper into the soft mattress, angling her to cradle him more effectively.

Tentatively, she lifted her legs, sliding them over his sides.

"Queen." He breathed the word against her lips as he settled fully upon her. He found her lips with his and took them, took her mouth, then pressed deeper into her.

He drank her instinctive gasp - a gasp of pure pleasure. Inwardly smiling, he drew back, then sank deep again, and felt her eagerly respond.

With each slow, controlled thrust, the pleasure tides within her rose higher; he held to a steady, rolling rhythm until she was burning. Until, hot and heated, awash with desire, she rose beneath him, meeting every thrust, her body caressing him, clinging to him, cleaving to him. Until she was aflame, urgent in her wanting, and desperate in her need.

Frantic.

She flexed her fingers, trying to slip them from his grasp, frantic to hold him, desperate to draw him to her, to dig her nails into his skin, to reach the physical bliss that hovered on her. Sunk deep in the mattress, she squirmed and panted, trying to get that last inch closer, trying to get him that last fraction of an inch deeper. His fingers clamped about hers, didn't give, but, to her relief and expectation, he raised his chest slightly, just enough so her nipples brushed his chest.

A scream welled in her throat, struggling to lift her heavy lids, she swallowed it as he moved his face higher, breaking their kiss. He was a dense shadow looming over her, shoulders and chest surging in a slow, powerful rhythm, a rhythm she could feel in her marrow. In her womb. She knew he didn’t use a condom, not caring one bit. In this moment, all she wanted was to feel him fill her with every inch he’s endowed with, to hear his moans in her ear as he presses kisses under it.

With her hands still anchored, one on either side of her head, she gripped his sides with her thighs, gasping, arching, as he thrust harder, deeper.

Then he drew back farther; lips parted, senses whirling, she waited, quivering, for the next stroke. Only to feel him rock lightly, penetrating her with just the tip of the hard length she wanted buried inside her.

“Stop teasing me.” She growls, feeling her mind is on edge with her need.

She opened her lips on a second protest - instead, she gasped anew as he bends his head and takes one nipple into his mouth. Hips rocking gently, teasingly, he feasted on her swollen nipple, until she started losing herself in the pleasurable sea he sent her adrift.

After lavishing her hot skin, his lips burned when they again brushed hers.

“Don’t give up on me, doll.”

She wasn't, at first, sure whether he had spoken, or she'd simply heard the words in her head. But his hips stopped rocking; he lay, hot and hard, just parting the swollen folds about her entrance.

“I won’t. I won’t ever.” She pants, lips trembling with need.

After an instant's pause, he started rocking again, once, twice - then he slid into her again. She sighed, then lost what breath she had left as he pushed deep, then nudged deeper, and let his weight down on her once more.

Grayson rode her, just a little deeper, just a little harder, just a fraction more intimately. He was having a hard time clinging to his reins, only rock-hard determination, and his strength of will - of endurance allowed him to do it; to see her panting beneath him, her hair a veil spread across the pillows, her thighs gripping him urgently as he loved her. She responded without guile, without reticence, without hesitation - with a complete lack of reserve, the strongest feminine spell he'd ever encountered. And he had countless women before her, but none felt as good as she did. None of them truly loved him as she did.

Her welcome, every time he sank into her, was bone deep. The temptation to lose himself in her arms, in her body, grew with every passing second.

But he needed to know she wasn’t leaving him. He needed to know that his coldness toward her hadn’t pushed her too far away from him. If it had, he’d never forgive himself.

Gradually, he slowed, letting the rhythm not die but slow to the point where her frantic need, a need he knew well how to manage, rose again.

When she whimpered, and squirmed, trying to urge him on, he brushed a kiss to her temple.

"Tell me if you hate me. If you want to leave me.”

A frown passed across her face, then she shook her head and it was gone. She knew he used sex to get her to speak the truth, edging her on to insanity until she told him what is truly on her mind. She knew it was his method, the only way he knew how to get the darkest truths from her and she didn’t blame him. She accepted that part of him wholeheartedly.

“I could never hate you. Never leave you.”

She lifted beneath him, wriggling more urgently; swallowing a curse, he impaled her fully again, then kissed her breathless.

“Good. Cause you’re mine.” He growled out.

And he gave her a little more, rode her a little faster. Despite his weight, she moved beneath him, rising, meeting him more fully. Letting go of her hands, he grabbed a pillow; releasing her from their kiss, he eased back, lifted her and stuffed the pillow beneath them.

Tilting her up so he could sink deeper, without stimulating her to completion. Her breath fractured when he thrust deep, an urgent sound. He shut his ears to it. "Wrap your legs about me."

She did, immediately; arms braced, he held himself over her and drove her up, up, and on to the next level of passion. Eagerly, she clung to him, her hands, now free, trailing over his chest and arms, then gripping tight as he delved deeper and pushed her on.

“My Queen.”

Fingers sinking into flexing sinews, Y/N let her head fall back, lips parted as she struggled to breathe. Senses lost, her wits long gone, she surrendered to the whirlpool of sensations he commanded, surrendered to the power she could feel in every thrust that joined them, in every synchronous beat of their hearts. A sense of beauty, of delight, of joy unimaginable hovered just out of reach.

A soft moan surprised her, she bit her lip, determined to be quiet because his men could hear. Then gasped as he surged more powerfully, faster, deeper.

She caught her breath on a strangled gasp, then cried out in shocked disbelief when he pulled back and left her. Fighting to raise her lids, she saw him lift fully away from her. Stunned she reached for him, half-sitting, but before she has a chance to truly complain, large hands caught her and flipped her over, then locked about her and pulled her back onto her knees.

And they were everywhere, those large, hard hands - stroking, squeezing, and probing. Until her back ached, until her skin glowed, until her nerves were taut and tingling. Until she wished for the night, the intimacy to never be over despite being in pain in her need for release.

Kneeling behind her, reaching over and around her, a dark, aroused presence in the night, he bent his head and nipped her ear lobe, then soothed it with his lips. "Lean farther forward."

His hands clamped about her as she did, steadying her. Then he nudged her thighs wider, and caressed her - stroked her slick, swollen flesh until it was throbbing again, until she sobbed his name.

He slid into her, smoothly, easily filling her deeply, until she was so full of him she could sense him throughout her body. Eyes closed in rapturous delight, she pressed back and took him all.

Grayson felt her clamp tight about him; features set, etched with passion, he couldn't smile, not even smugly. She needed him inside her now, if he was not there, she'd feel empty. This way, he could fill her without risking her willfulness getting the upper hand. She couldn't reach climax this way, not without his active cooperation. Taking her from behind, with her on her knees, he could keep her locked in the sex induced craze for just a little longer, keep her inside the web he'd woven.

But first…

He was going to love her until she couldn't think, until she had no will left. Until he was sure she knew no man could ever offer pleasure he can. Until he knew her promise to stay was secure.

So he caressed her inside and out using his body, hands, and lips, consciously bringing the full force of his expertise and experience to bear.

He intended to be ruthless.

He filled his hands with her swollen breasts and she whimpered with desire; he shut his ears to the sound, and dotted kisses along her exposed nape. Locating her nipples, he teased and tweaked, until she moaned and sobbed. Nuzzling aside the heavy fall of her hair, he pressed hot open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder, then down her spine.

And all the while he filled her, to a slow, steady rhythm guaranteed to leave her both satisfied and wanting and ready to sell her soul in order to get more.

He was going to be ruthless.

He had already studied her curves, inch by inch, he knew them well. Now, with her on her knees before him, he took in other aspects of her beauty - her delicate bones, the sleek, supple strength of her very feminine curve of her spine. The sweet hollow between shoulder and throat, the long sweep of her neck and the stretch marks covering both her bums – his favorite.

Hands trailing farther, he traced the long muscles of her thighs, braced, lightly quivering, flexing slightly as he rode her. His gaze, however, had fixed on her bottom meeting his body with satisfying force every time he thrust into her, on his cock rigid and engorged, gleaming with her slickness, sliding effortlessly into her, deep into the embrace of her waiting vagina. It’s not the first time they went bare sex, but it’s the first time he needed to fuck her to oblivion so she’d never forget the sensations he offered.

The sight held him entranced. She moaned softly then rotated her hips, clinging to him. Grayson gasped, he closed his eyes and tightened his death grip on his impulses. Opening his eyes again, he drew a ragged breath - and leaned forward. And reminded himself to be ruthless.

But the instant his hands curved about her shoulders, then trailed down to cup her breasts, he knew the best he could hope to be with her was ruthlessly gentle. Lavishing attention on her. Helplessly in thrall, drawn deeper with every heated thrust, every caress he pressed on her and she pressed on him - he was a victim of emotion that bound him to her through this act and yet more deeply, reaching to his soul. Demanding his obedience, his acceptance his surrender.

Little did she know he was always hers. He surrendered long ago.

When next he straightened, his breathing was beyond ragged, his control badly frayed. Chest swelling, he set himself to take her up the last stretch of their road. Grayson dragged in a deep breath; fingers sinking into her. Grayson anchored her and thrusted deep. Again, and again, pushing her high, then higher swiftly taking her toward the shattering orgasm that he'd deliberately designed for her. On and on, higher and higher, she panted, then sobbed in her need.

Raising one hand, she reached back and traced his lean cheek. “Please, Grayson. Now.”

His face was beside hers; she heard a soft hiss, then a smothered curse. He wanted to hear her beg, meaning he had not only won, but also driven the stubbornness and attitude out of her. Then he reached around her, grabbing first one pillow, then another. Piling them before her, even as his other hand pressed on her back and guided her down. Swiftly, he drew her knees back, and she was lying on her stomach, the piled pillows beneath her.

And he was behind her, between her spread thighs, his cock pressing against her bottom. Against skin flickering with heightened nerves, her inner thighs excruciatingly sensitive to the brush of his tattooed legs.

With one thrust, he surged into her.

She screamed with sheer delight. Horrified, she grabbed handfuls of the twisted sheets and held them to her face. And heard him groan, braced above her, his hands planted on either side of her, he drew back, and surged deeper and deeper, no longer holding back as his own moans filled the room.

In bliss, she screamed as her high finally caught up with her.

Eyes closed tight, braced above her, Grayson drank in the lovely sound. Half muffled by the sheets, it was still pure magic; the sound of her ecstasy was pure ecstasy to him. Sunk to the hilt inside her, he held still, rigid, tense as a coiled spring, and savored her contractions, the rippling caress of her body as release swept through her.

He waited, not patiently, but with steely determination, until she eased beneath him, then, gritting his teeth, he leaned forward, grabbed two more pillows, lifted her, and raised her still higher.

So he could ride her on, up the next high. When she realized it was there, she joined him, eagerly, as focused as he. Heated once more, flushed, her skin covered in sweat, she writhed beneath him, urging him on not with words but with deeds, with the flagrant encouragement of her lush body.

And when he sent her over the edge again, the effect was cataclysmic. He heard it in her unrestrained scream. The sound caught him up, tugged at his heart, his soul. Closing his eyes, he filled her completely and swiftly followed her in the undeniable pleasure of such acts – their minds and bodies as one, their relationship hopefully mended. Or on the road to it.

Exhausted, Grayson watched her sleep in his embrace, smiling to himself. People called him ruthless before, but they have no idea who he truly is. Scott has no idea who he really is. If they think he was ruthless before, but Y/N softened him – they are sorely mistaken. She didn’t soften him, if anything, she made him more ruthless. She is why he has to be merciless, because there is nothing and no one in this world that would stand between him and his doll…his queen. She is why he’d do anything, kill anyone – just to come home to her at the end of the day.

Y/N drifted off to slumber, not knowing her handsome prince already set things into motion. While they reconnected, Grayson made sure to paint the streets red that night – his revenge exact, swift and unforgiving.

Waking up in Grayson’s arms, his lips pressing feather light kisses across her jaw, hand lingering on her left thigh – it didn’t feel real at first.

“Open your eyes, doll. I know you’re awake.” His husky, sexy morning voice is what makes her groan, already horny for him and the intimacy he showered her in last night. Feeling his lips enclose on hers, only to abandon her a moment later, forced her to whine and open her eyes, receiving a satisfied chuckle from her favorite bad guy.

“You make the cutest whines when you want more of me. It’s adorable.” Brushing his nose against hers for an Eskimo kiss, Grayson gives in and plants a second kiss to her lips.

“And you still use sex to convince me to forgive you for fights.” She remarks, slowly regaining basic control over her mind and body.

“Didn’t hear you complain last night.” Grayson cocks an eyebrow, a smug smile taking up half his face, but his eyes showed a hint of guilt she wanted to extract to the surface.

“We have to talk about it eventually. The whole blanks in my gun situation and you ignoring me since, the fact Scott showed up yesterday…” Grayson presses his index finger to her lips, stopping the oncoming river of words that would overwhelm them both.

Cupping her face, he presses his forehead against hers lightly, just enough so his lips hover over hers and she’s rendered speechless by the proximity.

“I messed up with the blanks. I thought Ethan and I could protect you no matter what happened. I was wrong and I am sorry about that. I fucked up when I allowed my need to kill Scott with my own two hands for almost taking your from me put a barrier between us. I didn’t want you to see me like that – wicked, psychotic even…hands covered in blood and people’s hearts in the palm of my hands. I wanted you to see me as the CEO, the bachelor who can’t seem to even look at another since you came into his life and set his dark skies aflame. And as for yesterday…I think a part of my heart died from sheer fear of you taking whatever he meant for me. You provoked him…said all the words a proper Queen would, but never should if she doesn’t have the troops at the tip of her fingers. He could have killed you. Which is why hundreds of his men died last night.”

From an apologetic start, to incredibly soft and mushy, down to the coldblooded, sharp, venomous ending. Y/N would be lying if she said her blood didn’t run cold with his words, but she reminded herself that he’s at war and if he’s to live and come back to her, she has to accept that part of him that does what’s necessary. Without him, she’d wither. Without him, nothing would matter. So, yes, she shuts her eyes and endures, smiling up at him as the forgiveness takes over and she lets it go.

“But I’m still hoping you’ll come to the ball with me this Saturday. I don’t usually go, but now I have some eye candy to share with the world. Want to show you off, doll.” Kissing her ear, Grayson moves down to her neck and waits for her resolve to crumble. She ran her fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and she could feel the beating of his heart against her chest.

“Gross! Wasn’t last night enough?! I swear, it’s like you’re bunnies!” Ethan’s disgruntled shouting is enough to end the sweet moment that would definitely end in some seriously missed morning sex. But, even in their enamored state, they know being so close to the ball means new dresses and new plans for security with the looming threat still being so abundantly clear to everyone in the gang.

“I think I liked it more when you were at odds with each other!” Without a second thought, Ethan settled on the bed beside them, not even caring that they’re both naked under the sheets and Y/N’s mortified facial expressions as she hid her head under too.

