#the fate she met is devastating and makes my stomach churn

[laurapalmerz]

i find it a rather fascinating phenomenon on here to see people post pictures of laura smoking or doing cocaine or whatever and tag it as an aesthetic or as if that's them to some capacity. i don't have an issue with people who relate to laura and her struggles coping w/ her abuse, however, i draw the line at people downplaying what she's going through. she's a fictional character, yes, and people have called this out before, but genuinely it's bothersome to a certain degree. laura palmer is a victim of incestuous abuse at the hands of her aggressive and controlling father, which is represented in parts through the form of BOB or just leland. in order to cope w/ this abuse, she turns to alcohol, drugs and sex work with older men. there is no place in her mind where she believes she's a good person, that her best friend donna is only going to be corrupted the more they hang out, that the love she feels (or felt) for bobby was never real. she never believed in goodness for herself, only the pain she thought she deserved. it's an never ending downward spiral for her, one that the people of twin peaks actively witnessed, yet never tried to help her out of. her therapist participated in her abuse by having sex w/ her when he was meant to guide her toward a better outlook on herself and life. there were so many signs that pointed toward what was going on in the palmer household, many signs that screamed for help. no one listened. this character was crafted in such a careful way to show the audience just how terrible it is to go through abuse at such a young age, what the trauma does to someone's mental health, and what the extreme's of it can look like. laura's life was valuable, she was deserving of a loving partner, time with her best friend, and general activities that teenagers participate in. laura palmer was deserving of happiness. and yet, her father stole it away from her. so yes, if you can relate to her struggles, more power to you. i wish you well in healing. but using her in your coquette aesthetics demeans laura's character and reduces her to just another fictional girl who smokes, writes in her diary, drinks, has boy troubles, etc. "omg! she's SO me!!!" no she's not. i bet you a dime that those of you who are posting these aesthetics and mood boards haven't even touched a drop of alcohol a day in your lives. go do your homework and take a walk. laura deserves much better than your minimizing. though, this also applies to characters like shelly and audrey (ESPECIALLY audrey). don't think i don't see how y'all just completely wipe the slate on these complex characters and make them into nothing but a pretty face set to lana del ray music.

[7-wonders]

After

Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter XIII)

Summary: What comes next?

Word Count: 6.6k (haha ironic)

A note from the author: Is this my best work? No, absolutely not. But I needed to get from Point A to Point B somehow, and I also wanted to show how we got there. Anyways, hope you enjoy, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.

Content warnings for this chapter include mentions of death, thoughts of suicide, and graphic depictions of the apocalypse/end of the world. Reader discretion is advised.

Mad Love masterlist

One day after

Death is no stranger to you.

You’ve met a few unlucky times in your life and felt the devastation they bring with them when they come knocking every time. Tears have been shed, and mourning has been done, and eulogies have been listened to from the pews. Each time is just as tragic, and each time, you wish to never see death again.

So yes, you are unfortunately familiar with death. What you are not familiar with is the carnage, the totality, that death has ushered in now. Never before have you lost everyone you ever cared about in one fell swoop. Never before has the vast majority of humanity been annihilated with the press of a few buttons. That is a totally new level to the death you thought you knew.

You don’t remember moving to a bed after Michael had revealed to you that this was “his” plan at work. You don’t even remember seeing a bed when you were first deposited here by the Cooperative. But this must have happened, for when you come out of the daze you’ve fallen into after realizing that the apocalypse was real and that everyone was truly dead, you’re lying on top of the covers of a bed. The room in which the bed sits is just as sparsely furnished as the room you originally arrived in. It’s reminiscent of a hotel, and you get the feeling that this is not where you’re meant to be staying for very long.

There are curtains on the wall next to the bed, and curiosity begins to eat at you. Will you see a nuclear wasteland outside the window, some terrible and barren landscape? Or maybe this was all just a sick and twisted dream, and you actually are in a hotel somewhere safe. Sitting up, you pull back the fabric to reveal nothing but the wall. They merely hang for a sense of normalcy, you realize. Your hopes fall along with you as you crash back against the mattress.

It was all real, then. The sirens and the running for your life, being forcefully taken and having to feel as nukes were dropped onto the Earth’s surface. The world ended, thanks solely to the man that you love (loved? Where do you stand now?), and you were saved for no reason other than you being said man’s wife. Your stomach starts to churn the more you dwell on this cruel twist of fate.

Before you can feel sick enough to warrant needing to find a bathroom, someone knocks quietly, and you turn your head toward the sound in anticipation of the visitor. The door cracks open, and Michael sneaks inside. He’s silhouetted by the light of the living room, but you can still see the fond smile he sports.

“Hi,” he whispers, as though worried you might be asleep even though you’re staring at each other. “How are you feeling?”

Did he seriously just ask you that? You want to snap at him, to yell and ask how he thinks you’re feeling, but the fight has leached out of you and been replaced with a heavy exhaustion. You couldn’t come up with something to get your true feelings across even if you tried. So, you don’t try. Instead, you shrug.

“That’s alright. I have a surprise for you.”

“I’m a little scared to see what your idea of a surprise is after today.” Your voice sounds hoarse, both from the strength of your earlier cries and how long it’s presumably been since you last used it. 

“It’s a good one, I promise.” 

He ducks out before quickly returning, holding a lump in his arms. You stare at it curiously, and Michael shifts. Your cat jumps out of his arms and onto the bed, padding across the mattress until she reaches you.

You blink owlishly in disbelief, slowly reaching a hand out until it lands in her soft fur. Fur that feels so real under your touch. She is real. She’s here and safe and in front of you. Both hands land in her fur now, one scratching the top of her head, and she begins to purr in contentment.

Michael chuckles at the sight, and you remember that you’re not alone. It takes you a moment to remember how to speak once you look up at him. “You…you saved her?”

“Of course,” he says like it’s the most obvious decision in the world. “She’s like our child—I would never leave her behind!”

You try to hold it in, you swear. But once you start laughing, you can’t stop. It’s a hysterical laugh, the type that can be confused with sobbing, the two sound so similar. Maybe you are sobbing a bit, and the tears falling down your face aren’t just from laughter. The situation is just so ridiculous, though, that laughter is really the only reaction you can think of.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“Michael, you just ended the fucking world,” you gasp out in the pockets between laughs. “You killed billions of people, but you stopped to grab our cat before you did?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Michael begins to laugh as well, likely just because you are, and for a moment, things feel almost normal. Then you stop to catch your breath, and reality sets in once more.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand your priorities again.” 

“My priorities are simple, and they’re the same as they’ve always been. To make my father proud, to create a new world for us, and to love you the way you deserve.” At that last part, he takes your hand and kisses the back of it. Revulsion creeps up your spine, and you gently pull your hand away from him.

“I’m tired,” you say. This isn’t a lie—you are tired, just…tired of him, and tired of your current reality. You sink further under the blankets while gathering the cat in your arms and pulling her under to snuggle with you; something that she’s more than happy to do.

“Okay. I have more work that I have to do,” he rolls his eyes as though dealing with the logistics of a post-apocalyptic world is a nuisance, “so I’ll be a little bit longer. I’ll make some dinner when you wake up. Does that sound good?”

You hope your smile doesn’t look as forced as it feels. “Yeah.”

Michael kisses the top of your head. “I love you.”

Luckily, his phone chimes (wait, his phone still works? You’ll have to ask about that later) before he can wait for you to say it back.

One week after

It takes approximately one week for the radiation levels post-nuclear apocalypse to fall just enough that the Cooperative, with all of its tools and technologies, is able to travel safely.

You spend most of it curled up under the covers, trying desperately to sleep and wake up to a world prior to the end. Every time you open your eyes to your reality, you’re let down once more.

Considering he’s the source of your misery and also increasingly unhinged, Michael is surprisingly sympathetic to your grief. And though you want to push him away, to scream at him that you think he’s evil and that you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to love him again knowing what he’s done, you’re also very, very sad.

Actually, sad feels like too light of a word. You’re heartbroken. Your entire life has collapsed in front of you, burned to ashes, and you’re left adrift. The only familiarity, the only link back to a time that feels like so long ago, is Michael. You forgive yourself as you fall apart in his arms time and time again, clutching onto him as one clutches onto a life preserver while you cry and scream.

You’re once again in his arms when you jolt awake with a loud gasp, fear coursing through your veins and the memory of your friends and family screaming in agony as they were killed fresh in your mind. Michael tightens his grip around you, threading his fingers through yours as you squeeze his hand to remind yourself that you’re not sleeping anymore. As you come to the realization that it was just a dream, you’re hoping that you’ll open your eyes and be back in your bed—not just a bed, but your bed in the manor you shared with Michael. Looking up, you see the metallic gray roof of the armored, impenetrable Cooperative vehicle that’s taking you to the Sanctuary, and not your bedroom ceiling. 

Disappointment curls in your stomach, and you tuck your head into Michael’s chest.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, even though he knows the answer. Your bad dreams are increasingly common and are by now a nightly occurrence.

Regardless, you tell him. “I had a nightmare.”

“I’m sorry.” This isn’t a new routine for either of you. Though it’s been only a week, every single time you go to sleep, you’re tortured with these nightmares. You almost dread falling asleep now, but your body seems to use sleep as a protective response to the fear you’re constantly dealing with.

You look up at him. “I think the worst part is that, when I have these nightmares, I wake up right into another one, one that I can’t wake from.”

“What do you mean?”

“I see those that I love dying, over and over again. And then I wake up, and they’re still dead. Everyone is, and it’s because you killed them.”

“I did.” There’s no remorse in his voice, nothing to say that he’s sorry for what he’s done. You know that he’s not, but you still want to force him to be faced with the reality of what he’s done. For some reason, you still believe that he’ll come to his senses eventually and that he’ll wake up one day horrified by the devastation he’s wrought.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive you,” you admit.

“Give it time.”

You don’t say that all the time in the world won’t matter, that you’ll hold this anger and pain and distrust with you until your very last days. Instead, you pose a question. “Would you let me die?”

Michael looks down at you in alarm. “What?”

“You always say that you’ll do anything for me. If I told you I wanted to die, to be with those you killed, would you let me?”

“No.” He pulls you up from where you’re leaning against him so that he can look you in the eyes. Panic is evident on his face, and a sick part of you enjoys it. “No. Why would you even ask something like that?”

Why wouldn’t you? How are you supposed to see yourself going on with everybody gone? Alone in a post-apocalyptic hellscape with the Antichrist? The thought of suicide, of killing yourself to get out of this nightmare and be reunited with your loved ones, has crossed your mind more times than you’d care to admit in the short week since the end of the world.

You know that you can’t, though. You’ve seen Michael’s power at work, and you’ve heard all about the Seven Wonders, both from Mallory and Michael. If you kill yourself, Michael will just use Vitalum Vitalis to bring you back. You’ll never be able to escape him, the monster that is your husband, even in death.

You shrug. “I just wanted to make sure, even though I knew the answer.”

“You’re my wife, my person. I love you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Guess you won’t have to find out,” you mutter bitterly. 

Instead of answering, Michael puts a hand under your chin and pulls you up to look at him. He kisses you softly on your lips. You want to turn away, truly. Shove him away and declare that your marriage is nothing but a farce now. But muscle memory is a funny thing. Your lips work against his, and even your heart stutters that old, familiar staccato. Your body still holds the memory of your love for him, even if your mind rebels against that. 

“I love you,” he says once more, leaning his forehead against yours.

You don’t say it back, and he doesn’t call you out on it. 

The vehicle shudders to a stop, and Michael peers out through the window. You’ve refused to do the same this entire trip, not wanting to see the barren wasteland you know is outside. After a moment, you start moving again, into a garage much smaller than the one from a week ago. Instead of getting out and going into an elevator, the car itself begins to descend down, down, down.

Michael barely waits for the elevator to stop and for the car to pull into a large, underground chamber before he opens the door and bounds out. He looks around proudly, then turns to you with a grin.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

You’re not, but you nod nonetheless and take Michael’s outstretched hand.

“Home sweet home!”

One month after

The Sanctuary is…nice, you suppose, if you were asked to be completely objective about it. The compound is huge. There are nine different “levels,” because why wouldn’t there be symbolism when it was built by and for the Antichrist? With how deep underground you are, it almost feels like you’ve descended into Hell. You wouldn’t even be surprised if that were the case.

All the stops were pulled out for this project, and no expense was spared. Scientists and engineers and the world’s best and brightest had come together (whether they knew what they were working on or not) to create the technology that would allow the Sanctuary to be self-sustainable. There was plenty of room for new arrivals—though Michael had used the Outposts as a way to get rich fucks to finance the end of the world and had plans on killing them, there were still plenty of survivors who were chosen due to their exceptional genetic makeup, those who would be creating the next generation. Plenty more were important to the “rebuilding of the new world,” and more still were religious fanatics who happily served their lord and his kingdom.

People enjoyed their new lives, for the most part. The devout were more than happy to be in the presence of their savior every day, the Cooperative and their families enjoyed continuing their luxurious lives, and the lucky ones were just thrilled to still be alive. There was always something to do, and everybody had a role to play to keep the Sanctuary running and functioning (everybody except the richest of the rich, but that’s par for the course). Life had moved on, and survivors created a home here.

All except for you. No matter how much Michael tried to make your quarters like they were—it’s almost an exact copy of your former home, and it’s still just as creepy as it was the day that you arrived—it doesn’t feel like home, and it never will. You miss your home, in all its familiarity. The creaky stair on the way up, the house staff that you knew on a first-name basis (you had gotten them all Christmas gifts, and now they would never receive them), and the back of the couch that was a little wobbly from where you fell into it when you and your friends had your last sleepover are just a few of the mementos that you long for every time you wander the halls of your new home.

While everybody else has been finding a new normal in the month since the world ended, what you’ve found is time. Time to think, and rage, and for the grief that’s been swallowing you to subside enough that you can finally focus and think about your situation and what to do now.

What’s become clear is that you can’t give up, no matter how much you want to. So many hours of this first month have been lost to tears and wishes that you could be with those you love instead of in this hell on Earth. So you can’t die yet! What you can do, however, is make Michael’s life miserable.

Since one of Michael’s favorite things in life is, well, you, you’ve decided that you’ll deprive him of that favorite thing. Your method? The silent treatment, which has been going on for basically the entire time that you’ve been at the Sanctuary. Beyond answering questions that need to be answered with the most basic of responses (“yes,” “no,” “I don’t know”), you haven’t talked to him. No in-depth conversations about random topics, no idle chitchat, nothing. It drives him absolutely nuts, and you’re reminded of another person that you once drove nuts with the same silent treatment.

(Oh, Mallory. You still can’t think about her, or any of your loved ones, without crying, and so you try your hardest not to. What you wouldn’t give to be able to give her the silent treatment once more, even if it meant you were kidnapped by Cordelia Goode once more!)

To really hammer home the point that you’re not pleased about any of this and are not just going to roll over and take it, you also attempt to make yourself scarce whenever he’s around. There are plenty of rooms in your “house” that Michael doesn’t bother to check—you’ve made one of the guest rooms into your hideout, and it’s actually very comfy—and you’ve gotten really good at hearing him coming so that you can disappear. You suppose the one nice thing about your house being copied at the Sanctuary is that you still both have separate bedrooms. Where you once loathed to sleep apart from him, now, you crave it.

The best part of this is that you know that Michael’s insanely frustrated. He had an entire vision for how your life post-apocalypse would be, one that involved the two of you in that same honeymoon phase you had found yourselves in before visiting New Orleans. Whereas you had imagined your perfect future as you and he exploring the world, he saw your perfect future as the two of you becoming bloodthirsty monarchs over a world that was yours to mold however you saw fit.

Fat chance.

You can only keep avoiding him for so long, and it appears that tonight is where your luck runs out. You’re sitting in the kitchen and reading, waiting for the timer to go off on the oven—truly nothing really changed about life, except for the fact that it was now underground. You were still able to enjoy frozen pizzas, even! Since Michael’s usually still off doing whatever it is Antichrists do at the Sanctuary at this time, you let your guard down. Your mistake.

He grins when he sees you sitting at the counter, pleased that he finally caught you. “I was hoping to find you.”

Sneakily, he tries to duck in and steal a kiss. You’re quicker than he is, though, and you turn your face at the last moment so that he’s only able to catch your cheek. Frowning slightly, he straightens back up.

“There’s a dinner tonight being hosted by people that aren’t insufferable.” Michael waits for you to answer, to show any sign of hearing him, even though he knows that you won’t break. “I think it’ll be fun, and a good way to meet some new people.”

“Enjoy yourself,” you murmur, keeping your eyes fixed on the book in your hands.

“Come on, won’t you please join me? There’s so much here that I want to do with you.” He tries to take your hand, but you pull away before he can. Hurt, raw and unfiltered, crosses his face. “Why are you ignoring me? I hate this, this isn’t you.”

You scoff. He’s one to talk about sudden personality changes. “I told you, didn’t I?”

“Told me what?”

“Before you ended the world, I told you that I wouldn’t be able to stand by you. That you would lose me. I wasn’t lying.”

Michael groans. “You still don’t understand! I had to, it’s my destiny and—”

“Oh, I believe that you believe that. But it still doesn’t justify your actions, and it still doesn’t change what I said.” You finally meet his eyes. “Physically, publicly, I will play the role of your wife when I am forced to. I’ll stand by your side and wave and shake hands and pretend like we’re a happy couple. Emotionally? When we’re alone? You get nothing. You should consider yourself lucky that I’m even talking to you now.”

His eyes go dark. Not the dark, pure black of the demon that lives inside of him, but dark with a rage you’ve never had directed towards you before. “Is that right? You want to wage this battle against me, the monster you’ve created in your head?”

You stare at him defiantly, refusing to cower now.

“Baby, my love, the one to whom my soul belongs.” Michael showers you with pet names in the hopes that it pisses you off, which it does. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for us. And I’ll continue to do so, no matter how much you hate me for it. You’ll be grateful one day, even if I have to force you to see it.”

His threat has you recoiling, but not because it scares you. No, it’s because this new Michael now follows through on said threats. “Fuck you, Michael. I hate you.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” He smirks, before walking over to the oven and turning it off.

“Hey!”

“You said that I have to force you to play the role of my wife. Well, I’m forcing you. Get ready. We’re having dinner with some people tonight.”

You’ll be honest, you weren’t expecting him to make good on what you said. If you weren’t so blindingly angry, you’d almost be impressed. Glowering, you slam your book closed, screech your stool across the floor as you shove it away from the island, and stomp away. Since he’s going to force you to do this, you’re going to voice your displeasure as loudly as you can, even if it means throwing a tantrum.

Michael smiles as he watches you, calling out, “We’re going to have so much fun!”

For some reason, you don’t believe that.

One year after

There’s a party tonight. A celebration, it’s been billed as. One year since the end, and one year since the beginning of what would become the “new world.”

In the past year, there have been so many changes in your life. But there’s been no bigger change than the one that Michael’s undergone. His hair’s grown longer, with the perfect blond waves falling to just past his shoulders. He’s learned how to do makeup, and he’s started painting red on his inner crease to make himself look more dramatic and intimidating. He’s also grown extremely confident, almost cocky. The world is his now, and he has the bravado to back it up.

You can’t help but think back to when he started to change, the drastic shift in personality after that fateful meeting with Papa Legba in New Orleans. The memory of those last, golden days before everything went to shit is one that you remember often and fondly. If there’s a day where you’re feeling extra masochistic, you’ll force yourself to remember that last date, and how Michael’s eyes shone with joy as he held a firefly in his hands for the first time. When you and Michael were just enjoying being together and making plans for the future. When there still was a future. By now you would have graduated college, and likely would have moved somewhere else to attend graduate school. Secretly, you had been leaning towards the East Coast; you were so excited to watch Michael experience snow for the first time. 

It makes you miss the Michael you once knew, the Michael that you loved. This new Michael feels so unfamiliar, it seems like you’re living in “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” At least you were able to pretend like it was your Michael when he still looked like himself. Now, there’s no fooling yourself.

Even though you live with a stranger now, you still see shades of that Michael in this one. You still love this Michael, even though you wish with all your being that you didn’t. Oh, you remain furious with him—you always will, probably. But apparently, the whole “soulmates” thing wasn’t bullshit. Despite your best wishes and attempts, you love Michael Langdon.

(Not that he needs to know that. No, you’ll tap into all that hatred whenever you’re near him.)

Though you wish that you were spending today in solitude, so that you can cry without anybody seeing and mourn in your own way, Michael has other plans. He hasn’t backed off on forcing you to play the part of his wife in public. He brings you to events, dinners, parties, and walks through the Sanctuary. The whole time, you’re holding his hand, smiling, and acting like you’re interested in whatever drivel is being discussed by those you’re surrounded with.

In private is a different story. You avoid him, and he gives you your space. You suppose it’s nicer this way; at least now you don’t have to be sneaky and hide any longer. There’s only one time that you let him touch you, and it’s the time that you’re most ashamed.

About six months after the end of the world, your constant fighting with Michael came to a head. You were both furious with each other (only yours was justified) about the same things that you’re always furious about. At some point, as you got in each other’s faces, you stopped yelling and started kissing. It was then that you discovered: hate sex is the best sex. And hate sex with Michael? That’s on a whole other level. 