“Awe, come on! Look what you did! You broke my little munchkin!” Grayson exclaims, giggling like a school boy with his brother only to groan once she pinches his arm as revenge.

“Baby’s got some claws, huh?” Ethan laughs only louder, loving how his two favorite people are finally happy again. He knew The Silver Snakes would be a hard blow for them both, but it looked as if the sky was finally clearing up and the clouds were gone.

“I hate you both!” Muffled by the sheets, her voice is still able to reach them as they coo.

“Awe!! Aweee! You love us!”

It was a good day in a month filled with bad days. But neither were too foolish to believe it would last. The day of the reckoning was soon upon them.

**

Grayson decided to gift Y/N with the most lavish ball gown and jewelry he could offer. She didn’t shy away from it as much as she used to, but she did put up a considerable fight. Of course, he managed to bend her will with a quick fuck in a changing room of the boutique, realizing he enjoyed bending her will to his in such a manor far too much. Of course, he’s not blind to the fact that if she wasn’t inclined to accept, this quick fuck wouldn’t really get him anywhere, but he wanted to lie to himself for as long as possible that he was the alpha in their relationship.

So, in a long, angel white ball gown with thousands of diamonds embedded in the silk, Y/N looked like she descended from heaven itself. Of course, she insisted the top to be all lace and see through so the blood red brassier she chose would be a clear message where her allegiance lies. And a fresh tattoo of five black birds across her left collarbone got a chance to shine as well.

She nearly cried when she found Grayson in a matching white outfit at the bottom of the stairs, a blood red handkerchief in his pocket to match her statement perfectly.

“Who are you and what have you done with Grayson Bailey Dolan?” She stopped at the last step, taking his hand gently and allowed him to bring it to his lips.

“No clue what you’re talking about, doll.” His smug smile made her heart jump and her breath to stop, but she knew better than to show him what effect he has on her.

“A month ago, you would rather be caught dead than match outfits and now you orchestrated this all on your own.” She smirked, watching his eyebrows rise and fall and a slight nod on his behalf.

Ethan joined them for the ride to the hotel that was their special place. It was one of Manhattan’s wonders, one Grayson kept from prying eyes. This time around, he opened the garden and allowed people in, surprising Y/N and Ethan as well. Maybe it’s because the last time it was open was the last time they saw their father alive. It was the same night Grayson became Capo.

In a short half hour, the ballroom was awash with silks and satins; perfume hung heavy on the air. The shine of curls was fractured by the sparkle and glint of jewels; hundreds of tongues contributed to the polite hum. Being on Grayson’s arm guaranteed Y/N enough space to breathe; no one wanted to crowd her because anyone who’d dare approach would have to deal with Grayson first. Even though rare few knew of his true role in New York, those who didn’t were still intimidated by him. There were, however, a definite number who, sighting her, were compelled to pay their compliments. Some, indeed, looked set to worship at her feet, even in the teeth of the very real threat of receiving a swift and well-aimed bullet from her escort.

Fixed by Y/N’s side, compelled to witness her effect on other males of the room and his own gang members, Grayson set his jaw, and tried not to let it show. While he was aware of her transcend beauty, he also knew this event was a danger. Any public stunt is risky at this time.

As the evening wore on, euphoria increased. Dinner was served at one o'clock. Seated beside Grayson at one of the larger tables, Y/N laughed and chatted. Smiling serenely, she studied Grayson’s guests and mostly those she knew were in the gang. The same expectation tightened her nerves, heightened her senses. Laughing at one of Ethan's jokes, she met Grayson's eye and understood precisely why ladies of New York, hell – the world - deliberately played with fire when they flirted with him.

How many hearts did he break before he chose hers to keep?

The musicians summoned them back to the ballroom. The others all rose, but Grayson whispered for Y/N to stay and she obeyed. She looked up, Grayson stood beside her, patient boredom in his face. She held out a hand; smoothly, he drew her to her feet. She glanced around, the room was already empty. She turned to Grayson only to have him pull her further, away from the ballroom. Startled, she looked up at him.

He smiled, a wolfish grin with a wicked glint in his eye. "Trust me." Relaxing with the knowledge this wasn’t an escape because of a possible attack, she followed him.

He led her to a wall and opened a door concealed within the paneling. The door gave onto a minor corridor, presently deserted. Grayson let her through, then followed. Blinking, Y/N looked around; the corridor ran parallel to the ballroom, leading toward its end. "Where?"

"Come with me." Taking her hand, Grayson strode down the corridor.

She had to hurry to keep up, but before she could think of a sufficiently pointed argument, they reached a set of stairs. Somewhat to her surprise, he led her downstairs.

"Where are we going?" Why she was whispering she didn't know.

"You'll see in a minute," he whispered back.

The stairs led into another corridor, parallel to the one above; Grayson halted before a door near its end. Opening it, he looked in, then stepped back and carried her over the threshold.

“What are you doing?” She giggled, kicking her legs slightly in her glee.

Pausing just inside, Y/N blinked. Behind her, the lock clicked, then Grayson put her down only to lead her down three shallow stone steps and onto a flagged floor.

Eyes wide and widening, Y/N looked around. Huge panes of glass formed half the roof, all of one wall and half of each sidewall. Moonlight, crystal white, poured in, illuminating neatly trimmed cherry trees in clay pots, set in two semicircles about the room's center and roses – so many roses that she felt her heart stop. Slipping her hand from Grayson's, she entered the grove. In the moonlight, the glossy leaves gleamed; she touched them—their scent clung to her fingers. In the grove's center stood a white, posh looking couch with silk cushions. Beside it on the table sat a wickerwork basket overflowing with wild flowers.

Glancing back, she saw Grayson, a silvered shadow prowling in her wake. "It's an extension of the garden upstairs."

She saw his lips twitch. "One I wanted to create until it grew like its Eden."

An expectant thrill shot through her, a violin distraught the peace. Startled, she looked up. "We're under the ballroom?"

Grayson's teeth flashed as he reached for her. "My dance, I believe."

She was in his arms and whirling before she realized his intent. Not that she wished to argue, but a small warning might have helped, might have made the sudden impact of his nearness a little easier to absorb. As it was, with arms like iron around her and long thighs parting hers, she immediately fell prey to a bundle of sensations, all distractingly pleasant. He waltzed as he did most things - masterfully, his skill so assured she didn’t have to do anything but glide and twirl, follow his lead. They proceeded down the grove, then slowly revolved about its perimeter. As they passed the entrance to the enchanted circle, he looked down, into her eyes and deliberately drew her closer.

Y/N's breath caught; her heart stuttered, then picked up its pace. The red silk covering her breasts shifted against his coat, so much so she felt her nipples tingle. Their hips met as they turned, silk shushing softly in the night. Hardness met softness, then slid tantalizingly away, only to return, harder, more defined, a heartbeat later. Sway of the dance teased her senses; they ached for him. Eyes wide, her gaze trapped in the darkness of his, Y/N felt the silvery touch of the moonlight and tipped up her head. Her lips, parted, were oddly dry.

Her invitation could not have been clearer. Caught in the moment, Grayson did not even think of refusing. With practiced ease, he lowered his head and tasted her, confident in his mastery, only to find his head swimming as she drew him in. With an inward curse, he hauled hard on his reins and wrested back control he knew he couldn’t lose now.

They waltzed between the cherry trees and roses; the music stopped and still they revolved. Gradually, their steps slowed; they halted by the couch.

Y/N pushed against a shiver of anticipation. Their kiss unbroken, Grayson released her hand. He slid both palms over her silk-clad curves until one rested on each hip, burning through her flimsy gown. Slowly, deliberately, his hands slid further, cupping her bottom, drawing her fully against him. Y/N felt his blatant need, his desire, and an answering heat blossomed within her. Her breath was his; caught in their kiss, she lifted her arms and curled them around his neck. She pressed herself against him, soothing her aching breasts against the wall of his chest. The deep shudder that passed through him thrilled her.

Tension gripped him. He lifted her; their kiss unbroken, he lowered her to the couch. And followed her down until her breath fled. With a stifled gasp, she pushed aside his coat and eagerly spread her hands over his chest. She knew his body all too well, knowing it would push him to the edge.

She felt the sudden hitch in his breathing, sensed his sudden surge of desire. From deep within, she answered it, shamelessly enticing his tongue to duel and dance with hers. She had her legs tangling with his; her hands reached further. She refused to be submissive; she wanted to feel, to experience, to explore.

Which was more encouragement than Grayson could stand. Abruptly, he pulled back, caught her hands and anchored them over her head. Immediately, he recaptured her lips, desire growing, escalating wildly, barely restrained. Ravenous, he deepened the kiss, searching for appeasement, fighting, simultaneously trying to retain control.

Half-trapped beneath him, Y/N arched, responding to the intimacy, the steadily growing passion. Desire, a palpable entity, welled and swelled; she squirmed with silk sliding between them, then moaned and tugged against his hold. He broke their kiss only long enough to say: "No."

Twisting her head, she avoided his lips. "I only want to touch you. Let me touch you."

"Forget it," he grated. He was dangerously overheated, driven by a desire he'd seriously underestimated; her wandering hands would be the last straw. He wanted her, despite the fact he already had her shaking under him twice this day. It seems like this hunger, this blatant need for each other will never die out, but neither truly care. It doesn’t lessen the shock of realization once it comes to their clouded minds.

"Why?" Y/N tested his grip, then twisted, trying to gain advantage; one soft thigh pressed close, then slid downward, provocatively stroking his cock he was desperately trying to ignore.

His breath hissed in; she pressed closer. Desire crystallized, hardening every muscle. Tightening every nerve. Obliterating the last remnants of caution. He caught her chin and captured her mouth in a searing kiss. He shifted, one leg trapping hers, using his weight to subdue her.

Not that she was struggling. Her lips clung to his, passionately enticing. She moaned again, this time in abandoned entreaty; her body arched, caressing his, inviting, inciting.

His hand dropped from her jaw to possessively cup one breast, pushing her bra out the way.

Y/N gasped; her breast throbbed, then ached as his fingers played. She writhed, savoring his tensed muscles, shifting in response. His body was close, but she ached to have him closer. Much closer. Heat flared wherever he touched her; she needed him inside, to the hilt to quench the flame, to satisfy the fever that took up flame in her veins.

She wanted him, needed him and there was no longer any reason she couldn't have him. Desperately, she tugged at his grip, it firmed. His hand left her breast and before she could protest, she heard a muffled click. She stilled, his hand expertly pushing her gown down. Her heart thudded, then raced.

Grayson lifted his head and she drew in a shuddering breath. She felt the cool touch of the moonlit air, felt the heat of his gaze. Lifting lids suddenly heavy, she looked up. His face was graven, harsh planes sharp-edged. Her breasts throbbed painfully; as if he could sense it, he bent his head.

And touched his lips to her heated skin. She stiffened; her senses leapt as he drew the soft flesh into his mouth. She tensed. Sensation streaked through her; her toes curled. She gasped, her body tightening, lifting against him. Her fingers, still locked above her head, clenched tight.

He tortured her soft flesh until she cried out, then turned to her other breast. Only when that, too, was aching fiercely, when her body started pulsing with need, did he raise his head. From beneath her lashes, she watched as he skimmed his hand down, possessively caressing the smooth curve of her hip, then tracing the long sweep of her thigh. Her lungs seized when his fingers slid beneath the hem of her panties.

Y/N trembled. Cool air caressed her skin; his gaze, hot as the sun, roaming comprehensively, surveying what he intended to repossess. Then he turned his head and met her gaze. His hand tightened about her bare hip, then slid lower in a tantalizing caress, hard palm and long fingers stroking knowingly down, then up. He leaned closer; she shut her eyes as his lips found hers. She gave herself up to him, up to their kiss, surrendered to the sweet wildfire that rose between them.

Knowingly, he traced, caressed her thighs, he gently teased. Beneath him, Y/N shifted restlessly, her lips clinging to his. He drew back, fleetingly studying her face. At his whispered command, she parted her thighs then gasped as he touched her, then cupped her. Only when that first flaring shock of awareness had died did he continue, intimately stroking the swollen folds, parting them to find the bud of her desire, already hard and throbbing. He circled it, and felt her passion rise, her moans echoing the secret Eden he built for them. He found her slickness and gently probed, deliberately inciting the wave of desire building between them.

Y/N knew nothing beyond her violent need, centered in the swollen, throbbing flesh he so knowingly stroked, so tantalizingly caressed. Then one long finger slid deeper, circled, then pressed deeper still. She caught her breath on a moan; her body lifted, helplessly seeking. He kept his pace steady, stroking again and again, seeing her enjoy that intimate invasion; eyes closed, senses raging, she wanted more. He knew her need; his lips returned to hers, his tongue claiming her mouth in the same, mesmerizingly slow rhythm with which his fingers entered her.

Her breasts swollen and heavy, Y/N arched against him, trying to ease their ache. Abruptly, he released her lips; a second later, his mouth fastened around one nipple.

The hand locked around hers disappeared. Grayson shifted. Using one hand to ease the ache of one breast, he caressed the other with lips and tongue. Between her thighs, his fingers slid deep, and still deeper.

Her hands free, Y/N reached for him, loosening his shirt quickly. He stilled. Then blinked. He heard his ragged breathing, felt his chest swell. Raging desire pounded at his senses; passion, unleashed, fought for release. But in that crazed instant, lust and will collided. The shock was almost physical. The wrenching effort required to draw his hands away, to roll away and sit up, left him giddy.

With a whimper, Y/N pulled him back. Or tried to. She couldn't get a grip on his body, pushing her hands in his loose shirt, she tugged desperately. All she did was rock herself.

Grayson didn't shift. Gently, he caught her hands and disengaged her fingers. “We should return. I can hear my phone vibrating.” He tilted his head to see her, untouched by an untrained eye, but he saw what he did to her moments ago. She’s melted butter in his hands.

“Are you fucking with me, right now? I’m half-crazy with my need for you and you want to leave.” Her hands still trapped in his, Y/N stared at him as he chuckles. Her hands immobilized in his, she tugged, trying to topple him back down; if she could just get him back on the couch alongside her, he’d be hers.

“You’re making me feel like a raging bitch who is trying to steal your virginity.” She pouts, driven to seduce him into fucking her so hard she forgets why they’re there in the first place.

“It’s not that…I just. I wanted to bring you here to ask you an important question, not seduce you.” Abruptly, Grayson let go of her hands and stood; grimly, he looked down at her.

Y/N’s mouth fell open, then shut; lips setting ominously, she came up on one elbow.

“What are you talking about?”

“I wanted to propose. To ask you to be my wife. It's important to me to know that you've made a conscious decision that you've decided to become my wife, the mother of my children, for your own reasons, not because I've seduced, coerced, or manipulated you into it. This won’t do.” He spoke through clenched teeth, frustration in his voice. Which only made Y/N glare at him.

“You brought me here to propose, seduced me and now you refuse to propose? What if I wish to say YES?” She struggled to her knees.