You’re obviously not proud of this. But it’s a whole new world, you try to reassure yourself when you try to sleep at night, and it’s not as though any of this is out of love. Things are complicated, and you’re trying to forge a new path in life. So if you fuck your husband out of anger a couple of times? Well, you hope Mallory and Kate are cheering you on in the afterlife as you draw blood scratching down Michael’s back. 

Presently, you allow the Cooperative stylists to make you over for the “celebration” that you couldn’t get out of even if you tried. To the inhabitants of the Sanctuary, you’re simply the Antichrist’s wife. What’s the point of trying to prove to them that you’re more than that? you’re reminded of the first time you found yourself in this situation, a whole lifetime ago. How nervous you were. Back then, you fought so hard to not wear the typical Cooperative color scheme. “I want to be me,” you had said. Now, you don’t put up any sort of fight as you’re helped into a black, floor-length gown with off-shoulder straps. It’s not as if you really care anymore. Your entire identity post-apocalypse has been reduced to “Antichrist’s wife”, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You don’t hear Michael enter the room. Instead, you see the stylists bow and curtsy before promptly filing out, and you know that he’s here. Rather than look at him (or roll your eyes), you stare at yourself in the mirror and pretend to wipe away an errant eyelash. You hate Michael’s insistence on everybody treating you and him like royalty. You never wanted to be a queen, and you certainly don’t relish the position now. 

Michael leans on the wall next to the mirror, watching you with a soft smile on his face. Since your emotions are already fried today, you don’t bother risking a fight by ignoring him. When you look at him, his smile widens into a grin, and you yet again catch a glimpse of the Michael that you once knew and loved. It makes your heart clench, and you swallow harshly.

“You look lovely,” Michael says, kissing the corner of your mouth so as not to smear the lipstick that the (admittedly talented) Satanist makeup artist applied.

“Thank you. Are we running late?” You hope that’s the case; you’d love to keep everybody waiting as long as possible, simply out of spite.

Michael checks his watch (yet another thing you don’t understand—how the Cooperative has managed to keep to the traditional format of keeping time) and shakes his head. “Only fashionably, not that it matters. We’re the guests of honor, of course.”

“Goody,” you say dryly.

“Are you not excited for tonight? It’s a party!” He grabs your hand, pulling you to him and swaying with you. “We can even dance. You love dancing.”

Correction: you used to love dancing. 

You shrug out of his embrace and move to put on your (pre-approved) shoes. “I don’t feel like dancing tonight.”

“But we’re celebrating!”

“Celebrating what?” 

The flimsy dam that you had built up to hold your feelings back upon waking up this morning bursts, and nothing can hold you back now. 

“How could I dance on a day like today? The day that everybody died, the day that I became an orphan, the day that I lost all of my friends and family. I mourn today, I dreaded today.” Tears prick at your eyes, and you roll them toward the ceiling to keep them from falling.

“I understand,” Michael says, coming up behind you and placing a large hand on your shoulder. 

 “Oh, you do?” 

Though you inject a healthy dose of sarcasm into your voice, it seems lost on Michael. “I lost people that I cared for, too.” 

He’s right. It had only been a couple of months, but Michael had gotten close with the group that he started playing video games with. Before the blast, you could confidently say that Brennan and his fraternity brothers, Matteo and Jack, were Michael’s friends. He was even friendly with Kate, and cordial with Mallory.

(You thought that time would help to make the absence of your best friends more palatable. If anything, time has done nothing but make that loss so much more bitter. They’re with you in everything you do, and in everything you do, you think about what they would be saying and how they would be reacting. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism, that you’re imagining your dead best friends. But there are no therapists to tell you it’s unhealthy, so until that day, you’re going to keep doing it.)

“You don’t mourn for them, though,” you point out.

“Their deaths served a purpose,” he parrots that old, familiar line.

“Michael,” you snap, so sick of hearing it over and over again.

“What?”

He sounds just as frustrated as you, and by now, you know what’s coming when your tones match in this way. You still don’t have it in you to fight today, so instead, you close your eyes and take a couple of deep breaths. Once you safely feel like you won’t blow up at him, you look at him once more. “Nothing. Let’s just go. Your kingdom is waiting, after all.”

He smiles triumphantly. “Our kingdom.”

Because that’s where the issue lies, doesn’t it? He’s proud of all of this—the pain and devastation he’s wrought, the annihilation of the world that everybody once knew. There are no regrets from him, even knowing the individuals that he’s killed. The blood of seven billion people is on his hands, and he loves it.

Michael holds out his arm for you to take, but you refuse, instead marching side-by-side with him. It’s only when you reach the doors to the ballroom that you begrudgingly slip your hand around his bicep. The roaring of the crowd, full of Satanists and members of the Cooperative and those who were lucky enough to make it in, greets you and Michael as you enter the main ballroom.

You’re surrounded by people, but you’ve never felt more alone.

Eighteen months after

After going into the Sanctuary, you honestly expected to be stuck there, underground, for at least five years. Nuclear science admittedly wasn’t your strong point, but you knew enough about radioactive half-lives to know that it wouldn’t be safe enough to be above ground for a long time.

But you forgot about who your husband is, and what his plans post-apocalypse were.

Michael had never been shy about the fact that the Outposts were simply a means to an end. He needed the end of the world financed, and he also needed central locations to quickly get the survivors worth saving to, even if they were far away from the Sanctuary. Hence the creation of the Outposts. What to do about those that populated the Outposts, though?

As Michael had explained it to you the one time you felt brave enough to ask, that was where the fun began. He would arrive at each under the guise of being a Cooperative member tasked with deciding who was worthy of coming to the Sanctuary. After teasing the survivors, playing mind games with them, and pitting them against each other for a few days ( “Sowing chaos,” he gleefully called it), he would extract the survivors with optimal genetics and leave the rest to die. Sometimes he would let them kill each other, other times he would leave them to starve, and a couple of times he planned on killing them himself. His newfound bloodlust made you shiver in fear, and you dropped the conversation.

Shortly after the anniversary celebration, Michael decided that it was the perfect time to start on this next phase of world domination. He would leave the Sanctuary, traversing the globe to each and every Outpost until all were emptied of any signs of life. It was almost like a business trip, you thought, if business trips involved mass murder.

The thought of Michael, the perennial thorn in your side, finally leaving for extended periods of time should have filled you with joy. You would finally be free of him, at least for a bit. But the more you thought about it, the more you realized that you didn’t want to be left alone. The Sanctuary still didn’t feel like home, and Michael was really the only person that you knew. He was the only constant, and being on your own in a place that was still frightening and unfamiliar was not something that appealed to you. It was surprising that you felt this way, but maybe it shouldn’t have been. After all, survivors band together, even if one of the survivors caused all of this mayhem.

Michael seemed just as surprised when you asked if you could accompany him to a few of the Outposts, but he was still happy to accommodate your request. Even though he knew the reason—his powers had also grown immensely in the past eighteen months, and he could read everyone’s minds with ease now—he still saw this as a way to spend quality time with you. While you wouldn’t necessarily agree, you would still be spending the most time with him since before the bombs dropped, and he counted that as a win.

You had visited three Outposts with Michael, choosing which ones you went to. Since you certainly didn’t enjoy watching Michael play with his prey before slaughtering all but those whose genetic material ensured a bountiful next generation, you only went when Michael would be gone for a particularly long time or you were feeling extra stir-crazy. It was a luxury that nobody else had, getting to choose when to stay or go, and you pushed down feelings of guilt every time you were given the choice.

Things were different, you constantly reminded yourself when thinking of this, or about how the you of eighteen months ago would be horrified at the thought of being okay with Michael committing murders. You are still horrified by the murders, and the ease with which Michael performs them. But over time, you’ve become almost desensitized to it. Everybody had to do shameful things to survive now, including you. 

You weren’t originally planning to join Michael on his visit to the last untouched Outpost. It was less than 100 miles away from the Sanctuary, which meant that Michael would be gone a week at most. Since the Outpost 9 trip was almost three weeks long (it was all the way in what used to be Spain, which meant an extra difficult transmutation for you, who still has not gotten used to this mode of traveling), you were happy to spend an extended amount of time back at “home.” But Michael insisted that you come with him, promising you that it was only a week-long trip, if that. Though you were confused, you still acquiesced. It was only when you were on the road—Michael wanted to take a carriage for this trip, which should have been your first clue that this was no ordinary Outpost—that he revealed why he wanted you with him.

Outpost 3 was built in what used to be Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men, and it absolutely wasn’t a coincidence. Michael was openly cheerful when explaining that this was his plan all along, and that he always intended for Outpost 3 to be the last stop on this journey. You don’t pretend to understand his motives anymore. On another, non-evil level, he was excited to show you the school that had played such a formative part in his accelerated adolescence. Another glimpse of the Michael that you used to love, though these glimpses get fewer and farther in between the more time passes.

The plague doctor getup you’re forced to wear upon venturing aboveground is happily removed when you enter the decontamination pod in Outpost 3. 

“Would you like to come with me to meet our hostess?”

Well, it’s better than being stuck in your temporary lodging. “Absolutely.”

You’re greeted by a woman wearing all black, just as you and Michael do. Michael always wears black now, but the point of your matching black wardrobes is to make you look like regular Cooperative officers when you enter the Outposts. The only splash of color is her hair, which is a bright orange. Her hands tighten around the top of a can as she watches you enter the office that she will soon find out is being commandeered by Michael. She smiles, but it’s a haughty, smug smile.

“Wilhelmina Venable,” she introduces herself as. “I’m in charge here.”

From beside you, Michael tilts his head teasingly. His game begins immediately upon first contact, and you just stand back to watch. “Of course you are.”

“You don’t sound like you believe me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He plays his part well, you have to admit. “Seems like you’ve done a wonderful job. The walls are still standing, your people are alive and healthy, which is…quite a feat, considering.”

He’s baiting her, but, predictably, she bites. “Considering?”

“That three more Outposts have been overrun, and the remaining three won't last through the year.”

“Why are you here?”

You zone out a little bit during the well-practiced rigamarole that Michael whips out during every introduction with the Outpost leaders. It’s tedious at this point, and they all react the same. Shock, revulsion, disbelief. It’s only when he grabs your hand that you fall back into the part that’s expected of you.

“I could take all of you…or none of you. Those who make it live. Those who don’t…” Michael smiles serenely. “End up like our horses.”

//

Tag List: @thatonehumanbeing05 @xavierplympton @hecohansen31 @codycrazy @love-on-the-murder-scene @michaellangdonswhore @nsainmoonchild @aftertheglitterfades @iamlivingforturner @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @angiestopit @littleangel4996 @xo-angel-ox @ajokeformur-ray @iamavailablesstuff

(I really don't know why I still do a tag list. Habit, I suppose.)

[multiland]

Mr. perfect.

pairing: idol!Joshua x reader

genre: angst

word count: 1.5K

summary: what do you do when the one who was always there to comfort you, is the one who now has broken you?

warnings: mentions of cheating, denial and heartbreak.

A/N: this sucks. I’m sorry.

When you first learned about love, you always tried to keep in mind that everything about it was ephemeral, that no matter how many happy endings you had heard about, there was no way someone could ever meet such expectations. To you, fairytales were nothing but that, a fictional scenario people created to give themselves hope, to try to find something good even when the so-called love they felt, hurt them more than any physical harm.

But then you met Joshua, and suddenly you found yourself believing in everything you had convinced yourself was nothing but a lie.

You met him on a Friday night at some fancy party your best friend had thrown. Being from a wealthy family, it was no surprise to you that you found some famous people there. You were nothing like them, but being attached to the hip to her since you were kids surely took you to some places you would’ve never thought you’d ever see.

Dressed in a skin-tight navy dress, you were minding your own business, playing with the martini in your hands as your eyes traveled across the enormous house. The music wasn’t the same kind people your age would put in the background, instead, there were some violinists and pianists playing live. You felt out of place, the fact that your friend had left your side to keep greeting people not helping at all.

And that’s when you saw him, walking through the door with some other guys in a beige tuxedo, black strands of hair hanging over his eyes and small silver piercings decorating his ears.

Your eyes were immediately drawn to him, as he stood there across the room with his hands in his pockets, clearly enjoying the music and focused on the musicians. That’s when somewhere along the lines his eyes had landed on you, the previously blank expression on his face turning into the smallest but sweetest smile for you, and you swore you had never seen a man that beautiful in your entire life.

You knew it was over for you as soon as those round and beautiful dark orbs made your heart go crazy, wanting to look away but not being able to. He had an instant power over you, and you didn’t even want it to be any different.

Somehow you exchanged numbers that night, and although you thought you would never see him again, he proved you otherwise when he started texting you the following days.

You started spending time together every now and then, going to some cafes or meeting somewhere more private. Knowing the reality of his situation wasn’t something easy, but you were soon so infatuated with him that you didn’t even think of saying no when he asked you out.

Being with an idol wasn’t what you had expected at all, but Joshua always made everything feel so safe, warm, and comfortable that everything seemed to be just so easy.

He was so attentive, caring, and loving that you, not even once, felt neglected. He called you every single night before going to sleep or messaged you in the mornings or during breaks.

If you ever felt bad, he always knew the right words to say, and even though you felt insecure about him being around beautiful women all the time, he was quick to ease your fears and make you believe there was no way in the world he would ever want someone who wasn’t you.

You felt wanted, beautiful, and loved. He was a prince, he was everything someone could have ever wanted. So gentle, sweet, always there for you no matter what.

He was the only one who was able to set your body aflame with a single touch, always feeling like you were flying whenever his arms wrapped around you and the smell of his cologne, so familiar, filled your nose and made you feel like everything would be okay.

The way he held your hand and kissed your knuckles when he drove, the way he always tucked strands of hair behind your ear, or the way he kissed you in the middle of saying something just because he couldn’t help but being so whipped for you, making you lose your mind with such a simple action.

His sweet, raspy voice in the mornings after he had spent the night; the way his pupils dilated whenever you wore one of his shirts with nothing underneath, the way he made love to you as soon as he went back home, loving you hard enough for you to feel the trace of his fingers and the taste of his mouth whenever he had to leave again. Fingers through his hair as his mouth swallowed your moans, fingertips digging on your burning skin, teeth sinking on the flesh as he took you to paradise.

The way you found relief in his lips, kissing like there was no tomorrow and feeling like you couldn't get enough of each other. His tongue making you delirious, electrifying every inch of your skin.

Everything that came out of his mouth was dripping with honey, because he never wanted to see you upset, because he was your serotonin, because he simply was the best thing that had ever happened to you, and you were the same for him.

Or at least, that’s what you thought.

That’s why you couldn’t process the words that were falling from his mouth that night, after a month of not seeing each other for his comeback and promotions, he had come to your house, but as soon as you met his gaze, you knew something was wrong.

But you never thought it’d be something so horrible.

He had appeared at your place to tell you he had kissed a female back dancer a week before.

“No.” You laughed humorlessly as you shook your head. “It’s impossible. That did not happen.”

His eyes were filled with hurt and remorse, the more he noticed your denial, the worse he felt.

“y/n… I- I’m so sorry… Fuck I’m sorry. I swear I love you. I’m such an asshole.”

“Joshua, please stop. This is not a funny joke.”

“How can you think I would joke with something like this?” He asked in frustration, running his fingers through his hair.

And you were well aware of it not being a joke in the slightest. The way you could feel cold sweat running down your spine and your stomach churn kept trying to pull your feet back to the ground. But you would try to trick the fate and desperately conjure the truth you wanted to take place.

“Because there’s no way you’d do something like that. You love me, right? You’ve done nothing but show me how much you do.”

Joshua swallowed, tears burning his eyes and threatening to fall.

“I do love you. More than anything.” He assured. “That’s why I’m here, that’s why I can’t stand the idea of what I did behind your back. I kissed someone else while you stayed home and gave me all of your trust.” He repeated. “I regret it every second because I know how much I just fucked up… But I can’t cope with the idea of you trying to dismiss it. I don’t deserve it.”

"Joshua"

He shook his head, stepping closer and grabbing your hands in his.

"Please, please don't give me a chance to stay by your side because I will not hesitate to take it and I don't deserve to be with someone like you." His voice was so sweet, so subtle despite of him saying something so devastating. His hand moved to tuck a strand of hair behind you ear like he always did, retreating as soon as the guilt attacked him again. "You're so beautiful, so smart, sweet and bright and I'm so, so in love with you. It kills me to know I just ruined everything with the woman I love the most in such a dumb way."

You noticed the way his eyes were getting watery, another thing that made you realize how real it was. You wanted to hate him and tell him how much of a dick he was, but nothing came out of your mouth. You just couldn't, although you knew you should have, you could not bring yourself to hate him.

“You- No, listen Joshua…” You trailed off, heart finally breaking in a million pieces as you tried your best to convince yourself that everything was nothing but a twisted dream. “I know you would never hurt me like that. You would never cheat on me. Why would you? That’s ridiculous! You know that I'd do anything for you, right? You know that I love you more than anything. We’ve always had this chemistry, this peaceful and beautiful relationship. You’ve never given me any reasons to be jealous or to feel insecure, someone like that wouldn’t go against his own preach.” You tried to reason, a bitter chuckle slipping from your lips as you wiped your tears “See, I know you’re just such a gentleman that you’d rather put the blame on your shoulders than say she was the one who took advantage of you and kissed you. You’re a gorgeous guy, it must be hard for people not to throw themselv-"

“Why are you trying so desperately to excuse my actions?" He interrupted you in distress. "Babe, I- I don’t deserve it. I was the one who kissed her. While we danced the atmosphere got tense, the adrenaline did not help, and I just had the impulse.” Joshua said lowly, the knot in his throat becoming thicker and making it hard for him to breathe. “I’m so sorry... Why can't you just blame me for what I did? Just tell me how much of a piece of shit I am, slap me, tell me you don't want to see me again. Call me a dickhead, the worst thing that happened to you, I'll take it all, because I fucked up.”

You forced yourself to step back, the air in your lungs slowly fading away as the void in your chest grew bigger.

“No... I- I can't... Because you would never do something so vile.” You smiled, not noticing the way your tears were already streaming down your cheeks. "You wouldn't throw all the beautiful things between us out of the window just to get your damn dick wet. Not when you told me so many times how you'd never want anyone else but me and I believed you because you looked me in the eyes."

Joshua pressed his eyes shut and took a deep, shaky breath as he stepped closer, but you stepped back.

"I do not want anyone else but you, but I stopped thinking and just let my primal self take control instead of considering what I got to lose."

"No!" You shouted. "You wouldn't! You're perfect!"

Joshua lowered his gaze to the floor, hands ballin into fists.

“I’m not perfect… I never was, I never will. No one is.” He whispered. "That's why I need to go before I keep hurting you. If you ask me to stay I will, and I can not let you accept me back."

And then you knew. The idea you had engraved in your head about love being a real fairytale was long gone, cause all it did was break, burn and end.

Your sweet boyfriend, the same who used to whisper how much he loved you against your lips, the same who washed your hair for you, the same who looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world, was the same one who had stabbed you in the back.

Your lip quivered, and Joshua wanted desperately to wipe your tears away and hold you in his arms, but how could he? When he was the one who had hurt you in the first place, how could he ever fix up a heart he let down? He did not deserve to touch you ever again.

With a shaky breath, you forced the words out of your throat.

“That’s where the problem is, Joshua.” You said, voice cracking as his brows pulled together in confusion. “That’s why facing the truth will destroy every part of my being, that's why I will never be able to trust anyone again, that's why I don't want you to walk out the door. If you do, everything will be real, and the thing that would hurt the most is to realize all this time I stopped believing in my instincts, because I thought you were different, because I've always known perfection does not exist…" You explained, a small sob falling from your mouth and cutting you out before you continued. "But to me, you were perfect.”

[queenmuzz]

Deep Blue Sea: Chapter XIII (Final Chapter!)

A Farewell Duet

Read the Full Story on Ao3 Here

The impact of the water didn’t hurt as much as you had feared it would, you thought.  Nor did the chilliness of the late spring seawater seem to bother you.  Possibly it was because of the way you had fallen, without bracing for impact.  Perhaps the remnants of the adrenaline coursing through your system that dulled the pain and cold.  Or maybe it was the bullet that ripped through your spine.

Oh, that’s right, you were dying.

You were strangely calm about the whole ordeal.  There was no thrashing, no panicking, just you slowly drifting, limp in the calm sea.  If you opened your eyes you probably could have seen the rays of the full moon flickering through the slightly cloudy water.  No doubt there would be a tinge of red from the blood  pouring out of your body, so you kept them shut, to maintain the illusion that you were just drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

You idly mused at your life.  You’d been blessed, you’d spent your adulthood studying the subject you’d adored since childhood, you had loved your friends, your teachers, and your family.  It had been a good life, and you hoped you felt you had lived it to the fullest.

Of course, you had regrets.  You wished you had broken off your engagement, that you hadn’t strung Fredrick along.  You wish you stood up to your father, your mother when they put their aspirations on you.  You wished you had taken Sarah’s advice and just grown a spine (and perhaps it wouldn’t be severed right now, you morbidly mused).

And Vergil….  Oh Vergil.  Strangely, you didn’t regret ever meeting him.  You didn’t even regret not even freeing him the moment you met him. Nor did you regret falling in love with him.