“Well, you’ll just have to wait until I’m sure you’re not drunk on passion for me.” Stating so, Grayson buttoned his shirt back up as she watched him and giggled.

“You’ll wait for a long time for that to happen, because I’m always drunk on passion for you.”

Reaching out, she locked her fingers in his shirt and pulled. Reluctantly, he shifted closer.

“Now help me out here. I need you.” He'd purposely aroused her, deliberately pushed her to a state bordering on the frantic.

"Please?" The soft plea lay on her bruised lips; it glowed in her eyes.

Grayson gathered her into his arms and set his lips to hers.

She opened to him instantly, sinking against him. He gave her what she wanted, steadily fanning her flames, keeping himself in control.

When he lifted his head she was reeling. Her whole being was one heated, aching void. Gasping, she clung to his shoulders.

"Trust me."

He whispered the words against her throat, then trailed wicked kisses down her carotid. Y/N let her head fall back, then shuddered. The next instant, he swung her into his arms. She waited to be laid on the couch, instead, he carried her around it; his back to it, he set her on her feet before him, facing the long mirror on the wall.

Y/N blinked. The moonlight found her skin and set it shimmering; behind her, Grayson appeared as a dense shadow, his hands dark against her body. Y/N licked her lips. "What are you going to do?"

He bent his head and traced one earlobe with his tongue. "Satisfy you. Release you." His eyes met hers in the mirror. "Pleasure you."

The deep purring murmur sent a sharp thrill racing through her; his hands slid around to cup both breasts, his fingers tightened and she shuddered. "All you have to do is do exactly as I say."

Again he met her gaze. "Keep your eyes open and watch my hands, and concentrate on what you feel, on the sensations."

His words were low, hypnotic; Y/N couldn't drag her eyes from his hands, rhythmically kneading her breasts. She watched his long fingers reach for her nipples; they swirled, then squeezed. She sucked in a short breath and leaned back against him, feeling his bare chest behind her, crisp hair rasping against her bare shoulders.

His hands left her breasts and she refocused on the mirror. One dark hand splayed across her midriff, holding her against him; the other gripped her hips. She heard a low moan, and knew it was hers. Her head fell back against his shoulder; her spine arched. Her senses, fully alive, registered every touch, every knowing caress; from under heavy lids, she watched every move he made. Then he shifted, his arms coming around her, surrounding her, his left hand cupping her right breast, his right hand splaying over her stomach. From behind, his knee pressed hers apart; head bent, his lips grazed the soft skin beneath her ear. "Keep watching."

And she did. She watched as his hand slid lower, long fingers sliding further, pressing inward. He touched her softness, found her molten heat and stroked. Breathless, aching, she felt the muscles in his arm shift as he reached further, felt the pressure of his hand between her thighs, felt the slow invasion as one long finger entered her.

Sensation upon sensation crashed through her; the hand at her breast fondled, fingers finding, then tightening about her budded nipple. Of their own will, her hands found his, fastening over his broad wrists.

Between her thighs, his hand shifted; as one finger slid deep, his thumb pressed, caressed.

"Keep watching."

Naked, on fire, she dragged her lids open and saw his hand push deep between her thighs.

A burst of pleasure took her, exploded within her, tingling, beneath her skin.

Release. Finally.

It swept her, washing away her tension. She felt his lips at her temple, felt his hands soften in soothing, intimate caresses. Sweet oblivion claimed her.

When her wits reconnected with reality, Y/N discovered herself fully dressed, leaning against the couch. Before her, Grayson stood before the mirror, fixing his bowtie. She watched his fingers deftly crease and knot the wide folds, and smiled.

In the mirror, Grayson’s eyes met hers. Her smile widened; he raised a brow.

“I still want you to ask the question.” She dared him, awfully giggly and light. Just as he loved her most. He hated how his world dampened her mood, how his darkness ate away at her. He knew she was always an anxious mess because of him and it made him feel guilty. But now? She was perfectly content. And it was his doing.

“I will. Just not tonight.” He remarks, earning a weak kick at the back of his leg to which he snickered.

He lead her back to the room filled with chatter, her mind at ease and for once – completely blissful. She did not worry of what might happen, but loved what is before her. Even if he’s as stubborn as a rake who’s trying to return to heaven’s graces.

Kissing her temple, Grayson excused himself to talk to some of his men. She watched him carefully, the hushed tones and his face contorting into an angry scowl was enough to tell her there’s trouble, but she assumed it to be tomorrow’s worries.

She might be a gentle flower and he a hurricane, but he’d never let any harm come to her. She’s used to it. To his world. After all they’ve been through, she is. He used to be a vagabond and loving a vagabond is crazy, but he’s hers now. He’s not going anywhere.

Y/N’s POV

But even with my want to put the worries behind me, I could sense something isn’t right. My heart twisted and sunk with nerves. Before I have a chance to call for Grayson, I sense someone’s hand wrap around my waist and pull me into a hard body, a cool metal pressing against my temple as an echoing drum of a shot sounds through the room.

“Don’t move. I’d rather not waste your beauty so soon.” I recognize the voice. Scott.

More shots follow. Each one isn't simply loud, it cracks into the air and echoes around the halls, magnifying the feeling of our vulnerability.

Screaming starts and the people run, guns flashing as they’re pulled out. Blood smears the marble floors and I see Grayson hide behind a pillar with his gun prepared in his hands. He’s looking wildly around, hoping to catch a glimpse of me, but when he does, he finds me in his enemy’s arms.

“Oh, hello. Nice to finally meet you. Face to face is much better than sending men to deliver messages.” Scott’s voice sends chills down my spine, making me shiver.

Grayson grips his gun tighter, looking around for some back up wildly.

“I WOULDN’T do that!” Scott tsks, commanding Grayson to follow him…and me to the garden. He forces me to walk backwards, stepping on my gown more than once.

“You won’t get away with this.” I whisper, hearing him chuckle lowly.

“Oh, but I will. You’re the one who had a choice, but once I saw him disappear with you I’ve decided I’m a bit disgusted by what he must have done to you in the time you were gone.” Scott sneers, using the chance to place his hardened member against my ass.

“But I’d still like to play a little.”

“DON’T TOUCH HER.” Losing his cool, Grayson shouts at the top of his lungs. If it were possible, I’d swear Earth shifted.

“Not so scary now, are you? Hellhound.” The mocking tone isn’t missed on me, my eyes glued to Grayson. I wish the soulmate stories were true. Maybe then I’d be able to tell him to get the hell away and leave me to my fate, but he wouldn’t do that. Even if I could tell him so, he’d stay. Stubborn ass.

“Let her go and I’ll come with you. I’ll do whatever you want.” Grayson offers, tossing his gun to the side as he raises both hands in surrender.

“Idiot.” I mumble, earning a laugh from Scott.

“Your Queen here just called you an idiot and I can’t help but agree. You’re a fool if you think either of you are leaving here in any way but a body bag.” I tried to stay calm as my eyes met Grayson’s, feeling as if I’m reliving the past and Mikhail all over. I felt numb as tears gathered behind my eyes. Pushing my head back, I glimpsed Scott’s face, full of gloating, his eyes glittering wildly.

“Get on your knees.” Scott commands and I shake my head.

“Grayson, run! Get out of here or I’ll never forgive you for this.” I demand, wishing him to listen for once. Just once. If being rescued has anything to do with his life being taken, I’d rather die with him.

“We can do this – man to man. No need to involve her.” Grayson ignores my request, keeping his own conversation up with Scott.

“I love you.” I mouth to him, slowly reaching into my bag. Closing my eyes, I remember what Ethan taught me. I can feel the steel handle, the gun’s safety at my fingertips.

Swiftly, I move my head back full force and I feel the pain as it collides with Scott’s face. Turning with my hand on the gun, I quickly shoot until there are no bullets left in the chamber, shaking violently as I see him laying on the ground. He’s motionless, blood spurting from his mouth and his throat still bleeding in pulses that follow his dying heart.

Stumbling back, I find myself encased in arms I easily recognize.

“You brilliant, brave, stupid woman. I love you so, so much!” Grayson shouts, holding me tightly. Turning me around, he looks to me properly. Worry pulls at his eyebrows, knitting them together as his lips press in a thin line.

“You just contradicted yourself, idiot.” I giggle, seeing he’s completely out of it. He’s desperately clinging to me as if I’m a ghost, a gust of wind about to disappear from his hands.

“We need to go. Do damage control.” I say, cupping his face just so I can feel my shaky hands touch his skin. Just so I can tell he is real and he is with me. He is mine and I am his and we’re both alive to see the sunrise the next day.

Nodding, Grayson takes my hand in his and leads us inside. That’s when time stills.

“NO!”

Screaming, gunshots, blood. It’s the only thing I register as I fall to the ground, two bodies on top of me. It feels like déjà vu, incredibly shaking my grasp on reality. I wait, wide eyed, heart in my mouth, hoping for movement. I can tell Grayson is beside me, his mouth is moving and incoherent sounds don’t reach me. He’s standing so fast, I can’t comprehend. But the weight of the barely moving body atop me isn’t something I can ignore.

Grayson will deal with the danger. He’ll help. I know he will, but whoever jumped in front of me can’t help anyone – not even himself.

Putting a hand at the back of the man’s head, I roll over and on top, pulling him behind a wall. I can tell the shooting isn’t over, the man in my arms finally coming into focus.

I wish it didn’t.

“Ethan?” I whisper, my mind shattering as I shake him. I can see the blood pooling at his stomach, covering it with both my hands to stop the bleeding as he opens his eyes.

“They wanted to kill you. Then him. I couldn’t let it happen. I promised him I’d rather die.” Ethan smiles, his eyes hold no malice, no want for vengeance. He’s at peace with his decision.

“And you thought taking a bullet for me was the right way to go about it? You dying isn’t what I want.” I see a drop fall on his cheek and slide down to his hair, realizing I’m already crying.

“He’ll be happy with you by his side. He’ll retire as much as this job allows it. Mom and Cam will return here. Just don’t forget to name your first kid Ethan. I will haunt you.” He chuckles, making me shake my head.

“Stop the stupid and keep holding on. Brother, we need you.” I insist.

“I prom-promised h-him.” Ethan stammers, his pain gripping him and shock taking over.

“I need you.” His eyes drop close, my heart dropping with him.

“No.” I lean my forehead down against his, feeling his pulse weaken under my fingertips. My scream has all but drowned out the last shot. The next instant, I flung myself full length upon him. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I framed his face; when he didn't respond, I sobbed and frantically felt his pulse weakening.

Screaming for Grayson, I find myself pulled off of Ethan and wrapped in a warm embrace – the fresh, ocean breeze cologne a dead giveaway on who it is that holds me. I can tell the paramedics are working on Ethan, taking him away as I wail.

This is it. This is what it means to break. Pushing away from Grayson, I follow the ambulance, wiping away my tears without a care for the blood on my hands. I’m swallowing tears, ordering the men to kill every Silver Snake on sight, pulling Grayson by the sleeve to go to the hospital.

It took five hours in surgery and seven more for Ethan to wake up. He lost his spleen and a part of his intestine, but he was finally cleared.

Although he annoyed both of us during his recovery, he didn’t seem to mind when we decided to hire nurses to take care of his every whim instead of allowing him to torture us to death. He’s a baby when he’s unwell. But he did date one of the nurses for the next five months, so at least it worked out for him.

Lisa and Cameron did return, moving into a flat Grayson owned in the city which made the boys tremendously happy.

I started the next semester, avoiding paparazzi is now my daily job. The story was spun so it would seem like a gang tried to kidnap me so Grayson would pay a handsome price to keep me safe. It only made the world more curious about our love story. They are drunk on every move we make, never dying out even though I was sure they would get bored eventually.

And we were happy. Truly. Therapy helped us both move past the trauma, helping us be honest about our feelings. Grayson never stops surprising me, seducing me, taking my heart to new extremes.

But he didn’t pop the question for another four years. Not until my graduation.

“You’re on one knee?” I raise my eyebrow, watching him with a smile that wouldn’t fade no matter how hard I try.

“Shush. I’m trying to do something here.” Grayson’s serious face is on, his focus slightly wavered with my playful teasing.

“I already said yes. Like five years ago.” I chuckle, trying to snag the velvet box in his hands as he clams them up in his hold.

“I waited for five years so you’d be safe. Everything that can be legal is now legal. My team is basically New York security and the ones in the world are there to keep our routes to acquire material we need for the company clear. We work with the FBI, my company is thriving. And I am still in love with you more than I am in love with life. I never thought I’d marry, but when I met you, the fucking Earth shifted and I fell flat on my face and before your feet.”

3rd Person POV

Y/N couldn’t help her eyes from watering, seeing his eyes focused on her and the velvet box revealed and open for her to see the flower shaped sapphire surrounded with diamonds. It’s the ring she dreamed of. Grayson had it custom made all those years ago, but he had the ring altered recently, adding diamonds for every year they spent together.

In a universe that is coded by divine hand, the only real thing is love - invisible and weightless as it is. That's why it is only love that is the ultimate answer to healing hearts and societies, and love that makes our moral compasses function.

“You’re an idiot.” Y/N smiled, going down on her knees too.

“But I’m your idiot.” Grayson points out, placing the ring on the finger it always belonged to.

Kissing, the two had no clue what the future held for them.

They didn’t know that in two months’ time, their little inability to hold off on having sex until they get home so they decided to do it in the Porsche, will reward them with an unexpected pregnancy and at the worst time possible as Y/N just started her internship.

They didn’t know it would be the first out of three kids they’d have and they definitely didn’t know they would have the next eighteen years of peace. Peace that they would use to raise their children right, but give them the necessary skills to survive should they have to wage wars in their future.

They didn’t know Ethan would follow in their footsteps and marry three years later, having two kids as well.

It took a while for Y/N to forgive them for their secret arrangement to protect her with their lives, but she understood. It was the last of the bad guy’s sacrifice – his and his brother’s life.

And they definitely didn’t know their peace would end when their eldest daughter is supposed to take the reins of her father’s empire. She will make the mistake of engaging in a Romeo and Juliet kind of love with a rival gang leader’s son, thus creating a rumble that would show a lot of her daddy’s lessons make sense.

But as I said, they didn’t know that then. All they knew is their undying love for each other and the kiss they shared that set them aflame with desire once more.