No, you thought to yourself as the now familiar feel of burning lungs became louder, more insistent. Your main regret is that you never told him your true feelings.  You should have been honest, should have told him how much you cared about him, how much you… you loved him.

And now thanks to your meekness, he was most likely watching you dying.  

"Come on bro, we need to get out of here!"

"Not yet, not without her!"

"She bought you your freedom!  I'm not going to lose you again!"

"And I am not going to lose her!"

“VERGIL!"

You felt the water pressure change and arms snake around your waist, before cautiously hovering over your wound.

"It is not healing....why is it not healing?"

You wanted to answer him, to tell him that wounds like this usually lead to death, that you would have done it again and again, a million times to set him free.

You wanted to tell him you had lived, and were ready to die with no regrets.  

You wanted to tell him how much you loved him....

But alas, fate was cruel, and in your watery tomb, you could say nothing.  You couldn't bear to open your eyes to see the pain you were inflicting on him.

Gently, you felt your cheeks being held by webbed hands, and you were surprised by the warmth.

"Please...don't leave me."

And then.... a sensation on your lips.  Your oxygen deprived mind thought he was attempting to give you mouth to mouth, in a futile attempt to save you.... until you realized.

Vergil was kissing you.

It was soft, gentle, and as his hands dropped down to hold you, you could feel the faint trembles in his otherwise strong limbs.  He tasted of sea salt, of ocean air, fresh and renewing, and you felt like you could will this moment to never end.  

And then, your arms, fueled  by a sudden surge of energy, gripped his waist, pressing your body around him to embrace him, to never let him go.

And as you did so, you felt a warmth fill your limbs, tingles of electricity racing from your fingertips to your arms, your chest and down  your legs, to the tips of your toes.  You had never felt so vibrant, so...alive.  Is this what it was to truly be in love?  Your senses felt expanded, like you could hear the shiftings of the tectonic plates, the pulse in your heart, the crashing of waves on distant shores.

Ironic, you thought, to feel so alive when on the cusp of death.  To be in the arms of the man you treasured most above everything, only for him to lose you.

You felt his hands cup your face again  with angelic softness, and yet you could feel every ridge on those fingertips.  You swore you felt a slightly raised scar on the palm of his hand, one that healed over so many months ago.

"Open your eyes, Sifa."

You opened them and gasped.  Despite the darkness of the night, you could see everything for what seemed like miles, swelling surface above to the churned up mud of the sea bed below. But nothing mattered compared to the man in front of you.  He looked ethereal, and was so beautiful now that he was truly back where he belonged.  He smiled at you, soft and gentle, and it took your breath away.

Wait… your breath?

Your lungs had stopped burning from lack of air.  And really, the pain in your stomach from your wounds had completely vanished, as if it had never happened. You looked down, your hands cautiously creeping down your torso, expecting to come into contact with your own innards, but there was nothing, save for a blood soaked hole in your shirt.  Underneath was unblemished skin.

And below that, where your legs ought to be….were scales.  Pure white scales, with what was a mottling of sea green here and there, shiny and flawless, glittering like a scattering of polished jade.  And at the end, white tail fins, translucent like a bridal veil.

"What...what happened?"   You thought, but it came out in a voice in your head, almost like Vergil’s.

You could feel Vergil’s soft chuckle reverberating through you, “ Did I not tell you once that bonding with a merfolk had inexplicable powers?"  You felt his tail snake around yours, as he pulled you in for another kiss, this time with more passion, and you slung your arms around his shoulders.  He twirled you around endlessly as you both nuzzled each other.  You’d cry out of happiness right now, but the tears wouldn’t, or couldn’t flow.  A small price to pay for such bliss.

"I have longed for this day for what seemed like forever," Vergil spoke.  " I was brave enough to face the humiliation of captivity, and yet I could not confess my love to you, mira Sifa, except in half truths and deceptions.  Tonight, I have learned the folly of such things….I almost lost you."   He held you close in trembling arms, and you had never felt so safe, so free.

'I.. I feared'  he hesitated, 'that in order to save you, I would rob you of your choice…" To which you laughed and kissed his nose.  

“I’m here, Vergil, and I want to be here.  There is nowhere on earth or sea I would rather be, than at your side."

"Hey you two  angelfish!"  A voice rang out, drawing out an annoyed huff out of Vergil. I think it’s time we make like a shoal, and migrate out of here. Dante swam circles around you two, and made some sort of clicking at you that sounded kinda like a catcall.  " Lookin’ good, mudskipper!"  He smirked at his brother, "Verg, you certainly have mom’s way of reeling in a human…."

"Of course you would have to ruin a private moment."  Vergil gruffed, and you giggled bashfully.  You gave him a peck on the cheek, which was enough to diffuse the sour look on his face, and he pulled you in for another passionate kiss.

He sighed as he pulled away. "As much as I hate to admit it… He does have a point, we must make haste.  No doubt your actions will draw the attention of more humans-"

And then you heard the strangest sound, like a crumpling of metal, and then a resounding sound of thunder as something heavy crashed through the surface.  You gave an involuntary shriek, as both Dante and Vergil manifested their weapons, Vergil whipping you behind him as the large object slowed down, but continued to sink past the three of you.  As it passed, you recognized it as its lights flickered, then shut off.

“My car…”  

“Was your father attempting to kill us?” Vergil asked, obviously alarmed.

You looked up at the surface.  With your new enhanced senses, you could see much further, but looking through the surface in the middle of the night was beyond your abilities.  Still, you knew that it hadn’t been an assassination attempt.

“No, I think he’s trying to make it look like  I drove off the bridge… to make it look like an accident.” You clung to Vergil, conflicted if you should surface, to tell your father that despite what he had done, he was stil- no… no he didn’t deserve it.  You chose your path, and you would walk it, or swim it, to be more accurate.  Your old life was to be left behind, this was your new future, with the man you truly loved. “Let’s go,” you murmured as you held Vergil close.  “I’m ready to explore a whole new world, with you at my side…”

And with his hand gently guiding you to start swimming in a steady rhythm.  (It felt strange not having the legs to kick), the three of you began to swim into the deep depths, into a world that excited you to no end.

****

Sarah leaned back in the cool summer darkness, her sandaled feet resting on the sand, the rest of her laying on a quilted blanket.  She was all alone on the beach, with only the distant crash of the waves on the sand audible from quite a distance away, even over the sound of the portable radio.

"In business news," the radio announcer reported, "Shares for fishing giant Mundus Incorporated are nearly down fifty percent after reaching a record high of $79.15 a share three months ago.  Investigations into alleged attacks of terrorism have been started, with two of their flagships, Shadow, and Nevan being reported as being capsized in what sources say are planned attacks.  Authorities have been investigating to see if said attacks are related to the sinking of the Phantom that happened over a year ago.  Thankfully, no casualties have been reported, but the toll on the company has been devastating.  In tonight's business panel, we'll be bringing in some experts to discuss whether Mundus is suffering a run of bad luck, or...something more sinister.  We attempted to reach out to the Founder of Mundus, but we received  a reply from his lawyer, requesting privacy for him and his family, as they deal with the loss of th-"

Sarah abruptly switched the channel to a station playing something a bit more upbeat.  

Three months, that's how long it had been since the accident that had claimed her best friend’s life.  Sarah still hadn't fully processed the revelation that one morning, two weeks before she was going to be the maid-of-honour in what was about to be the social event of the summer, she received a phone call from Doc's mother. One of the smartest, kindest, most empathetic people she had ever met had driven off the railing of the suspension bridge that Sarah could see glittering over in the distance.  The police had deemed it an accident, caused by a freak blowout of a tire.  There had been rumours that alcohol had been involved, but Sarah dismissed them outright.  Doc was far too responsible to ever drive under the influence, but there was that niggling worry that her body had never been recovered, only her car, sunk into the bottom of the bay.

And while it hurt to lose her, Sarah knew her pain couldn't compare to what her friend's fiance and father were feeling.

Fredrick had come home, after nearly a year away, shaken and sobbing.  When she had seen him at the memorial, the grief and guilt was obviously apparent on his face.

"I should have come home sooner, I shouldn't have left her alone all this time..." he'd confessed, and Sarah felt sympathy for him.  He was a good man, and perhaps he and Doc would have made a good married couple, given enough time.  She recalled the last phone call she had with her friend, a week before her death.

"Are you excited?  Just a couple of more weeks to go!"

"Yeah," she seemed tired, and a bit out of it, but with all the last minute preparations going on, that was to be expected. "I just have one more plan I have to put into motion, and I'll be ready."

"Oh?  Spill the beans!"

"Sorry, Sarah.  This is something of a personal nature.  Maybe later, when all is said and done, I'll let you in on the secret."

And now she would never find out.  

If Fredrick was devastated, Doc's father was destroyed.  He'd moved among the guests like a shambling corpse, pale and almost lifeless.  He'd not even been able to deliver a short eulogy for his daughter, and had to be prompted to just greet the guests.  To be fair, he'd just lost the light of his life, the one thing he'd treasured over anything in his life.  The man was a bit controlling over his child’s choices, that was true, but there was no doubt that he loved his daughter, and that her death had killed something in him.

Sarah looked at two large bottles of sparkling wine that were embedded in the sand.  One was unopened, and the other was half empty.  They'd been intended to be a wedding gift for the lovely couple, but Sarah hadn't felt it was proper to give them out, so they'd stayed there in her cupboard for the past three months, waiting for a special occasion.

Her best friend's birthday seemed to be the moment Sarah was waiting for.  Ordinarily, she'd have gone to the cemetery, and poured one out for her friend, but it felt like an empty gesture, especially since the grave was unoccupied.  So, it seemed fitting to take the offering to the one thing her best friend loved the most: The ocean.  

“And now for our Midnight Good News!” the chipper voice of the DJ exclaimed as the music ended. “We at 94.3 always like to end your day with a spot of goodness, to remind you that despite what the Newscasts say, there’s a big wide world of happy endings.  So tonight we bring you the heartwarming story of the crew of the Deep-Water Sub MINO, ‘Marine Investigative Nautical Observatory, and its sister sub, the TAURUS ‘Trawling Armoured Underwater Reef Unassisted Submarine’.  For six terrifying hours, the crew of four scientists were stranded 13 thousand feet underwater, their engines stalled by a plume of superhot volcanic water that erupted unexpectedly.  Just when it seemed that oxygen was running out, the engines seemed to come back online, and they floated back to the surface in a record one and a half hours.  What’s even more amazing, when their engines were subsequently checked, it appeared they’d been rendered nonfunctional since about the original eruption, the hot water had deposited a rock hard crust on the propellers, rendering them useless.  Chief Engineer  Dr. Nicoletta Goldstein theorizes that they got lucky, and floated by a larger, but more gentle eruption of hot water that floated the subs to safety, but as there seemed to be quite a lot of damage to the measuring tools, so it’s just a wacky guess at the moment.  We’ll have the Doctor on tomorrow  morning’s show, sharing her extraordinary adventure.   That’s it for tonight!  From all of us at 94.3, we want to wish a happy ending to your day.

Sarah chuckled, her friend would have definitely loved that story.  Adventure in the deep sea was right up her alley , she thought as she turned off the radio, and took yet another swig of the bottle.   It was now midnight, and it was time.

On unsteady feet, she slowly got off the blanket, and made her way across the silk soft sands toward the shoreline.  On the horizon, the city's lights twinkled, reflecting off the gently swelling water, creating another skyscape of stars.  It was the start of a new day, and aside from the painful memories, it was shaping up to be a wonderful one.

Despite the summer heat, the water was chilly as she walked into it, until the waves reached her knees.

Pulling off the foil, and using her swiss army knife, she yanked  out the cork and after the initial stream of gas poured out, she paused, raised the bottle, and took a deep breath.

"Happy Birthday, Doc."

And with reverent steadiness, she poured the bubbling contents into the water, where sweet mixed with salty, where the fruit of the vine mixed with the blood of the earth, where an invention of man mixed with something that had been there since nearly the dawn of time.  And as she did so, she sent a silent prayer to her friend's spirit, hoping that the wind and the waves would transport her message.

With her little ritual complete, she walked back to the blanket she, where she would sleep off her hangover.  She might have not been as attuned to the ocean as her friend, but the gentle swell of waves had always helped her fall asleep.

One final swig of her bottle, and Sarah rested her head on a rolled up sweatshirt, and watched the stars.

Strange, there must be a party nearby or something, because above the gentle sound of wind and waves, she could hear an enchanting song coming through.  She couldn't make out the words...perhaps opera?

Isil shem’ore

Isil lin’ore

Mira pharar, mira ofar, mira kanar,

D’rashana karif’ore

Isil dilshonin sa oplalim

Sa kintal o sa polim

Sa racarto shipal o sa whelik

Nekalin parand’ore fa pishim

Ah, mira sifa, mira sifa

Winik fa pishim lin’more.

And then the song repeated, but this time another voice rang out, sweet as the wine she had just drank.  This time, she could make out the words, layering as the man's voice finished a line.

Isil shem’ore

To you I sing

Isil lin’ore

To you I give

Mira pharar, mira ofar, mira kanar,

My blade, my love, my soul,

D’rashana karif’ore

To bind myself to you

Isil dilshonin sa oplalim

I would traverse the briny depths

Sa kintal o sa polim

Brave the ice of the north,

Sa racarto shipal o sa whelik

The blistering Sun of the South

Nekalin parand’ore fa pishim

Anything to win your heart

Ah, mira sifa, mira sifa

Ah, My Beloved, My Beloved

Winik fa pishim lin’more.

Will you give your heart to me?

Strange, Sarah thought as she drifted off into sleep, the second voice sounded so like her best friend....perhaps it was the alcohol, but it was comforting to think that her friend was still out there, with her own happy ending.

[chicgeekgirl89]

Begin Again: Chapter 2

Fandom: SEAL Team

Characters: Sonny Quinn, Lisa Davis

Read Chapter 1 Here

                                  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

By the time they landed they still had nothing and Lisa’s heart had started to really hammer inside her chest. They couldn’t lose Ray. The team would never make it without him. Not to mention how devastating it would be for Naima and the kids. 

They disembarked and went straight into Mandy’s office, still searching for anything useful. “God what are we going to do?” Lisa asked, rubbing her temple.

Mandy continued to click back and forth. “There’s got to be something here. There’s way more footage than we thought. We must have—“

She trailed off and stared at the screen, eyes wide with surprise. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Lisa leaned closer. “What is it?” 

When she finally saw what Mandy had spotted her heart sank. “Is that Vic?”

“He lied,” Mandy said, grabbing the laptop and getting to her feet. “He lied to the whole team.”

“And he was going to let Ray take the fall.” Lisa’s head was spinning. It was a relief, but also gut wrenching; a betrayal of all of them.

“We have to tell Eric,” Mandy said grimly. 

Eric’s face didn’t change when they showed him the footage, but Lisa could feel his anger and sadness. “What do you want to do?” she asked.

“Let’s take it to the team. Decision is their’s,” he said. 

She watched everyone’s faces as they played the footage, seeing on each of them the moment they realized what it meant. It wasn’t a surprise when Sonny nearly jumped across the table to strangle Vic, or that it took three of the guys to hold him back. This was the kind of wound that couldn’t be repaired.

“That was brutal,” Mandy said when they’d left the room to let the team decide Vic’s fate.

“Nothing worse than betraying your brothers,” Blackburn said with a shake of his head. “I’ve got paperwork to take care of. You two make sure to get a good night’s rest. You’ve earned it.”

“You all right?” Mandy asked when he had gone. “You look pale.”

Lisa swallowed, silently begging her stomach to stay in place as it churned in her gut. “Yeah I’m good. Just worried about the guys.”

Mandy nodded. “Well you should get some rest. I’ve got a couple calls I have to make.” She eyed her critically. “You sure you’re good?”

“Yes!” Lisa tried to play it off with a laugh. “Go make your calls. I’m going to stick around and make sure the guys are…as okay as they can be.”

Mandy seemed skeptical but left her alone. Lisa was grateful for some time to go lick her wounds privately. She walked to the armory and took up residence outside of Sonny’s cage, settling on the floor because she really didn’t think she could stay on her feet any longer. Her head went back to rest against the metal links and she closed her eyes, willing the nausea and dizziness to go away, along with the thundering headache. She just needed to relax for a little bit and then everything would be fine.

She must have drifted off for a second because she was startled awake by the guys trudging in. One look at their faces told her all she needed to know; Vic was no longer part of Bravo. And that was going to hurt for a long time. 

“Davis,” Clay said. “What are you still doing here?”

“Wanted to see if you guys needed anything,” she said from the floor, unable to make herself get to her feet. 

Ray’s eyes met hers briefly, jaw tight, steely resolve in his eyes. “We’re good,” he said. “Thank you. For what you found.”

She nodded. “Couldn’t stand to lose you.”

Everyone seemed eager to leave, packing up their gear and heading out without much conversation. She couldn’t blame them. All she wanted was to fall into her bed and forget about this entire mission.

“Time for you to go home killer,” Sonny said, offering her a hand.

He pulled her to her feet and she immediately staggered, breath catching in her throat as the world spun. She grabbed onto Sonny’s arm and felt his hands catch around her waist as she collapsed into him.

The next thing she knew, she was on the floor, Trent directly in her face. “Davis, hey, look at me. Do you know where you are?”

They were in transport right? Or maybe they were still in Caracas? “I—I don’t—“

She couldn’t remember. Oh god. She couldn’t remember. 

Well this had taken an even shittier turn of events. Sonny trudged with the boys back to the armory, his gut clenched so tightly it hurt. They’d never lost a brother like this before. Half of him wanted to tear the kid apart and the other half wanted to curl up in a corner and cry. He’d gotten used to having Vic around. Had even started what felt like a friendship. Seeing Ray rip his trident like that…Sonny shook his head. It royally fucking sucked.

Davis was propped up against his cage looking like death warmed over and it made Sonny feel just a tiny bit better to have her there. It felt normal again after a lot of months of weird.

“Time for you to go home killer,” Sonny said, pulling her up off the floor. Her face immediately drained of color and she grabbed his arm for support. His hands automatically went to her waist, catching her against his chest as she went completely limp. “Jase!”

Bravo One turned and saw the situation and then immediately caught the hallway door, yelling for Trent to come back. Sonny lowered Lisa to the ground, mindful of her head. Clay handed him a pack and he used it to prop her up a bit. “I’ll call for medical,” Ray said, reaching for the room phone as Trent returned and dropped to his knees.

He checked her airway and her pulse then rubbed her sternum fiercely until her eyes fluttered open. “Davis, hey, look at me, do you know where you are?” Trent asked.

“I—I don’t—“ She looked so scared and Sonny felt a wave of terror swamp over him.

“What’s your name?” Trent tried.

“Lisa.” Her face relaxed a little bit in relief.

“And what’s my name?”

“…Trent.” The answer was far too slow in coming for anybody’s liking.

“You know what year it is?”

That got nothing but a panicked stare. “Okay, it’s all right, just breathe. Help’s coming. We’re going to get you taken care of,” Trent said, keeping his voice calm even as his hands continued to move, loosening her clothes and checking her skull for any injuries he might have missed.

“No, I’m fine. I’ll just go home.” She tried to sit up and blanched.

Sonny and Clay each put a hand on her shoulders. “No you need a CT scan,” Trent said. “With these kinds of symptoms you could have a brain bleed.”

Base medical arrived at that moment, listening as Trent explained the incident and her symptoms.

Sonny wanted to follow them as they left, but once again there was still work to be done. Things had to be put away right or it would mess up the whole team. 

He worked as fast as he could and it still took him over an hour to get to the base hospital. The team had spent so much time there over the years that the doctors and nurses knew them all by name. Monica was behind the desk. “What is it Quinn? You get in another dust up?”

“Not me this time,” Sonny told her. “Lisa Davis. She still here?”

She consulted her computer and nodded. “Down that way. Sawyer’s in there with her.”

He wandered down the hall until he found the room. Lisa was asleep, Trent scrolling through his phone by her bed. “Just wanted to check in. How’s she doing?” Sonny asked quietly, his eyes glued to her pale face.

“Better now. They gave her some fluids so she was more lucid before she fell asleep. Said she threw up on the way home but didn’t want to make trouble.”

Sonny felt a shiver go down his spine. She’d been hiding this from them and he didn’t want to think about what could have happened if she’d headed home without further treatment. “She uh, she gonna be all right?”

Trent nodded. “CT just came back. She’s got a pretty severe concussion, but no skull fracture or bleeding. They’re going to release her in a little bit.”

“That’s good. I can wait with her if you want to go. You got life to get back to.”

Trent looked hesitant. “She’s going to need someone to go home with her. She can’t be alone with such a severe concussion.”

“I’ll watch her,” Sonny said. “I don’t mind.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah it’s not a problem.”

It was a huge problem. Lisa might kill him for getting in her business. But he wouldn’t sleep tonight anyway without knowing if she was okay. Might as well keep her company while he did it.

If Trent suspected anything he didn’t show it as he stood. “I’ll have my phone on. Call if there’s any issues. Anytime.”

“Yeah, will do.”

[lotornomiko]

Light Grasping Darkness Chapter Three (of six. So not safe for work!)

The Captain Swan smut continues in a Hook POV. Including my author’s note from seven years ago, cause felt like it had backstory pertinent to this...