He kissed her and the world fell away like it always did. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that no words could ever be. His hand rested below her ear, his thumb caressing her cheek as their breaths mingled. She ran her fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and she could feel the beating of his heart against her chest. And that heart beat for her and her alone.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Tags: @voidgray @dancingstardolans @love-mysterious-love @kayla20448 @purplelilac0223 @whotfiskate @yellowitsmendes @sshhhaawwnn @lanadeldolans @reblogdolan @dakota2191 @doldobrik @graysdiabla @aylenenunez @cuteunicorns11 @pgm-dolan @grays-hoe-son @bailey-waileyy @its-pickle @ancoraesisto @mutuallynotmutual @annyanns @xalayx @fallinginlove-16 @dxlansfxck @yazziemp3 @usdolans @bqbyyhoneyy @dolanficrecs @sugarfootdolan @heyits-claire @godlydolans @accalialionheart @lacydolans @starrydolan @caqsicle @lanelessphilosopher @g-e-dolan @kaiadolan @jeffxchella @mmmmmgd @livelongdolan @woeitsaly @stephdolan @dangerouslybitchyb @basicxobrunette @grayson-dolans-dangly-earring @sparklydonkeyhandsdeputy @hey-graysondobrik @cheepwine @smileygrayson @ilovegraayson @sadboidols @needysposts @soontobecool @r3sil3nc3 @chvrrydolan @ahoneybeing @daddygraysonsbitch @dolandolll @unwrittendolan211 @prettymuchdolansbitch @babyboydxlan @blueporschedolan @mindlessdolan @arieswomvn @mmoonx @flowery-dolan @giggling-grayson @ethanhes @harryigprompt @ancoraesisto @kpoppindolans @dolansmith

[peachhoneii]

Can you destroy my soul with 10 & 28 with Don, Della and scrooge, please? X3 I miss reading your writings aaah! ;u;

I don’t want to destroy your soul, my dear @itsdetectiveliz, but I won’t lie to you. I gave it a good shot. (And thank you so much! Ya’ make me blush.)

Metal fascinated Della. Alone it could not be touched, could not bend, but with the right tools and designs, metal held the power of transformation. She watched above, clutching the railings, as the truckers deposited the metal sheets for the rockets. Almost faint with excitement, she ran down the steps - ignoring the shouts of her name being called in the distance.

“We can’t keep this up forever.” Slowing down, she paused at the corner, curling her hands around the edge, “It’s a precarious endeavor.”

“Which is why Ah hired ye’ for the job, Ludwig.” He patted him lightly on the shoulder and stepped towards the half-finished project, “Ye ‘ere the only one for the job.”

The Spear of Selene was a behemoth. Far greater than the rocket that sent Neil Armstrong to the moon. Della sighed dreamily as she stepped into their presence, stars burned in her gaze.

“I cannot believe you’ve managed to get this far, Uncle Ludwig,” magnificent clouded her tone, sending her off onto a journey she had yet to begin.

“I think it is my best work yet.” He wrung an arm around her shoulders, pressing his cheek next to hers, “And my darlin’ niece will see the stars, but don’t go too far.”

“Sorry Uncle Ludwig, my sights are beyond the stars.” Moving ahead she observed the rocket’s foundation as men and women worked on the compartments. Impossible chanced along her lips, but impossibility was a peripheral concept neither she or Scrooge gave much thought to.

“What are you doing?”

Donald rolled in with a three passenger stroller. Thick circles clung under his eyes, but the boys were wide awake, cooing and sucking on their fingers.

“My boys!” Clapping her hands, the rocket’s magnificence was temporarily forgotten, “Did you have fun at the pediatrician?”

Donald shifted the baby bag hanging on his shoulder, “Fun isn’t what I would call it,” digging through the bag he pulled out a sheet of paper, “Louie’s lactose intolerant. Dewey’s downy feathers are extremely sensitive and need to be plucked daily, tweezers and or preening specified. Huey, perfectly healthy.”

She read through the prescription, “What’s this?”

“A specialized formula you’ll have to pick up at the pharmacy.” Donald stared at Scrooge, “I’m sure you have insurance, and if not, I’m sure you can afford it.”

“Aye, don’t worry ‘boot it lass.” Scrooge tapped his cane impatiently, “That lads are being taken care of, and of course anything for their health.”

“Is there something wrong, sonny boy?” Ludwig patted his back warmly and followed his gaze, “Ah, I see you’re captivated by the rocket, eh? It’s a beauty, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, a real treat.” His exhaustion stare became irritated, “Are you going to take ‘em now, or what? They need to take a nap for twelve.”

“Uncle Scrooge and Uncle Ludwig was showing me -,”

“Sweetie, it’s fine.” Ludwig interjected with a hoot, “The little ones need  their nappies, look at ‘em.”

“Ah don’t see why ye’ can’t, lad.” Scrooge answered, “See, problem solved.”

Ludwig frowned, “But we don’t want to overwhelm the boy,” his voice turned stern, “he should get a break.”

“Donnie doesn’t mind, Uncle Ludwig.” She looked at him, “Don’t you? You love the boys!”

Donald gazed quietly at his sister and uncles. Her stars were oblivious and hopeful. He sighed tiredly, smiling stiffly, “Course I love ‘em, come on boys, we’ll go for a nap.”

“But Donald…”

“Now, Ludwig, ‘nough of that.” Scrooge waved his cane after them, “Beakley should be at the manor if you stop there; she’ll get anything you need.”

“Thank you Donnie! I’ll see you soon boys.”

Della kissed each of the boys on their  foreheads and waved them off before returning to her conversations. Scrooge and Della focused on the rocket, just as Ludwig cast a wandering eye on his departing nephews. Donald’s hands wrung around the stroller handle.

He wasn’t angry. No, far from it. He was so very tired.

But still, his exhaustion pushed through and mustered a tiny, weak, “I thought we were family.”

[jkupchurch]

retro ad principium

originally posted on ao3 but ya know why not

DESCRIPTION: Evan wasn’t sure how to feel. Everything was falling apart. Jared hated him. Alana hated him. The Murphy’s hated him. Even his mom hated him.

[or he has a second chance to make things right. maybe this time he won't mess up and he'll step straight into the sun]

TW: mentions of suicide, semi-vague descriptions of overdose

PAIRING: potential (very likely) eventual treebros

Evan wasn’t sure how to feel.

Everything was falling apart. Jared hated him. Alana hated him. The Murphy’s hated him. Even his mom hated him.

That last one hurt the most. He had always figured his mom would be on his side, no matter what. Granted he never factored in the possibility of him pretending to be friends with someone who killed himself.

God, she had every reason to hate him. They all did. He fucked up, big time. He should have never let Connor run off with that note. He shouldn’t have lied to the Murphy’s, he should have just told them the truth. He should have climbed higher.

He brought the sleeve of his sweater up to his face to wipe away the tears. He was crying, but not sobbing. He wasn’t sure how. He felt like he needed to, or at least wanted to. That was the appropriate response to this, but something was holding him back. Something was telling him it’s okay to not cry.

Something was telling him he just felt empty. Which, wasn’t a lie. He did feel empty. He had for a while, long before the whole Connor Project situation. Maybe this was his default setting, and anything else was just a side effect of the situation. That made sense. It explained why he couldn’t cry like he wanted to.

Evan glanced at his phone. He had turned it off early in the night after an attempt at apologizing to Jared went south. He didn’t know why he thought it’d go any differently.

You fucked up. You used him. You used everyone. And for what? A life that wasn’t yours. You don’t deserve friends. You should be alone. You should-.

Evan frowned. His thoughts often ran off like that, taking over his mind. Normally he wasn’t able to pull himself out of it so easily. He was usually forced to the backseat, watching as the world passed by around him.

He picked at his cast. His new cast. One he got after a not so friendly shove from someone ended with a tumble down the stairs at school. Connor’s name was no longer staring up at him but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t forget it. The phantom letters only he saw were nice reminder of how he ruined everyone around him. His relationship with his mom. His already barely-there friendship with Jared. His chances with having a normal relationship with Zoe and her family. Hell, wasn’t the whole situation his fault? If he hadn’t written that damn letter than Connor might not have…

You’re right you know. Connor’s dead because of you. It should have been you. He had so much to live for. You? You’re pathetic. You ruined a family. Gave them false hope about their son and then tore it all away.

Evan curled in on himself, clutching his head.

What did you think was going to happen? Did you think they’d forgive you? You’re a monster. No one is going to forgive you.

He couldn’t breathe. Tears were finally blurring his vision, but Evan didn’t want them anymore. He wanted them to stop. He wanted to breathe. He wanted everything to go away. He reached towards his bedside table, blindly feeling around for the bottle of Xanax. It was his emergency bottle in case something like this happened.

He swallowed the pill without any water. It wasn’t easy. He always had trouble taking his medication, the panic attack not helping.

Evan curled on the bed holding his arm to his chest. Sobs shook his body. He tried counting his breathing but it wasn’t helping. The Xanax wasn’t working. Everything was still too much. His chest hurt. He was still gasping for air. It was too much. Too much. Too much. Too much.

You know how to fix it, Evan.

Knowing how to fix it and wanting to fix it were two different things, but at this point he would give anything for the pressure to go away.

Evan looked at the bottle of pills still on open and spilling onto his bed. How much would it take to kill him? It couldn’t be too much.

He stood up. He had to lean against his wall for support, but he managed to make it to his desk. Lying, face up, was the letter that started this all. He turned it over. If he was going to do this, he might as well make it poetic. Evan picked up a pen and started to write.

Dear Connor Murphy, Today’s going to be a good day and here’s why: because today it’s over. The Connor Project. The lies. Everything. It’s a bit ironic, isn’t it? A letter started this mess and a letter is going to end it. I never meant for it to goes this far. I never meant for you to see that letter, I never meant for you to take your own life, I never meant to lie about it. But sometimes things happen. If I could, I’d take it all back. Not just the Connor Project, but the letters, and the broken arm. I think about that a lot. What if I climbed higher? What if I jumped forward rather than let go? The branches wouldn’t have slowed my fall. I would have hit the ground harder. It might have been enough. Words fail. They cannot express how much I regret everything. I regret using you. I regret lying to your family. I regret thinking that I could have a normal life. Nothing about me is normal. Nothing about me will ever been normal. That’s why I have to do this. I’m giving my mom a better chance at life. I’m taking the eyes away from your family. What’s the afterlife like? I’ll be joining you soon enough. Maybe we can be friends, actual friends. No pretending. No made up afternoons. Just, the two of us. That sounds nice. Sincerely, me

Evan dropped the pen. His hands were shaking but he felt oddly calm. It was like there was someone watching over him, telling him everything was going to be okay.

He wasn’t certain, but he had a feeling he knew who it was.

Evan hobbled back over to his bed. He grabbed the bottle and counted. There were fifteen pills. He frowned. He wasn’t sure how much would cause an overdose, he wanted to be certain this would work. What if the fifteen wasn’t enough? What if he just ended up in the hospital a bigger disappointment than he already was? He had more meds somewhere. Ones that didn’t work out. Sertraline. Evan couldn’t remember where he had put them. In his dresser?

He kept a tight hold on the Xanax bottle as he made his way across the room, like he was afraid it would disappear if he let go. There, in the top drawer of his dresser, was the half-empty bottle of Sertraline. He was only on it for a few months before they all agreed it wasn’t working. He was supposed to finish it off before switching to his new prescription but found himself unable to. It was as though he was worried something like this would happen and he’d need the medication again.

Evan’s eyes were drawn to pile of shirts he knew was hiding a bottle of whiskey. Jared had brought it over sometime junior year and never took it back. Evan looked at the Sertraline prescription. The label read “don’t take with alcohol”. Evan moved the shirts and grabbed the bottle.

He didn’t get back on his bed. He sat on the floor leaning against the foot of the mattress. In front of him were both bottles of pills and the whiskey. Evan didn’t know if it would be enough, but it’s all he had in his room. He wanted to stay in here. Just in case his mom came home early. Just in case she decided to check on him.

She wouldn’t, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get his hopes up.

Sometime between leaving his dresser and sitting on the floor he had locked the door. It wasn’t anything new. He had been doing that a lot lately. Locking himself in. No one had to see the mess that he was that way. He stared at the blank cast as he picked up the first pills.

“Dear Evan Hansen, today is going to be a good day and here’s why: because today you’re making amends.” He started with the Sertraline. “You’re letting them go. All of them.” He put two of the pills in his mouth and washed them down with the whiskey. “Your mom can focus on her classes, no longer having to worry about the disappointment you’ve become.” Two more. “Jared doesn’t have to lie for his car insurance anymore.” Three. “Alana can finally drop the Connor Project.” He finished the Sertraline. His throat burned and his vision was fuzzy. “The Murphys can tell the truth. They can let the whole world know about how badly you fucked up.” He felt oddly calm. He took two of the Xanax. “Connor can finally be remembered for who he was and not who you made him out to be.” He was out of Xanax. When did that happen? “When you’re falling in a forest and nobody’s around, you don’t need to make a sound. You don’t deserve to be found.”

Evan wished he had some water. His throat was burning. Everything was hurting. Maybe this was a mistake. He shouldn’t have done something so stupid. He was leaving his mom alone. Who would watch after her? Who would make sure she takes care of herself?

She’ll find someone. Without you dragging her down she might finally start dating again.

Ah. Something that made sense. She had always been so focused on Evan that she never got a chance to do things for herself. She deserved this opportunity.

“Damn Evan. You really did it.”

He blinked up at the voice. How long had he been lying on the ground?

“Wha-?”

Connor Murphy was staring down at him. He didn’t look like the Connor his mind had created back when the You Will Be Found speech went online, the best friend who climbed trees in abandoned fields and got ice cream at À La Mode. He looked like a broken Connor. Like the real Connor.

“You’re an idiot. I hope you know that.”

“I’m sorry.”

Connor crouched down and put his hands on Evan’s face. Evan felt himself moving as Connor turned his head side to side inspecting Evan. “No you’re not. You had everything you ever wanted and you threw it away. You’re not sorry for anyone but yourself.” Connor let go and stood up. Evan reached for him but Connor turned away. Evan would only watch as Connor picked the letter up from his desk. “Did you really write your note to me? I’m dead. Not gonna be around to read it.” There was a hint of sadness in his voice.

“I… I couldn’t, not to them. You were the only one,” Evan started coughing.

“I get it. You fucked up your relationship with everyone else. I was the next best thing. Relax. Take a chill pill or something.” Connor’s face twisted into something unrecognizable. Evan didn’t like it. “Oh wait. You already did that.”

Evan felt tired. Connor looked bored by his lack of reactions but what could he do?

“Hurts.”

Connor sighed and sat next to Evan. “Of course it does. Haven’t you ever read about overdosing? It’s the worst pain you can go through. Your body starts shutting down. Breathing becomes increasingly difficult, your body heats up in an effort to save itself. There’s paranoia, hallucinations... Though I think you know that. How else would I? I’m a figment of your dying brains imagination. Your hallucination.”

Evan’s stomach was lurching. He felt sick.

Connor laid his hand on Evan’s forehead. He felt cold. It was a nice feeling, Evan leaned into the touch.

“Just close your eyes, Evan.”

For once, Evan listened.

[avengerofyourheart]

Sharing is Caring (Bucky One-shot)

This was so much fun to write, especially since it was for my lovely Roo. Please let me know what you think! It kinda made me laugh, so I hope it does the same for you. ;) 

___________________________________________________

Sharing is Caring (reader x Bucky)

Characters: reader, Bucky, Clint, Sam, Natasha.