Sex with Emma Swan was exactly what Hook had always known it would be. A wild experience, like holding a bolt of lightning in your arms. No shy and timid miss, Emma was a red hot blaze, setting him on fire long before she had ever purposefully set out to seduce him. Hook had wanted a taste of her from the moment they had first laid eyes on each other, Emma that stunning a sight with her long blonde hair, and form fitting clothing. From that first time, and every moment that had passed since then, always had they sizzled with awareness, Hook finding she wasn't just pretty, but had a sharp, cunning mind, and a hardened shell around the tough exterior of her heart.

Emma wasn't just to be admired. In Hook's eyes she was to be held, to be touched, tasted, fucked. And if the circumstances had been right, if Hook hadn't had his heart engulfed in a grief that had lasted for several hundred years, he might have even considered Emma perfect for loving.

But Hook hadn't had use for love in years. Hadn't wanted it in forever. He had all but let his heart die the day his beloved Milah had been killed, Hook ceasing to live, to thrive, existing instead for one and only one purpose alone.

Revenge.

Hook had let himself become a shell of the man who had once loved life. A man who had been in the pursuit of pleasure in all it's finest forms. He had gone from a hedonistic life style, to a man possessed. Driven by only one need, desperate for it, needing relief from it and the memories that haunted him still.

His grief was a cold companion to his revenge, Hook tormented by what he had lost. By who had been lost, Hook angry whenever he thought of the life denied him and Milah. Their dreams of a happily ever after destroyed, Hook wanted to do the same to the man---the monster who had been the ruin of all that Hook had held dear.

Rumplestiltskin.

A coward who had grown big feeding off other's fears and misfortunes, revenge seemed all but impossible when up against the power that Rumplestiltskin now had. And yet Hook hadn't been able to rest, hadn't been able to give up those maddening thoughts of revenge. He'd spend something like three hundred years in Neverland's waters, letting its magic extend his youth and life to an unnatural length. Using the time Neverland had granted him to plot, to seek out and find the things rumored to be able to defeat the being that Rumplestiltskin had become.

All quests turned up nothing, every one of the leads going cold. There was no one and nothing that had the power to destroy the Dark One, no power or talisman, no spell or enchantment. Or so it had seemed, until the day Hook had learned of a dagger. A dagger told to him by the Dark One's own son.

Of course Baelfire hadn't known just who he was betraying his father too, when he so innocently slipped and spoke of the dagger. But then Baelfire wouldn't be the first, or the last person Hook would use, in his never ending quest for revenge. So many faces come to him now, Baelfire's, Smee's, Aurora's and Belle's. Even the two queens, but the one Hook focuses on the most is the fierce blonde who is currently wrapped tighter than a fist around him.

She feels more than amazing, any words Hook could think of to praise her falling short of Emma's true glory. Radiating warmth and light, working Hook up to a frenzy, she is a tiger against him. Clawing apart his shirt, her nails scratching at his skin, while her teeth bite down on his shoulder, Emma bleeds him and it only makes Hook harder.

His body thrumming with power, he pistons into her furiously. Hook knows she will be sore, that the inside of her thighs and her back will bear the bruises of this sizzling encounter. But any attempt by him to slow down and gentle his actions, is met with resistance from her, Emma clinging to him, writhing. Actually digging her heels into his ass, trying to force him to keep up that relentless pace under the guiding pressure of her feet.

Hook's sure every word uttered is some kind of curse, the two of them both raspy toned and breathless. Emma's keeping them pressed as close as possible, shifting only at his urging, and only long enough to allow a mere sampling of her breasts. She seems to thrive on the constant feel of their skin pressed together, and truth be known so did Hook. As much as he enjoyed her breasts, there was something equally satisfying to feel them squishing against his chest, with her pebbled nipples rubbing against his.

Hook can't stop kissing her. It doesn't matter where, a moment on the cheek, a lifetime on the lips. Her throat already so bruised from his earlier abuse, gets even more, Hook biting and sucking, finding her pulse point, and laving his tongue over it. Finding it's tempo is almost as frantic as his hip's movements, and equally as wild.

Somewhere, a moan is torn out of him. Emma is moving in new, unexpected ways, rolling her hips in a circular motion. It is different from the steady up and down thrust bounce of their bodies, lessening but not crushing the climax that has been building inside him. His balls already so swollen with seed, tingles in new ways, Hook biting at his lip a second before Emma does the same.

Their eyes meet in that moment, and it's not love or like, or even desperate, animalistic need that stares back. The lust that they are feeling, the euphoric feeling they should be building towards, is instead colored by something darker, something devastating. Emma looks at Hook and sees her coming death, and Hook is unable to do anything but feel regret that his actions have led them to this.

"Sorry..." He whispers, and the pirate is actually ashamed. "I'm so sorry...."

Emma doesn't lie and tell him that it's okay. Or that she is fine with it and forgives him. Neither does she scream and strike out, or break down in tears. She'll play the hard ass to the end, no braver a person than she, as Emma faces down death in order to buy the others' time to escape.

Hook wishes it wasn't so, wishes he could do something more than give her these desperate stolen moments. But the compulsion inside him, the commands given to him by the ones who hold the dagger, are ever present and strong. Regina and Cora want him to kill this woman, to kill Emma AND her family. Hook and Emma's desires hold the compulsion at bay, but have not defeated it. It waits for it chance, waits for Hook to slip, and for the Dark One to come forth. To fulfill orders given, to hunt down and kill, to be without mercy, and above all a tool of the Evil Queens.

The frustration he feels, has the pirate slamming his hook into the wall. The paneling creaks and splinters around the silver, sharp tip, allowing the hook to penetrate into the wood. The pirate is cursing, railing against the fates, against his own foolish, reckless, STUPID actions. Hating that he had been so quick to find and use the dagger, a weapon he hadn't even properly researched, let alone understood what repercussions of what it's use would then have.

Hook had grown used to using people. To hurting them. In a life lived only for revenge, it had been cruel but absolutely necessary. There was little that was considered going too far, everything from switching allies at a drop of the hat, to taking a princess’ heart, fair game. He had lied, connived, tricked and manipulated, used and been used himself. Why the very nature of all his relationships had been about such things. From Regina, to Cora, even Emma, it had all been about using. About deceit and betrayals, about doing whatever it took to get to the point he could finally kill Rumplestiltskin.

Emma wasn't an innocent in this either. She had been just as quick to use and betray him, a fact that hadn't made Hook hurt nearly as much as admire her. She was very much like a pirate, holding her own code of honor. Loyal to those she let in and deemed worthy, Hook had most assuredly not earned her trust. And though he HAD been angry with her, for backstabbing and leaving him on top of the beanstalk, Hook couldn't claim she was entirely wrong in doing that. Not when Hook's own loyalties had been fast and loose, the pirate looking out only for himself.

And now here he was, not only regretting, but wishing there had been some other way. Wishing he had stopped and considered his revenge complete, after the princess Belle was cursed into forgetting not only who she was, but that of her love for Rumplestiltskin. Wishing that had been enough of a blow against Rumplestiltskin, wishing he had ignored the grief that had still flowed through him, regretting thinking his pain and suffering would stop if he could just do something even worse to the monster.

That revenge hadn't been enough, hadn't hurt Rumplestiltskin enough, and so Hook's pain and torment had remained. Hook had wanted to fill his empty heart with something other than the pain and misery it constantly felt, the pirate had actually thought if he killed Rumplestiltskin, he'd finally feel relief.

But Hook had been wrong. Again. Killing Rumplestiltskin hadn't made Hook feel anything, not relief, not peace, not even satisfaction at a job well done. The familiar ache had remained, Hook wondering if anything but oblivion would end his torment. But before Hook had been able to turn and raise the dagger in on himself, the power had hit him. Power so immense, it nearly brought Hook to his knees, magic running rampant INSIDE him. Stomach churning, blood on fire, a stabbing pain spreading through him, Hook had somehow managed not to scream. He endured the magic that was rollicking within his body, changing him, making him into something else, and he hadn't understood. Hadn't even after his name, his REAL name, Killian Jones, had inscribed itself onto the dagger's blade.

He doesn't quite remember when the full realization hit, but when it did? Hook had screamed. Not so much of terror, but of full out despair. A rough broken cry, that was equal if not worse to the scream Hook had let out the day Milah's heart had been ripped out of her chest, then crushed before his eyes.

Understanding that he hadn't had before, had hit him then. Hook felt the power of thousands coursing through him, all the knowledge and skill of the Dark Ones that preceded him. Chief among that understanding, was this. That magic came with a price. It ALWAYS came with a price. A price Hook was paying in spades, having worked the worse kind of magic, for the worst reason, and with the worst emotion in his heart. Murder plus revenge and hate added, made a most potent combination, with few if any more powerful than those three combined.

Hook had become what he had hated for so long, what he had hunted and obsessed about. He had become the monster, now had Rumplestiltskin's voice in his head. The pirate swore he could hear Rumplestiltskin laughing at him, Hook screaming anew, the dagger dropping from his hand. Hook fell to his knees then, dry heaving in response to his despair, his horror at his curse. Life immortal was no gift to one who had lived for the day that he could finally die.

Life resumed around him, Hook aware of shouts, of fighting. In some ways it had never stopped, everyone battling, jockeying for position, trying to kill, trying to protect, attempting whatever it took to come out on top. Then they had fought for Hook, for the dagger he had dropped, and he still hadn't understood! Not until Cora had snatched the dagger off the floor with her magic, not until she ran curved nails over the name--Hook's name, engraved in the metal.

Hook had felt that touch like a sharp caress on his soul, and the words that followed, Cora speaking his name, enslaving him as the Dark One, making him hers to command. It had felt like a chained leashed around his neck, one that grew tighter and tighter the longer Hook had tried resisting her commands. Hurting but not killing him, not even letting him pass out to escape the pain.

He had seen then what his life would be like, what he would always be. Just a slave, a tool for the queens to use, the pirate made an extension of their will. And their first awful command was to order the complete and total annihilation of their enemies, the Charmings. Cora had spoken each name with relish, painting magical targets on Snow White, Prince Charming, and Emma Swan's back.

Hook's horror was no worse than the Charming family's own. They had been prepared to fight, until they saw Hook battle against the command. His own hesitations had bought them time, the family taking off running, the queens snarling and screeching in outrage. Hook remembers Regina slapping him with her magic, Cora wielding the dagger, repeating that awful command. Over and over, until Hook could resist no more, and he had HAD to move, to pursue the family with that deadly compulsion guiding his every move.

He had gone after them with killing intent, but holding the wish that they knew something he had not. That they would be able to not only stop, but kill the Dark One, the monster that Hook had become. But it had become readily apparent that they did not, and not even Emma's lusty manipulations could hold the monster at bay forever. That she could at all, was amazing, but Hook wasn't thinking on what it really meant. On what she could someday mean to him. He wasn't thinking on love, wasn't wishing for kisses that could break curses. Why would he, when he had seen what Rumplestiltskin had had, and had wrongfully assumed that Belle, who had loved him, hadn't been able to transform the Dark One back to human.