Summary: Your mutual crush on Bucky is at a stalemate, but you get both get a push after Clint discovers one of your weaknesses.

Warnings: Fluff! Small mentions of drinking and prescriptions drugs.

Word Count: 1850

A/N: This fic is for my love, my darling, my favorite Canadian Insomniac: Roo aka @sebseyesandbuckysthighs . Happy Birthday, my dear!! I love you forever!!! Also, this was inspired by a hilarious conversation between the Avengers Trash Tower ladies and I that took place months ago. I’m so happy to know you all, my darlings!! And yes, Roo, I still have that legally-binding screenshot. ;)

Tags are at the bottom

__________________________________________________

“Y/N…”

“No.”

“Please, Y/N?”

“I said no,” you replied firmly.

“Aw, come on! You can’t possibly eat all of those yourself! And it’s just rude to eat them in front of me,”  Clint pouted, eyeing the box of cupcakes in front of you.

Leaning forward, you spoke emphatically, “Y/N DOESN’T SHARE FOOD.”

Clint leaned away, “Geez! Why are you yelling? And since when does Y/N refer to herself in the third person?”

“Since Y/N has been binge-watching ‘Friends’ for weeks,” Sam answered for you.

“Y/N personally identifies with Joey Tribiani. And correction,” you spoke as you licked some frosting off your fingers, “Y/N has finished watching ‘Friends’ and moved on to ‘Seinfeld’.”

Clint rolled his eyes, “Okay enough with the third person thing. Besides, you shared with Bucky!”

You remained focused on unwrapping yet another cupcake—this one Chocolate with Salted Caramel Buttercream—knowing if you met Clint’s eyes too much would be revealed.

Shrugging casually, you finally answered, “He gave them to me. I was trying to be nice.”’

“Uh huh…and why would he do that?” the archer asked pointedly, sly smile upon his face.

“Shut up!” you whispered sharply. “He said he was just passing by my favorite bakery and thought I could use a treat. That’s all.”

“Sure thing, Y/N. And denial is just a river in Egypt,” Clint winked as he stood up, quickly dodging a wrapper you had tossed at his head before leaving the room.

Okay, so maybe you knew that Bucky paid a little more attention to you than any of the others and yeah, maybe you were more liberal with food around him. But something always held you back from moving beyond simple sustenance. One of you had to make a move but so far neither could make it happen. Friends who share cupcakes was pretty good for right now, though.

___________________

Shockingly, that cupcake-fueled sugar high interfered with your already screwed-up sleeping schedule so you curled up on the couch and continued your binge watching as you waited for the sleep aid to kick in. You always had trouble keeping to a regular sleeping schedule, only dozing off in random intervals most of your life, but lack of sleep inevitably would eventually catch up to you. On missions, you were great in the field because staying alert and keeping watch was part of the job. Once things calmed down back at the tower, you usually attempted some normalcy and gave in when prescription sleep medication was offered. At times there were side effects, though, or sometimes you would just drop off without much warning.

That night, you must have drifted off on the couch but you vaguely recalled hearing voices and someone helping you to your room, probably Nat.You awoke the next day in your own bed feeling almost rested. Approaching the kitchen, you stifled a yawn as you heard murmurings between a few of your teammates. Sam shushed the others as he caught your eye and they all turned your way, now suddenly silent.

“What?” you asked, eyes narrowed.

“Nothing! Good morning, Y/N. Sleep well?” inquired the sandy-haired man as he failed at ‘acting casual’.

“Um…not too bad. What’s going on? You’re acting weirder than usual, Bird Brain.”

He released an over-the-top and obviously fake laugh, slapping his own knee. Did people actually do that?

“You’re hilarious, Y/N. I gotta go now,” he announced and made a beeline for the hallway as your eyes followed his retreat.

“What’s up with him?” you asked, returning your focus to Sam and Nat.

“Not a clue,” claimed the redhead. “You want some eggs?”

“Sure,” you replied, accepting a plate and then settling down on the couch, searching for the last episode of Seinfeld you remember seeing. You pressed play and dug into your breakfast with Sam coming to join you and Nat following shortly after. Neither of them were as fully invested as you were, but they caught bits and pieces and laughed along with you.

A new episode began, this one where Elaine was withholding a secret from George and he tried to get it out of her. He was successful after discovering the so-called combination to her mental secret-keeping “vault” was Peach Schnapps.

Sam snickered. “Well I guess we know what Y/N’s combination is…” he whispered to Nat, but apparently not quietly enough.

“What was that, Sam?” you questioned, pausing the episode.

Nat swatted his arm, “Idiot! We weren’t going to say anything!”

“About what?!? Come on, guys. Spit it out,” you beckoned and shifted in your seat, turning their way.

Catching Sam’s eye, Nat finally relented, “So…you kind of muttered in your sleep last night while you were on the couch…”

You waited for more, “Okay? What did I say?”

“Um…nothing really, but I might have mentioned that you can keep up conversations sometimes so Clint had the brilliant idea of using that to his advantage. He asked you a few questions and recorded it…”

Shocked, your eyes flew wide, “He took a video of me sleep talking?!? That’s so creepy!! I’m gonna kill him…” you threatened, but then your mind caught up. “Wait…what did he ask about?”

Sam hesitated, “Why don’t you just watch it and THEN you can kill him.”

Nat pulled out her phone and pressed play.

“Well, I’m glad you each have a copy, encouraging this depraved behavior,” you scowled, taking the device from the redhead.

The video was blurry, then finding focus on your sleeping face, eyes closed with lips barely parted. You actually looked relaxed and peaceful. It was strange seeing yourself this way.

“Y/N,” Clint spoke from behind the camera, then hearing you groan in recognition.

“I don’t know about this, man…” Sam’s voice was heard.

“Shhh. I just want to get it on video so I can use her own words against her. Y/N? You’ll share those cupcakes with me, right?” Clint tried to coerce you to say something incriminating, it seemed.

“Yeah…” you heard yourself breath out in agreement.

“Yes!!! You’ll always share your food with me, right? Like you do with Bucky?”

Your brow furrowed, “No…no sharing…my Bucky…”

“What’s all this?” a male voice was heard off-camera, causing Clint to turn that direction along with the camera in his hand. Bucky’s handsome face visible in the shaky frame for a few seconds. “Is she asleep? What are you doing?”

“Shh. I’m just trying to get her to admit that she’ll share…”

“No!” you almost shouted in your drowsy voice. “Y/N doesn’t share Bucky…my Bucky…” you muttered, nuzzling further into the pillow.

Silence fell as Clint turned back to see Bucky’s shocked expression, giggles escaping from the other Avengers.

“Oops. Well, that’s more of a confession than I bargained for,” Clint admitted with a chuckle.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Natasha broke through with the voice of reason. “I’m taking her to her room.”

“No, I’ll take her,” Bucky insisted, footage of Bucky scooping you up in his arms was shown before Clint stopped recording.

You stared at the black screen for a moment, then slowly raising your head. Nat wore an expression of guilt, while Sam’s body looked tense, ready to run if you attacked or something.

“I’m sorry, I should have stopped it sooner... before it even happen,” Natasha conceded.

Sam spoke next, “I tried, Y/N, I mean, I…”

Silence hung heavy for a moment, intensifying their fear of your reaction. You then exhaled, meeting their eyes.

“I’m not mad at you two. We all know who is to blame and when I find…” you saw a flash of movement out of the corner of your eye before it disappeared around the corner. “CLINT, YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME, I SWEAR…”

In one swift motion you leapt off the back of the couch and were in hot pursuit, catching a glimpse of him just ahead of you. Rounding a corner sharply, you were met with a solid wall of Henley-covered muscle. Large hands—one warm, one cold—caught you by your upper arms just before you two collided.

“Whoa, there, Y/N. You okay?” Bucky asked, your heart fluttering as you met his stunning blue eyes.

“Sorry, um…yeah. I’m okay. I just need to kill Clint,  have you seen him?”

Bucky released you, burying his hands in his front jeans pockets. “So you saw that video?”

Feeling vulnerable with arms crossed, you dropped your eyes, “Yeah. It was quite the show, apparently. Listen, um…I didn’t mean…I was asleep, you know? I mean, you’re not…MINE. You’re like, my teammate or whatever and as for the sharing that was….”

He cut you off, a finger under your chin brought your eyes up to meet his with a grin below them . “I don’t mind. Being yours, I mean.”

“What?”

“I’ve wanted to say something for the longest time, but I guess I wasn’t sure…” he raised a hand to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your soft skin. Your hands gathered the front of his shirt, tugging lightly.

“Hope this clears things up for you,” you whispered before pressing your lips to his, feeling an instant spark that quickly caught fire as his metal arm pulled you close. One hand released his shirt, your fingers then lost in his long chestnut strands. His tongue caressed your bottom lip, causing you to groan and gain him entrance. Flames of desire threatened to consume you before pulling back for oxygen, his forehead pressed against yours. Wide, goofy grins adorned each of your faces.

He cleared his throat, still smiling, “As for the sharing me thing? Personally, I’d prefer you didn’t.”

You laughed. “Trust me, I have no intention of sharing you. You are mine,”  you declared, arms grasped around his trim waist, your chest brushing his.

“I’m good with that,” he grinned, leaning down with lips grazing yours when you heard a sound above you, heads snapping upwards.

“Awwww,” a muffled voice was heard from the ceiling. “You two are so cute! You’re welcome. Hey, you’re still gonna share food, right? I mean, I have proof you said yes…”

“That’s not legally binding, Bird Brain!” you yelled, glaring at the disembodied voice. Your eyes met Bucky’s, “Wanna give me a boost?”

Bucky smiled in compliance, lacing his fingers for you to step in, hands on his shoulders offering you stability. He easily lifted you and upon reaching the large air vent, you opened the hatch before crawling in. Clint let out what can only be described as a pterodactyl screech to see you crawling his way with camera phone at the ready. It was time for a little payback, you thought with a grin.

____________________________________________________

Oh man, Clint is in for it. haha! This was kind of fun. Let me know what you think, I love to hear from you!! You are all wonderful and I appreciate you. :)

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[mangokiwitropicalswirl]

On the 11th Day of Christmas

1. One Fancy FBI Ball  / 2. Two Women, One Man. Trouble / 3. Three Final Words / 4. A Dance in Four-Four Time / 5. Five White Berries/ 6.Six Degrees Fahrenheit / 7. Seven Dollar Cocoa / 8. Eight Ways of Looking at a Kiss / 9. Nine Missing Minutes / 10th Time’s a Charm

11. Half Past Eleven

After an embarrassed Scully nearly falls out of the bed and introduces herself to Dr. Zimmerman, the two of them confer on Mulder’s condition. Dr. Zimmerman is equally surprised by Mulder’s amnesia, but not concerned enough to run more tests.

“As far as I can tell, Agent Mulder,” he explains, “there’s no reason to keep you overnight. We’ll simply need to wait to see if these localized memories return. If things still aren’t normal in a number of days, we’ll refer you on to a neurologist for a full workup.”

“So he can go?” Scully sounds incredulous, not used to hospital stays of less than a day at least.

“I’ll get started on the discharge right now,” the doctor nods before turning toward Mulder. “I’ll write you a prescription for some painkillers, but other than that, I feel comfortable handing you off into Dr. Scully’s care.”

“Dr. Scully’s care?” Mulder raises an eyebrow.

“Well, yes,” Dr. Zimmerman answers, looking back and forth between the two of them. “I assume she’ll be monitoring you for the next 24 to 48 hours?”

“But we –” Mulder starts before Scully immediately interrupts him.

“Of course,” she nods. “I’ll keep an eye out for advanced concussion symptoms.”

As the doctor scribbles out a prescription, the shrill chirp of Scully’s cell phone startles them both. She retrieves it from her clutch and flips it open with a confused wrinkle of her forehead, unsure of who could possibly be calling at nearly 11 p.m., present company excluded.

“Dana?” Her mom’s voice is audible to Mulder through the headset, so he nods as Scully mouths ‘my mom’. “Did I wake you?”

“No mom, tonight was the holiday social, remember?” Scully explains.

“Oh Dana, dear, I’m so sorry. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” Mulder swears he hears a hopeful tone in Maggie’s voice.

“No, it’s fine,” says Scully. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“I feel so stupid asking, but I didn’t know who else to call,” Maggie sighs. “My book club Christmas party was tonight, but when I came out, the car wouldn’t start. The other ladies have already left and neither Judy or I feel comfortable doing a jump-start in this cold. Can you swing over and pick me up?”

“Of course.” Scully assures her. “It may be a little while, though, can you wait inside at Judy’s? I need to go get my car first.”

“Oh Dana, I’m so sorry, of course you don’t have your car. Forget about it, I’ll just get a taxi and come back for the car in the morning,” Maggie protests.

“Honestly mom, it’s okay,” says Scully. “I just need to wait until Mulder’s discharged and then we’ll head over.”

“Discharged?”

“I’ll explain when I get there,” Scully almost laughs. “It’s nothing to worry about, but Mulder took a little spill on some steps so we had him checked out at the hospital.”

“I swear Dana,” Maggie chuckles. “The two of you must have the worst luck.”

“You have no idea,” Scully sighs. “See you soon.”

Turning to Mulder, Scully looks apologetic. Before she can even begin to explain, though, he holds up a hand and waves it off. “I heard,” he says, “It’s no problem. Why don’t you just leave me here and go get her. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Mulder, you heard the doctor,” Scully shakes her head. “You need to be kept under observation for the next day or two. They aren’t going to just let you leave on your own. You’ll have to come with me. I’ll drop off my mom and then take you to your apartment.”

Mulder doesn’t know why he feels so disappointed by that plan.

In the back of the taxi on their way to Scully’s, Mulder considers trying to pick up where they’d left off before Dr. Zimmerman had made his untimely entrance, but as he turns toward her, he sees her eyelids drooping and her head nodding to one side.

It has been a long evening – apparently an evening full of physical exertion that he sadly cannot remember. With a deep sigh, he slides an arm behind her waist and pulls her alongside him in the backseat. Scully’s head droops onto his shoulder and he reaches up with his other hand to smooth over her hair, tucking a few errant strands behind her ear. Scully lets out a contented mumble and curls her feet up onto the seat, toeing her shoes off onto the floor with a soft thud.

She’s so much softer, pliable and easy with him than he can ever remember her being. He can only imagine what must have gone on between them tonight because he knows what he wants to do with her now. Her long neck is tilted back as she dozes, and he gets a flash of memory of his lips against that same pale skin, the scent of her hair in his nostrils. Just as quickly it passes, but not without leaving him freshly aroused and sorry she’s fallen asleep.

Instead all he can do is press a few kisses onto the crown of her head. His own eyes begin to slide shut and pretty soon they’re both dozing. Upon arriving at Scully’s, Mulder gently shakes her awake and they make their way to her car, not even bothering to stop off inside. Mulder feels badly that she has to drive at this late hour, but given his head injury, him driving is definitely out of the question. Fortunately, Maggie’s party isn’t far away and even though she’s tired, Scully is in good spirits.

“You’ll have to remind me tomorrow to tell you about what you said to Agent Doyle tonight,” she laughs.

“Oh really?” He chuckles. “Did I finally give him the smack across the face he’s been asking for?”

“You’ll have to wait for that story,” Scully smiles. “You may be in trouble with Diana too, though I didn’t hear that full conversation.”

A look of dread crosses his face and Scully can’t help but look at him sideways and laugh.

Maggie is surprised by how quickly they arrive, but the three of them have no luck jump-starting her car in the frigid cold. They tumble back in and head toward Maggie’s, the clock now inching its way far past midnight. When they finally turn the corner onto her street, all of them are silent and barely keeping their eyes open.

“Dana,” Maggie says as they pull into the driveway, “you obviously are much too tired to drive back into the city tonight. Why don’t you two just stay and head back in the morning?”

“Mom, I would hate for Mulder to have to stay in his condition. I promised to take him to his apartment on my way back.”

“It’s no bother for me, Scully,” says Mulder, “as long as it’s no problem for you Mrs. Scully. Thank you.”

Maggie is quick to pull out clean bedding for the downstairs couch, but apologizes that she doesn’t have anything for Mulder to change into.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Scully,” Mulder yawns as he toes off his shoes, “It won’t be the first time I’ve slept in my clothes.”

Mulder pads down the hall toward the bathroom in his socks and Maggie gives a motherly appraisal of Scully’s revealing dress before bringing her a set of oversized flannel pants and a long-sleeved shirt.

“Dana, I’m so sorry,” she sighs heavily, “I just remembered.”

“What is it, mom?”

“I was having your old room repainted. Everything’s a mess in there, covered in tarps. I haven’t had time to put the bed back together.”

Now Scully sighs heavily, the distance between the present moment and the delicious collapse onto a horizontal surface seeming to recede further and further into the future. “We can make up a bed on the floor in there,” she suggests. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well,” Maggie says, “unless you want me to pull out the hide-a-bed. You and Mulder could share that.”

“Mom, Mulder’s hurt,” Scully’s eyes widen, glad Mulder is off changing in the guest bath and not around to hear her mother basically offer to let them shack up in her living room.

“Don’t tell me you two have never had to share a bed before?” says Maggie. “I’d assume you’ve had cases where that’s happened?”

“Cases, yes,” Scully protests. “A couple times in small towns when motels have been full. This just doesn’t seem….”. She trails off, unable to think of a way to talk her mother out of her offer.

“Don’t worry,” Maggie winks, as if Scully’s a teenager asking for curfew extension. “I won’t tell your father.”

Scully passes a blinking, shirtless Mulder, on her way to change into the flannels. With his hair spiking out where he’s run his wet hands through it before bed, he reminds her of a sleepy hedgehog. She wants to run her hands through his hair like she had been just hours before, she wants to thread her fingers through it and pull his hot mouth back down onto hers.

“Mom needs your help pulling out the hide-a-bed,” she mumbles. “My room, um, my room’s not available.”

Mulder smiles at her through a haze of exhaustion and painkillers. “So we’re shackin’ up at Maggie’s, huh?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Scully yawns in reply as she shuts the bathroom door between them.

When she makes her way back to the living room, the oversized flannels drag at her heels and the top button is fastened just barely above the flat of her sternum. Cinching the waist band as tight as she can, she shuffles over to where Mulder is sprawled out on the hastily thrown-down sheets. She notices he’s put his undershirt back on, but beneath the covers, he’s stripped down to his boxers. One arm is thrown over his face, and he peeks out from under his elbow at her as she carefully slides in next to him.

“These painkillers are the good stuff,” Mulder mumbles, his eyes at half-mast. Scully reaches over to rest a hand on his forehead, feeling for fever.

“Do you feel feverish? Clammy?” she asks. “Dizzy?”

“No.” He rolls his head from side to side, his eyes drooping further. “Just sleepy.”

“You tell me if you feel dizzy or if you need to vomit,” Scully orders him seriously.

“Scully, I am not going to tell you if I need to vomit. I’m just going to go vomit, got that?”

“I’m not kidding,” she scolds, “concussions can be serious business.”

“I’m fine, Scully,” he pushes her hand away from his forehead, his hand lingering on hers for a moment. Scully lays back on her pillow and tries to decide if she should turn on her side away from him, toward him, or figure out some way to do neither.

He doesn’t remember, she reminds herself as the phantom sensation of his wide hands making their way up her thighs under her dress causes her to flush. She decides to lay flat on her back, her knees angled toward him. She stares at the ceiling, at a few feathery shadows thrown by the low light of the side lamp.

“I’m sorry Scully,” Mulder says in a low whisper as she reaches to turn off the lamp.

“Sorry for what?” She whispers back.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember kissing you.”

Scully pauses, debating exactly how much to tell him he’s missed, or whether it’d be better to just start everything over, keeping the memories all to herself. She knows he might feel worse when he hears they’ve surpassed second base and were heading swiftly around to third when the accident happened.

But she’s sorry too, that he doesn’t remember his breath on her neck as they’d danced, or the way his mouth hovered over her skin as he told her the story of the lovers cast in stone, waiting forever for the moment their lips might touch. Sorry he’s forgotten his hand up her skirt and her hands down his back and the furious kisses in the dark corner of the museum. She has to tell him.

“It’s okay Mulder,” she breathes lowly, turning her body all the way towards him, her hands coming to rest on his chest. “I’ll tell you in the morning, alright?

“K.” He manages one labored syllable before the pain meds take hold and his eyes shut for good. As he drifts off, he covers her hand with his and runs his thumb along hers like an echo of a kiss. “‘Night Scully.”

“‘Night Mulder,” she whispers. Minutes pass before the thrumming in Scully’s body subsides to a point she can think about sleep. She’s still vibrating with the sense of his hands running along her ribcage, rolling up to cup her breasts – wait, did that happen? In the half-sleep before sleep, she gets lost in between memory and fantasy. When her eyes finally close, all that remains is the scent of his aftershave and a dull, throbbing ache between her legs.

The early sun through the window sheers slants across the bed, waking Scully from a solid, dreamless sleep. The first thing that she registers is a warmth pressed along her back. She has turned in the night and is now spooned against Mulder’s warm chest, her head tucked under his chin. As her eyes drift open, she sees the expanse of his hand curving over her upper thigh, his fingers nudged deeply into the flannel crevice between her knees. She feels caught, possessed, captive.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Scully?” Mulder’s voice purrs low in her ear when he realizes she’s awake.

“Tell you what?” Scully yawns, tipping her nose up towards his.

“Why didn’t you tell me that I told you ‘I love you.’”

Scully freezes a moment and then raises up to look him straight in the eye. He is beaming and scruffy-faced in the glow of the morning. Scully smiles and smoothes a hand over his forehead.

“You remember?” Her eyes widen in hope.

He nods, stroking his hand slowly along her leg. “I remember.”

[steampoweredstrawberry]

Under the Wings of the Hawke (CH 1)

Pairing: Anders x OC FHawke

Rating: Explicit

Warnings for this Chapter:

Suicide mention// Suicidal thoughts// Depression// Light Gore (blood mentions/lacerations/someone receiving medical stitches; none are very descriptive)// Light Swearing

AO3 Link

It got better.

That was what his therapist told him when he was grieving, when he was in his depressive state. When he was considering suicide and his cat was the only thing preventing him from going through with it. It would get better she told him, like a sick mantra he was supposed to repeat or hear or try to make his life every day until he was fooling himself into believing it. Anders didn’t see how it would get better. Not after finding Karl's lifeless body, wrists slit and bleeding out into the bathtub. A victim of suicide. The note he left said it all. He was depressed. He was tired of fighting. Only death brought him some form of comfort. Not their relationship, which was an on-again, off-again sort of affair, but they were together when Karl had took his life.

They were together.

Or, so Anders believed.

Karl wasn’t cheating. He wasn’t emotionally displacing himself, except for the depression. But, Anders was busy with his job, with trying to secure a loan so he could go to medical school and become a practicing doctor for real. He liked his job as a nurse, but it was never his intention to stop there. All of this kept him busy enough to not see how Karl deteriorated, how the light faded from him until he was little more than a shell of the man Anders had fallen for.

Finding Karl like that and dealing with the subsequent police investigation brought out something in Anders that he had previously believed he had under control. He slept more than he was awake, scarcely ate. Was plagued by thoughts of suicide. If not for Pounce, he probably would have gone through with it. Everything that he once loved and took pleasure in was difficult to handle, even on the best of days.

It felt like years. In reality, it was no more than a month and a half. But even so, by three weeks in, one of Anders' coworkers put him in contact with the therapist who drilled the mantras into his head. He saw her bi-weekly. She was nice. An older lady who showed him techniques to deal with the mania and depression, even if he believed she was full of shit, initially. When he expressed a desire for medication, she sent him go a psychiatrist willing to write the prescription.

Even that, he thought was not working.

But, it did get better.

After the first week, the sun shone a little brighter each morning. The birds sang a little sweeter. Pounce's fur was s little softer. Anders was able to draw enjoyment from activities he previously partook. Even work was bearable.

By two and a half weeks on medication, he felt good. Almost like he used to before the episode. He still grieved for Karl. He still woke up in the middle of the night, grappling for his partner after the nightmares became too real to handle. Anders still wept. A tightness still formed in his chest when he saw saw happy couples and thought that could have been us.

It still hurt. And, he would have been a fool to say it didn't.

But, it got better.

Work helped him keep his mind off the pain in his heart.

Being an ER nurse kept him busy most days, and even when it wasn’t, he could distract himself with something. His duties mainly included checking and maintaining vitals and providing aid to the doctors when they needed it. Occasionally, he provided emotional support to the patients after the loss of a loved one; it was something he was intimately familiar with, so it came naturally. Likewise, he had enough experience under his belt—and the proper certifications—to allow him to perform more intermediate tasks reserved for the doctors. Things like suturing wounds, setting broken bones. He didn’t get to do such things every day. Only when they were short staffed or the doctors were busy.

One day, he would go back to school, get his medical degree and be able to do such things routinely. It had always been his intention to go back to school. He liked being a nurse, and he managed to save up some money to put towards getting his degree. But, Karl didn’t have any family to speak of to cover funerary costs; Anders had to spend all of what he had just to give his partner a proper burial.

That afternoon had been a busy one.

Around noon, the ER admitted several people. Victims caught in the crossfire of a gang turf war. They had already been short-staffed that afternoon, so all of the doctors available were working to keep the patients alive. It was a bit cynical of him, but Anders hoped that he would be allowed to help with the patients.

He wasn’t.

The doctors had everything under control, which meant it was his job to keep the patients comfortable, to replace IV drips and fetch more pillows. He didn’t mind, but he would have preferred being in the thick of it. He would have preferred making a real difference, saving lives. No one’s life was saved because their nurse brought them a pillow or changed the channel on the TV for them.

He was on one such run. The wife of one of the admitted patients wanted a glass of water. Usually, they weren’t responsible for such things, but Anders was disheartened, though not more than she; her husband was unconscious. The doctors did what they could for him, and were giving him twenty-four hours’ observation time. He felt bad for the poor woman; the least he could was provide her with something to drink.

One of the nurses came up to him on his way back. A middle-aged lady named Lirene. Sweet. She liked to show off pictures of her daughter during their breaks. She took a glance at the cup of water in his hands and her face went pale.

“Oh, you’re busy.” Anders could easily hear the upset in her voice.

“Not at all. Is there something you need?”

“Yes, actually.” It was then that he noticed the chart she was fidgeting with. “A young lady was just admitted about ten minutes ago. I performed the prelims on her, and she’ll probably need stitches. One of the police officers questioning the victims of the shooting came in to sit with her. She—the police officer, I mean—is a bit intimidating and asked me to find someone to treat the patient. I was wondering, if you aren’t busy—“

“—If I could treat the patient.”

“Yes.” She let out a burdened sigh. “All of the doctors are busy, otherwise I would have consulted one of them first.”

“It’s no issue.” He gestured at the chart she had with his free hand. “Is that her chart? I’ll go see her now, if you could just run this water to the patient’s wife in room 1023.”

“Not a problem, Dear.”

They traded objects. Anders took a glance at the chart before collecting what he would need to administer the stitches and heading to the examination room. The patient’s name was Claudia Hawke, twenty-four years old. Her vitals were all good. Other than the recorded laceration on her left arm, her chart made her appear healthy.

Before heading to the room to check in on her, Anders made a stop at the medical supply closet to get what he would need suture the wound shut.

The first thing Anders noticed in the examination room was the woman-shaped brick wall. She wore a standard-issue police uniform, with her ginger hair pulled into a low ponytail. She wore a look of disdain for the woman on the examination table: his patient.

She was pretty. Her hair was an impossible shade of red that seemed almost too dark to be natural. It was only after he noticed her hair did he see the blood-stained towel she had wrapped around her left forearm.

“Good afternoon, Miss Hawke.” He said, a bit formal. Anders rounded the examination table and put his tools down on the counter. “My name is Anders, and I will be suturing your arm today.” He glanced at the towel wrapped around her arm. “Is your wound still bleeding?”

“No.” She said flatly. “It stopped bleeding a few mintues ago.” She shrugged a little and snorted. “I'm just paranoid that the second I pull the towel away, it'll start spurting everywhere like a horror movie.”

“Okay. Good. That makes my job easier. Well—not about the horror movie thing.” He grabbed the things necessary to clean the wound and walked over to her. “I will need to clean your injury before I can suture it up.”

“Yeah, no problem.” She removed the towel with a hiss through her teeth.

With the towel gone, Anders could properly see the injury. It was smaller than he thought it would be; no more than six or seven sutures would close it. However, it was deep. And swollen. Her skin around it was stained with blood.

He grabbed an alcohol pad from his supplies, but not before he washed his hand and put on a pair of rubber gloves, and walked over. Anders hesitated before pressing it to her tender wound. “This may sting.”

The woman—Claudia—winced as he placed the pad upon her skin, but she did not make a noise like she did before. He patiently cleaned as much of the blood from her as he could; by the time he was done, his alcohol pad had turned pink. Anders tossed the used pad into the biohazard bin and grabbed another alcohol pad in order to clean his tools.

While he did so, the police woman scoffed at the one on the table. “Has this taught you anything about your profession?”

“That I need to be more careful about the sort of implements I choose and switch to nonviolent sorts? Sure did.” The sarcasm was practically dripping off her words.

“That wasn’t what I meant, Hawke, and you know it.” The police woman sounded unamused.

“You sound like my mother, Aveline.”

“Does your mother even know what you do for a living?”

“Nope. She thinks I’m an actress. And we’re going to keep it that way.”

“And she really believes that people become actresses to pay for college?”

“She believes I would become an actress to pay for college, which is all I need.”

Anders had to refrain from snorting in humor at the conversation the women were having. He couldn't say he had ever head of someone using an acting career to pay for college, except those child actors who got in young and changed their minds about what they wanted to do with their lives somewhere down the line. He hid the amused smirk he wore decent enough, mainly by reminding himself that this was a patient.

But, his implements were sterile, as was her wound, so he needed to get to work.

“I'm just going to rub a bit of numbing gel on the wound before I get started.”

He pulled up the stool and a small rolling table for his tools and got to work.

It was quick work. Quicker still given Miss Hawke's steady arm. The numbing gel he applied helped with the pain, but Anders knew from personal experience that, even with the gel, getting sutured up was never a pleasant thing. Still, she distracted herself from the pain as well as he would have expected, either by conversing with the police woman or by cursing the Maker's name. She even kicked the examination table once or twice. Why, he couldn't figure.

Anders managed to suture it up well. The stitches were straight, clean, and even. He cleaned the wound once again for good measure, but not before explaining to her what he was doing. She was only paying attention partially. Judging by her vigilant defense of her career. Whatever that was.

“Okay, you're all patched up. Don't put too much strain on it, and keep it clean and dry. The sutures should dissolve by themselves within two weeks; you should make an appointment with your primary then to have it looked at. If it becomes infected or you break a stitch, you should come back to the ER immediately.”

She rubbed at the skin outlying the sutures, which caused Anders' heart to leap into his stomach and his eyes to go wide. He could just imagine her breaking a stitch right then, and him having to fix it. She, however, surprised him, by using only the pads of her fingers and by avoiding the sutures completely.

“I can go to work tonight, then?” Miss Hawke asked.

“Depends.” He said simply, tidying up the mess that suturing up an arm created. “If your job is something that could compromise your sutures, you should probably call in today.”

“It won't compromise it if I modify some things a bit.”

He didn't understand what that meant—modify some things. But, he wasn't about to ask, either.

“Then you should be fine to go into work.”

The red-haired police officer cast Miss Hawke a concerned, if frustrated, look. Miss Hawke shrugged and wore an amused grin.

“Okay, cool.” She turned to the police woman. “Is it okay if I hitch a ride back to Hightown with you in your cruiser?” A pause. “Isabela dropped me off, since my car is still in the shop.”

“I have to question some of the victims of the shooting, but I'll drop you off when I'm done.”

Anders offered a goodbye to the women once he finished cleaning up, as well as offering to show them out of the ward. They refused. With that matter settled, however, he was left with nothing else to do for the next hour. Several of the patients caught in the shooting crossfire were released, and things started to slow.

It was one of those times, when he was occupying his time with menial tasks that were normally left for the orderlies did the same nurse from earlier come up to him. She was holding a phone. It had a simple black case, but with the words 'fuck the chantry' on the back. He snorted, humored. Anders couldn't imagine it being hers.

“I don't mean to bother you again while you're busy, Dear, but one of the orderlies found this in the examination room where you sutured up that young lady's arm and I was wondering if it was yours.”

“No.” Contested Anders with a singular shake of his head. “My phone is in my locker. It must be Miss Hawke's.”

“She must be missing it terribly. I'll go see with one of the ladies in billing if they can pull up her record and find an alternate phone number so we can notify her.”

“That won't be necessary.” Anders held out his hand, informing her that he would like to get a better look at the phone. She did so, skeptically, but without too much hesitation.

Anders clicked the side power button and instantly, the screen came to life. The lock screen was of a pair of teenagers, brother and sister, if he wasn't mistaken about the resemblance. Bother were in graduation caps and gowns, proudly displaying their high school diplomas for whomever was taking the picture. A gargantuan mabari could be seen only a small distance behind them, carrying a slobbery stick in its mouth.

He curiously swiped his thumb over the screen, and it unlocked! Anders had expected to have to input a passcode, or use the finger scanner function many phones had these days. But, he didn't.

“You're some sort of tech wizard!” Gasped the woman.

“Not really.” He argued humbly. “I can't do much more than what I already did. Let's check who Miss Hawke called last and see if they can come pick up her phone.”

Anders tapped on the call logs app with the side of his thumb.

Several names popped up. Many of which read 'mom'. Some were mens' names. The most recent call was made to someone named 'Isabela'. Anders had heard her mention that name when she was still at the hospital, so he figured them to be close. Several more entries were dedicated to this 'Isabela' person.

He tapped the 'call back' button.

Anders swiftly pressed the speaker button and waited. It rang three times before he heard the rustling on the other line.”

“How did it go, Claudia? Got your arm all fixed up?”

“Hello?” He asked.

“Shit. You're not Claudia! How did you get her phone? How did you get into her phone?”

“My name is Anders and I'm an ER nurse at Andraste's Mercy hospital. Your friend forgot her phone here. I was just calling to see if there was a way to get in touch with someone who could come pick it up for her.”

“You sound cute.” Anders froze when he heard those words; he wasn't accustomed to hearing such things about himself. “I told her to put a passcode on her phone and enable the fingerprint scanner.” There was a noise that sounded like typing from the other side, and some words muttered from this Isabela person that he was sure were not directed towards him. “I'm a little occupied at this moment, but maybe later we can meet up.”

“Well, it will have to be after my shift is over.” He wasn't exactly comfortable with the idea of having to meet a stranger. But, he also knew that returning the phone was the right thing to do.

“I'm meeting up with Claudia later. I'll text the address and time to her phone. You can make it to Hightown, right?”

“I should be able to.” He could take the bus; he did it before.

“Okay. After I hang up, I'll text you the information.”

The call ended.

[mercurygray]

Someone was speculating with @grumblebee-trilogy last week about Ben in Constellation-verse and marriage and it stuck in my head and so I ran with it a little ways when I got home from work.

When Lafayette's ship returned from France, Ben was all that could be spared from camp for a reception committee, riding hard in driving rain to make sure that Gilbert knew that he had not been forgotten in the long months since he went back to Versailles.

Their bed in the inn was quiet that evening, both men too tired from their respective journeys to do much more than embrace, kiss softly, make noises of contentment. "Was it nice, being home?" Ben asked, the two of them wrapped up in blankets,  trying to drive out the chill of soaked clothes while their shirts and breeches dried near the fire.

"It was," Gilbert admitted. "It never hurts to be the most popular man in the room."

Ben chuckled at that. Gilbert did love attention. "And Adrienne? Was she...pleased?" They'd never really discussed Gilbert's wife, though Ben knew a few things - that she was two years younger than Gilbert, that she knew and approved of his constant string of lovers, though she rarely took any herself, preferring to focus her attentions on looking after their children.

"More than pleased," Gilbert said with a smile, giving Ben a knowledgeable nudge that makes the intelligence master rumble in feigned annoyance. "Absence inflames the heart, you know. And...other things, of course. She missed me. She was pleased to hear I was well taken care of in her absence - and she adored Le Generale's letter of thanks. Naturellement I had not told her en detaille about everyone in my letters, so she was anxious to hear about all of you. She enjoys it - and I do not doubt she will soon be deep in correspondence with Martha, whom I think she is awestruck over. She was quite insistent I behave with her, when I returned."

"Do you like being married, GIlbert?" Ben asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

Gilbert searched Ben's eyes. "Why do you ask?"

"I've just been...wondering," Ben said vaguely, feeling foolish for asking, though he didn't know why. One day the war would be over, and he would return to Long Island, and it only followed that he should start a family; that was what one did in peacetime, since there was little enough time for it in war. He enjoyed their little family, but something in him envied George and Martha -- the stability of it, that there was always a touchstone to which each returned.

"I cannot recommend the condition enough. Though some men are not built for it, I think it would suit you admirably," the Frenchman suggested with a wide grin.

"I can't tell if that's a compliment or not."

"C'est certainement un compliment. Vous etes...pacifique, a son coeur. You want peace, to...settle down. No, I can see you with a... une tres jolie petite femme, who argues passionnément and lets you fuck her senseless as often as she likes. Une femme très Américaine, avec des idéaux et des croyances - a very American woman.  Et un douzaine d'infants, to start. Monsieur Tallmadge, le vrai papa." He laughed at his own joke.

"Not one of your French ladies, then?" Ben asked, bemused, having been treated to, over dinner, a vast catalogue of the liasons Gilbert had been treated to on his return home. (Everyone, it seemed, wanted a piece of the Hero of the Brandywine, and were prepared to give almost anything to get it.)

"Never! They would love you, of course; Americans are very in fashion now in Paris. You would have your pick of the ladies and gentlemen of the court. But you need someone you can teach. Someone ... unspoiled by others' notions. You would be wasted on les dames de Versailles. They would be insatiable - giving nothing back. This woman would give - and take, for you like giving too much." Gilbert sat up a little, looking pleased with himself at these sage pronouncements. "This is my prescription. We must find you a young woman immediatement after the war is over - jeune et intacte."

"Yes, because you know so many young women here."

"I'll set Martha on it," Gilbert promised, burrowing back into the covers and curling into Ben's shoulder, satisfied with his predictions. "She'll find la femme parfaite."

Martha's amused letter came several weeks later - "Gilbert writes I am to find you a bride and gives me a long list of her qualifications - and though I agree with him on all points, he does not add that you should like the lady, a quality I obviously cannot judge on. (It is obviously his list, not yours, for I cannot see you being so crass as to write 'superlatively capable of being seduced' as an admirable quality.) When we are next together we shall exchange thoughts on the subject - and several candidates, if any have presented themselves by then.” And, added after she had closed the letter, a postscript - “Expect many pointed remarks from our side of a ballroom, my dear."

[spiritualgravity]

A Dance with my Daughter

When I was pregnant with Isabella, I would play classical music for her through something called “Belly Buds.” My dear friend gave them to me as a gift. My husband absolutely loved the idea of having her listen to music while in the womb. If it wasn’t for him, I would have forgotten to do it most evenings. While I watched TV or read a book, I’d put the buds up against my lower belly for 30 minutes.

My pregnancy, from start to finish, was incredibly challenging — both mentally and physically. The labor was also incredibly challenging — all 36 hours — both mentally and physically. It seems that this challenging journey to parenthood was a glimpse into what was ahead.

As a first time Mom, I had absolutely no idea what to expect about caring for, and keeping a newborn baby, alive. Notice I didn’t say keeping a baby…happy. You see, I quickly learned that I had to lower my expectations. The first 3 months of a baby’s life is considered their 4th trimester, it just happens to be outside the uterus. They aren’t used to the bright lights, cold air, and freedom. The goal is to try and recreate their life inside the womb as much as humanly possible until they get adjusted.

When I would talk to my business leadership coach that my company generously pays for me to have a one-hour talk with every month, I would explain that I simply could not plan running and maintaining my at-home, entrepreneur-style business because I did not know what the first few months would be like. How could I know if I would be able to attend a video conference call if the baby was breastfeeding? How could I know if I would be able to attend a 4-hour training event if the baby wasn’t able to nap? So I decided to grant myself a self-proclaimed 12-week maternity leave.

My gut instinct was correct. I truly had no clue on the deepest level what this experience would be like. When an innocent bystander, family member or friend would ask as early as week three, “So, are you on a schedule now?” I felt an ulcer develop in my soul. Or my favorite suggestion, “Sleep when the baby sleeps.” I happen to have a baby that, coincidently, doesn’t fancy sleeping. 

Very early on, around 2 weeks in, we realized we had a special needs baby on our hands. To name just a few superlatives, Bella has reflux (this means she’d scream in pain when acid would come flying up her esophagus / throat, was very uncomfortable, and spitting up was quite common). The pediatrician prescribed a medication that seemingly did not work. We were told that there was essentially no reason to keep playing with other medications because if the first one did not work, then none of them would and she’d have to outgrow this condition hopefully between month three and month six. The doctor also explained that recent studies have shown the risk of keeping her on reflux medication long-term outweighed the immediate result, which wasn’t much. Bella is also considered colicky. The definition means the baby is younger than 5 months old, cries for more than 3 hours, 3 days a week, for 3 weeks straight. There is no cure or treatment for this, either. Sure there are dozens and dozens of gadgets and gizmos, but none of them really made a big difference. Bella is a very poor sleeper, both day and night. In addition, Bella has an intolerance for dairy, eggs, and soy. I could write a dissertation about what this experience has been like for me, eliminating lots of foods (which as it turns out, everything processed has soy in it), but I’ll save you the pity party and raise you a piece of mozarella cheese instead.

Our baby would not sit or lay in any kind of contraption that lines our house from wall to wall. A Boppy Lounge pillow, a swing, a bouncer, a bassinet — nada. So, for the first 4 weeks of her life, she slept on top of me. Which means, I did not sleep for 4 straight weeks. I also held her during daylight hours.

We finally got her to sleep in a Rock ’n Play, which after consuming an embarrassing amount of product research, I swore I wouldn’t let it be her main sleep device. It’s only meant to be a napping tool. That went out the window once our sanity was on the chopping block.

Speaking of naps, I just put baby down 12 minutes ago for a nap, and she is waking up now. This has been our reality. Essentially, every text book baby manual has been the complete opposite in our storybook. Newborn babies “should” sleep for approximately 17-18 collective hours. Ours would sleep for about 10 hours. That’s 14 hours of keeping a baby alive — not happy — who did not want to be put down in anything.

It turns out I am now ambidextrous; I learned how to use my left hand to eat, text, and type. Miss Bella was attached to me around the clock, and still very much is today.

By weeks 5-6, I was acutely aware of why sleep deprivation is used as a torture tool. I would cry, a lot, out of frustration. And complete and total exhaustion.

At this time, I randomly developed a horrible eye infection. I went to a primary care physician’s office, which happened to be the day before my 6-week OB/GYN postpartum appointment. The PCP was a new office closer to home, and so I had to complete lots of new patient paperwork. When the nurse was going through the paperwork and asked me a series of questions, it turns out she inadvertently diagnosed me with postpartum depression. When the doctor walked in, before even addressing my one-eyed-monster face, she immediately informed me that I was flagged for “moderate to severe PPD” and nearly threatened me, in the kindest way possible, to make sure I talk to my OB/GYN about it the next day. Lovely.

The one time I could have used support, the critical people in our lives — our two mothers — were both unavailable due to extreme circumstances. My mother had 2 major back-to-back surgeries and was bed ridden at home while she recovered. My mother-in-law lost a family member who lived overseas and she left for nearly 2 months immediately following Bella’s birth to spend time in her home country and mourn the loss. I have never felt more alone in my entire 38 years on earth. My husband and I were on a deserted island, together, and  stranded without any relief in sight. Friends would stop by here and there to meet the baby and drop off a dish of food, and it filled my heart with happiness to know that people were thinking of us. But, there is nothing that replaces a mother’s hug or hand of support. Nothing.

The next day I was given a prescription for Zoloft. The best part of this story is, Zoloft’s side effect was insomnia — the very cause of my PPD. The fluctuation in hormones I’m sure plays a part, but I’m convinced staying alive AND keeping a baby alive without much sleep is the ultimate culprit.

After giving this medication 4 weeks, I recently switched to another medication, which hopefully will allow me to get into REM sleep again when Bella gives me the limited opportunity.

I am not ashamed to share my story, feeling depressed, because it’s actually quite common. Many women in my life have admitted to me that they think they had PPD after giving birth, but never talked to anyone about it or received help. One in seven women suffers from PPD but 50% are never detected. I was prepared to have “baby blues” which happens the first two weeks after delivery, but never PPD.

We just crossed the 9-week mark with our little girl and continue to face pretty significant challenges, particularly in the sleep department. She has FOMO — Fear of Missing Out. She hates going down for naps. We have to rock her to sleep with white noise and most times, she’ll fight it with all of her might. This process has become nothing short of debilitating. My lower back is in knots, and my heart is ripped out on the regular trying to console this little one while she screams bloody murder and tries to wiggle her way out of our arms.

I have read books, downloaded baby development apps, absorbed thread after thread on Mommy message boards, been added to multiple Facebook Mother groups, and feverishly texted friends who have come before me with similar baby issues. If there is a trick, I have tried it. I have even been acutely aware of my own energy to make sure the anxiety is not rubbing off on the baby, to the best of my ability.

She is “healthy” as far as growing and her overall condition as a tiny human. For that, I am eternally grateful and know that others have it much, much worse with terminal or chronic conditions. But the struggle to survive has been real, day in and day out and has taken a massive toll on everyone living under our roof. Someone recently told me about Unicorn babies, and Dragon babies. Unicorn babies are the ones you hear about when the parent says, “Baby XYZ was SO easy. I was lucky.” Bella is a Dragon baby. She is stubborn, strong-willed, breathes fire, and is super duper needy.

Last week Bella had some kind of divine intervention because for one week she got all the way up to 6 consecutive hours of sleep in the evening, and a few days of a 90 minute nap vs. her usual 30 minute naps. But this past Monday she received her immunizations and has spiraled downhill ever since then. The last 3 nights have sucked the life out of me, and this morning at 6:45am, I sobbed. I sobbed while gasping for breath. I couldn’t stop crying for nearly 30 minutes.

I cried for all of it. For my marriage which has been put to the test due to an inordinate amount of impatience. For particular people in my life who haven’t been supportive and only caused additional stress. For being trapped in my house for 2 months {she hates, hates, hates the car seat and car rides}. For being a prisoner to feeding my daughter as an exclusive breastfeeder and suddenly decided she did not want to use a bottle which was my only source of relief from time to time. But mostly, I cried because I am so damn tired.

When it was time to “rock” Bella for her mid-morning nap today, I had just gotten off my monthly business coaching call and still had my Apple Airpods in my ears (wireless headphones). I had an idea. I would play a Pandora music station on my phone and stream it through bluetooth in my ears. Maybe, just maybe, listening to music turned up extra loud in my ears would drown out her screams and make the 15-20 minute experience of willing her to nap a little bit more tolerable. I prepared Bella by putting her in her sleep suit since she loathes being swaddled, and got the iPad white noise app ready too. I hit play on Pandora, and classical music began.

I evidently have not listened to music since I was pregnant and played it for Bella in my belly.

I put her head on my shoulders and held her across my chest, bracing myself for the inevitable. Instead, she fell asleep. Right away. She closed her eyes, and fell asleep. No crying. No tears. No kicking. She just drifted off to sleep, instantly.

But I didn’t put her down right away. 

I danced with her. I listened to the beautiful music of gentle instrumental piano sounds, and slowly waltzed in circles with my 10 pound, 11 ounce baby. And I sobbed. I sobbed because this morning during my 30 minute cry fest, I prayed. I prayed for mercy. So now I sobbed from gratitude.

I danced with my daughter and swirled around with her in my arms for several minutes while she was sound asleep. That moment with her was everything, second to her smile.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Okay so ik ur in he middle of writing a series rn but do you think you might ever revisit “the bad guy” & maybe do a part 2 where like another enemy comes along and y/n, e and gray have to maneuver thru it?? I’m sorry if you’ve already answered this but I am so hooked on these characters it’s not even funny. I’ll dead ass be in a lecture thinkin about their love story & the dynamic they had w/eachother. It reminds me sm of daisy & gatsby especially w/the national anthem vibes. Ughh I love it!💕

I love that you still think about them, cause I do too. I honestly had no plans, but I do have something written in case I change my plans.

It's totally unedited and filled with imperfections, but this is how I saw their story evolve next.

If anyone is interested, let me know. 💕

The Bad Guy - preview of a possible part two

He opens his eyes, the darkness around him seemingly moving through the cracks and pushing in. His right arm falls open to the side as he struggles to breathe, blindly reaching out for his nightstand, the top drawer where his inhaler resides. While his right hand struggles to grasp what nature intended to be his cure, his left one taps around the bed for his real remedy - his saving grace.

Finally finding the pump, he takes one puff for the wheezing to stop, allowing his mind to function properly.

His left hand comes up empty, void of what he holds dear and he sits up madly, looking around the room in a daze.

She's not there.

His already wild heart beats fast, letting his hands and feet numb further than when he awoke from his sleep.

But was it all a dream? Was Y/N ever real? If she is, did Mikhail really take her from him?

The questions in his mind drive him up the wall, his arms shaking and legs no longer able to hold him up, so he remains seated. Gripping at his hair, he feels the panic seep in, overtaken with cold sweat and trembling chin.

She must be real. He felt it in his heart. She wasn't just a dream, but her being gone could be more than his imagination.

She's not here.

Had she been there, she'd surely be tucked into his side, her cold feet warming on his calfs or at the very least she'd drape a leg over him.

She's not here.

It's more than panic, paralyzing him. He can't breathe, his lungs are heavy. He feels the air around him, pressing in, overwhelming. He finds his phone, pressing number one on instinct, knowing he had put her in because she's his number one girl. If she is his, she is always his number one dial.

The line goes silent, his mind unable to process the generic response of the caller not being available, eyes widened and a lump forming in his throat.

Wanting to scream, he chuckles because there he is, a man who fears nothing and yet he's absolutely lost in his fear of losing one girl he is no longer sure exists.

Columbia.

"If she's real, that's where she'll be." He whispers to himself, scrambling to his feet without putting on any clothes. Only in his briefs, Grayson runs out of his mansion and sits into his Porsche, driving at illegal speed toward where he might find her.

One of the cops recognize his car, not stopping him. As if he would stop.

Finally on campus, he parks in front of her dorm and rushes out.

Room 23, he thinks, already finding himself before the red door and his heart stumbles on itself when he realizes she must be there. He can't be imagining everything, believing he isn't that creative.

Connecting his fist with the door, he pounds on it impatiently. Until the lock is heard and the door creaks open, her nose and her right eye the only parts of her peaking out.

He sees her eye widen in recognition, the door opening instantly and her worried face meeting his unsteadiness.

"Gray?"

In one move, he grabs her smaller form and presses her into his chest, folding his arms around her. His nose buried in her hair at the top of her head, his hands at her sides, crossed at her back, her arms wrapping around him as well.

"Shhh. It's okay. I'm here." Her voice is muffled by his chest, but the sound of it alone makes his heart calmer and the smell of her hair puts his mind at ease.

She doesn't fight his embrace, for this isn't the first time he came to her room completely out of his mind. Physical touch is what he needs now and not the sexual kind. He needs to feel her, breathe her in and she allows him.

Slowly pushing him in, she kicks the door close and moves him to her bed. She notes the warm, naked back and the muscular built going up and down under her fingertips, realizing he must have had a bad dream. She told him to call her if he needed her, come what may she'd be there. But here he is, in all his glory, trembling like a scared child in her dorm room.

Laying him down, Y/N snuggles into his side, enjoying his strong arms as they push her into him and the way his palms go up and down her skin to assure himself of her existence.

Tenderly, she presses kisses into his chest and neck, reminding him she's with him as she promised to be.

Ever since Mikhail nearly killed both of them, despite the man being dead, Grayson had been restless. They didn't talk much about his gang related work, knowing it upsets both of them as result. But it didn't stop Y/N from insisting Grayson finds help for his nightmares that usually led him to her door at ungodly times and all in his underwear.

Although she insisted living on her own in a dorm, she's become quite aware he needs her with him. She's been splitting her time to the best of her ability between his bed and her own, wanting to permanently give into his requests of her moving in. It's hellish, making a decision between having all she wanted in the accelerated med school programme and having Grayson, what she never thought would be an option.

"You're really here." He mumbles, eyes closed and already drifting off, failing to notice the tears in her eyes as she chooses him above all.

"I am. I always will be."

Once the morning came, Y/N's alarm wakes them both in the most frustrating way possible.

The "I like to move it" song blares, startling them and as big as Grayson is and as small as Y/N's bed is, he nearly dropped Y/N on the floor when he jumped up. Catching her mid fall, pressed against the bed frame with his arms, a scream dies kn her throat and her hands grab at him for support.

"You good?" Grayson chuckles, half thinking how he's too old, too rich for dorm rooms and half thinking how lucky he is to be in her dorm room.

"Think it's time." She grumbles, helping him pull her up into the safety of his chest, draping her leg over his stomach for a better hold.

"For what?" Grayson leaves a kiss atop her head, running his fingers up and down her arm, his ring grazing her skin lightly.

"For me to move back with you." She sighs, enjoying the feathered coldness his ring brings to her warm skin. She's always cold when she sleeps alone, yet sleeping with Grayson, a human volcano, she finds herself burning up.

Grayson's lips part, trying to hold in a confused, but excited gasp. She always makes him feel like a high school girl with a crush, still going through puberty: senselessly blind and constantly confused, wanting to gush about his feeling for her and write poems even if he's not particularly good at it.

"Didn't you say it would take you forever to get here and it would affect your grades?" Grayson asks, still holding in his true feelings. He respects how hard she works, her ambition and drive endlessly, even admires her for it, but he also wishes she'd just be with him...all the time. God knows he had more money than he can spend in seven lifetimes, she need not work a single day of her life, yet he knows how important it is for her which is why he offers his home to her every month, but never pressures her into accepting.

"Yes. But I also want to wake up in your arms every morning like this without falling on my ass. I'll just have to take my Impala and put it into use for the drives, a few hours lost is better than being away from you so long." She excuses, refusing to tell him the truth; that she's worried for him.

After all, Grayson is a head of the most formidable criminal organization, a gang as some would say, and he can't afford to show weakness and these dreams might come across as such. When she's there, the dreams tend to go away. Most of all, she makes sure he takes his prescription and attends his therapy sessions.

"You know I'd love that, but only if you're sure. It's a big move in a relationship and neither of us have much practice there. It's also a strain on you, so if you're absolutely sure, I would love nothing more." Practical, very self aware and extremely protective response put in the sweetest, most gentle way possible. There's the charming, magnetic man she loves so much. Right underneath the rubble. But she found she loves the rubble too.

"I'm sure." She lifts herself up, just barely enough to peck the tip of his nose because that always made him scrunch up and his lips whirl to the side into the cutest smile she had ever seen and that's what she loved the most - having such an effect on him that she discovers new things about him that not even Grayson himself knows.

Lazily, his hand slides down her back and rests upon her bum, squeezing it a little too hard but not enough to make it painful, although she never opposed to a little pain. Releasing the flesh he wanted to take a bite out of, he taps her gently, like a summer breeze.

"In that case, get that cute ass to class and I'll call a few people to help me move all this by the end of the day." Grayson taps her but once more, getting a happy giggle in return only prompting a crooked smile of his own to appear.

She tumbled over to her side, barely managing to survive the fall from grace she considered his chest to be, only to throw on the first thing she could find - a deep green summer dress, falling to her ankles where a tattoo rests; one she got after being saved by the members of The house of the rising sun. As her eternal gratitude, the rising sun tattoo on her right ankle will forever be there to remind her why she's able to giggle with her boyfriend while running late to class.

"And take a banana and an energy bar with you!" He commands, the change in his voice now evident to her. She could always tell when he simply suggests something in comparison to when he orders her to do something, when he dared to do such a bold thing.

Y/N didn't mind this particular demand, knowing this is just another way Grayson shows his love for her because she does forget to eat on time and his nagging helps keep her healthy and at the top of her game.

Quickly pecking his lips, she stumbles toward her door and turns around to take him in. Just for one moment longer her eyes remain on his faintly lit sculptured body, the sun rays dancing on the tan skin. His hair is a mess, his eyes tired but bright and his lips curled into a self satisfied smirk because he knows she's checking him out.

"Clothes are in the drawers." She begins, Grayson joining her for the last part to be said in unison.

"Second one from the bottom." Both smile, giving them enough soul food to survive the day.

Some would consider this a mundane thing, but for Grayson it was extraordinary, magic even. For a man who didn't think he'd live to see his thirtieth birthday, this was the epitome of happiness.

The men came quickly, packing all Y/N's things except her underwear, for Grayson had packed that before anyone even showed up. Maybe being jealous over his men seeing the sexy underwear he loked to provide her with is silly, but he wanted to be the only one with such privileges.

Just as they're leaving the day at its end, Grayson finds Ethan rushing in with a crazed look in his eyes.

"Where the fuck have you been all day?!" Ethan speaks through gritted teeth in hushed voices.

"Why?" A dark look befalls Grayson as he already knows something is happening and it's bad. It's always bad.

He spent the past year trying to make right of his wrongs, legitimize his work, but that can't ever be entirely done.

"Silver Snakes heard you closing up shop, and declared New York an open season." Ethan hissed, finding Grayson's face harden like stone.

"I am still the leader. I am still the Capo." Grayson's jaw clenches, only now seeing he and Ethan aren't alone.

"What does open season mean?" Her voice is determined, but the fear in her tone doesn't go unnoticed by either of them.

"It means they want this territory." Ethan answers instead, seeing his brother had gone back to the cold person he was before he ever met Y/N.

Grayson still considered New York his playground and he definitely had no intention giving up such a prized possession many died for him to keep.

"The Silver Snakes must have found out Gray has you now and in our world that means weakness. When one has a weakness, he can be dealt with. You're a liability." Ethan continues until Y/N starts to shake her head, her chin trembling instead of her lips because her jaw is clenched tightly enough to prevent that from happening.

"What does that mean? How does he get the territory?" Y/N insists, walking toward Grayson.

"It means Grayson has to die. Both of us. Heirs if there are any as well." And that's when her world comes crashing down once more.

"We can fight this. Them." She quickly moved ahead, standing on her tiptoes to cup Grayson's face and bring his eyes to her instead of the faraway place this piece of information took him to.

"We will prevail. As always." He noticed her speak in plural, meaning she would fight with him and although he loved her for it, that is exactly why he's so scared now. That's a part of her magic; she sees the sun even in the darkest days.