Hook wasn't thinking that the dark magic inside him had recognized something in Emma. Something that Hook himself wouldn't have wanted to believe in. He wasn't thinking in the potential of love, or for happily ever after, and certainly not that of true love's kiss. If he had even just the slightest hope, love would have had the room needed to maneuver, to be nurtured. It would have done more than just distract the Dark One, it would have stripped him free of any murderous commands.

It wasn't, and he wasn't, and for the first time in forever, Hook felt ready to cry. To weep and grieve for someone other than himself and Milah, to hold regrets that weren't purely selfish. Hook looked at Emma and he was truly sorry, and knew his feelings weren't enough, that his apologies weren't going to save the day.

And she was okay with that, her own eyes wet with tears, as Emma reached up and cupped Hook's face with her hands. Such tenderness wasted, for Hook felt he didn't deserve her kindness, or her acceptance of what he had to do. He fought her as she pulled him down for a lip biting, soul touching kiss, her gasp being swallowed up by Hook, as his body tensed, then pumped forward three times more, seed flowing out of him in an eruption of liquid warmth.

She was greedy for it, Hook feeling Emma's body spasming. Quivering and convulsing, Emma's own climax working to draw out Hook's, to make him spill every drop that he had inside her. Groaning, Hook let their bodies reach the natural conclusion, touching his forehead to Emma's, and listening to her panting breaths.

Hook wanted to stay like that forever, Emma held against him, with his cock buried as deep as it could reach inside her. He didn't want to think what would happen once he pulled out, once the compulsion kicked up in strength. He didn't want to think about having to kill her, didn't want to see his hands red with her blood, or see the life snuffed out of her eyes. Hook didn't want anything bad to touch this moment, or the moments that followed, and he actively fought Emma when she began to squirm free of his arms.

"Emma, dont.." Hook started to say, and nearly gasped himself when she dropped to the floor. First assumptions had Hook thinking Emma had tried to stand on her own too soon, but the hands reaching around his cock vanished that and nearly all thoughts from his head. For Emma was not only touching him, she was bending her face over the crown of his cock, licking at the still wet head. It wasn't just a tentative lick, it was a bold out and out tasting, Emma firmly laving her tongue over as much as it could cover in one stroke.

Hook's body tensed, the man staring down at her in disbelief. He had fantasies about her doing this, but had never expected it to be this easy. But there she was, the glorified savior of Storybrooke, on her knees and licking at his cock. Cleaning it with her tongue, making him tingle anew, and then surge to life in a way it had never done before so fast. Hook wasn't sure what the hell was going on, if this was another facet of the Dark One's magic, but he wasn't about to let it go to waste. And neither was Emma, judging by the positively wicked look she gave him, a moment before she took him into her mouth.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To Be Continued...

Went a little paranormal romance there at the end. What I mean is, in most if not all paranormal romances that I've read (And I admit I haven't read nearly enough! XD) it seems when the male is a supernatural being, he has an amazing or ZERO recovery time before he can get hard again. So I took to the notion that the Dark One, wouldn't need a lot of time to recover, especially if his woman started doing sexual things to him right away. XD

Anyway...had a lot of trouble with this chapter. I knew what I wanted, but it's like I couldn't get it written down right. On my livejournal, I actually have posted the first attempt at starting this chapter. But I felt it wasn't reading right, was lacking. The chapter still doesn't match up to what my initial thoughts were....but I like it anyway....

Though I feel like I should issue a warning, and I hope no one stopped reading for fear one of them is going to die. They're not, you just have to keep reading for when I get to the part with how they get around or stop the command he's been given.

Though now I'm worrying for how to handle next chapter, and if it will have a lot of smut in it or not. This had SOME smut in it, but it feels like there was more thoughts and some stuff about the past revealed. But not as much as I wanted....so I might as well explain it here. Clearly this deviated from the show at one point. The way I've been writing it, Hook did shoot Belle and cause her to be cursed to lose her memories and love. But nobody ever went to New York..so no one knows that Neal is Baelfire and Henry's father. Some things got a little blurred, cause Regina and Cora do go through Belle's purse, and find the dagger map, then "ditch" Hook. But then again deviates from the show, because it was all a trick, a manipulation on their part, to get him to find and use the dagger, and become their Dark One slave. This part I really want to somehow get to explain in the fic, I thought for this chapter, but I couldn't get it to write well. So hopefully a future chapter....

I'm hoping for next chapter, to get a thing mentioned about how the place Hook teleported him and Emma to, is actually his bedroom on the Jolly Roger. So yeah, in this storyline, Emma's never been on the ship yet, so can't possibly recognize any part of it.

I don't know if I'll try to start four tonight. I've been working on this chapter since like ten am....it's really frustrated me and it's almost six pm now. I still have to proofread and spellcheck too....but who knows. Maybe inspiration will flow easier for starting four. I sure hope so.

I'm really hoping to be able to finish this story somewhere between say chapter six to chapter ten. Somewhere in between there. Unless I somehow mess up. X_X Of course my sequel would be much longer, cause it has the harder task in it. But I decided the sequel should be called Seducing Darkness. XD Still struggling for a title for this one though....

I think I've talked enough for an author's note....more than enough…

Update 6/03/2020: The tweaking and minor corrections project continues...I think three if officially my fave chapter of this particular fic!

[ko-chan-the-blueberry-donut]

Catching Fire (Mericcup Fanfiction) Chapter 2: Something Wicked Comes

Here is Chapter Two! Thank you everyone who is reading, liking, and reviewing so far!

Disclaimer: I down own six swans, daughter of the forest, how to train your dragon, and brave

Summary: Tricked by the Witch Gothel, Merida must undertake a vow of silence to save her family from remaining bears forever while making sure her heart isn’t stolen away by a charming Viking. 

@witch19 @thekitsune

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Chapter Two: Something Wicked Comes

Merida led Angus slowly back towards the castle as the sun rose in the horizon. She yawned, the night catching up with her, and she hoped she could maybe catch a few hours of sleep before princess lessons. She patted her horse affectionately, praising him for his hard work in helping her assist Valka. She promised to give him tons of apples when they reached the castle.

However, she never got the chance.

Merida froze, slowing Angus to a stop as she approached the crowd outside the castle. There stood her father and mother along with soldiers. They stared at her grimly, and Merida knew they knew what she had done.

“Merida.” Her mother began shakily, her lips trembling. “What have you done?” her mother stressed.

“Did she force ya, lass? Please tell me she forced ya.” Fergus begged. Merida felt her insides freeze. She’s never seen her father look at her with such agony. He was praying beyond belief that his daughter hasn’t committed treason.

Merida slid off Angus, speech erupting from her.

“Ma, Da—she was a human! She—she looked just like any of us! She has a son—”

“I don’t bloody care if she has a son!” King Fergus bellowed, silencing her, and Merida was shocked for he never took such an angry tone with her before. “Every Viking is scum of the earth! They steal, rape, and murder us, and you’re telling me you let this one go because she has a son?!”

“Merida, did the Viking force you to let her go?” Elinor stepped closer, gripping her daughter’s arms desperately. Merida winced at the force she was being held. However, the sun shined against Merida’s necklace, and Elinor’s eyes caught the glint, seeing the insignia. She gasped, releasing Merida as if she were fire herself. “No… Merida…”

The soldiers looked nervous, unaware of what to do, waiting their king and queen’s orders. Her parents looked devastated, broken that she would release someone who was a threat to their home. The reality that their daughter helped a Viking escape of her own free will and even is carrying a Viking trinket slapping them in the face.

“Da… I couldn’t let her be tortured. Ma, you understand, right?” Merida beseeched her mother. Elinor couldn’t look at her.

“No Merida, I don’t.” Elinor told her. “By letting that Viking go, you just put us all in danger. You let that Viking escape with all the information she had, and we have no idea where she is now.”

“She won’t hurt us! She just wanted to go home—”

“Is that what she spun to you, lass? Why do ye think she was here in the first place in Scots’ territory?” her mother countered her, and Merida had no answer to that. Sorrow coursed through her, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret what she did. She jutted her chin and straightened her shoulders, defiance shining in her ocean eyes.

“I don’t regret what I did.” Merida stated, daring them to execute her then and there. Fergus and Elinor looked at her in disappointment.

“Very well, lass.” Fergus said. He couldn’t look at his daughter as he said his next words. “Confine the princess to her room. Station guards at her door. She is not to be released until I say so.” He commanded.

“But Da!” Merida exclaimed, as the soldiers restrained her. She stomped on a soldier’s foot, causing him to yelp and she reached for her parents who were walking away. “Ma! No!”

“Please Princess! Be lucky you are not thrown in the dungeons for this.” A soldier beseeched her as he led her away while she continued to cry out for her parents to understand.

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Merida hissed angrily as she took out her carving knife and started hacking at her bedpost violently. They really were going to keep her confined, weren’t they? She refused to think that Valka would come back with a horde of Vikings to slaughter them all.

“You are my kin now. My Tribe will know my claim if they ever see you.” Valka’s words rang in her mind. She ceased hacking away at her bedpost and fingered the trinket.

We’re kin now… Merida thought. It seems when she has gained new kin, she was forsaking her other kin. She thought back to her mother and father looking at her like she had betrayed them, and her heart clenched when she realized in their minds, she had. They just don’t understand. They didn’t talk to her like I had! She didn’t tell them about her son or share feelings about how she didn’t deserve him! The wisp led me there for a reason! She stubbornly thought,

But what if she was wrong? What if the wisp led her there for a different reason than freeing her? What if she was supposed to kill Valka? This train of thought angered Merida and she started hacking at the bedpost again. There was no way she could’ve killed Valka—not after seeing the human face behind the mask.

Damn wisps and their riddles! She gritted her teeth, hacking a slightly large chunk of wood. At this rate she would take down a bedpost by sundown. Why can’t they ever be clear on what yer fate is exactly?!

She let out a frustrated scream as she strangled the mangled bedpost like it was an enemy. She was frustrated at the wisps, her parents, and herself for not being able to get through to them.

Merida wondered through her maiming the bedpost briefly if this Hiccup had to deal with stubborn parents too.

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After hours of waiting in her room with no food, she laid in her bed carving into the bedposts occasionally. She was too restless to sleep, despite being up for more than twenty-four hours. She just couldn’t bring herself to sleep, too busy preparing her argument to appeal to her parents that her decision was right, and they had nothing to fear from releasing Valka.

It was during one of these lazy carvings that her mother entered, looking exhausted as she felt. However, she didn’t dare let her mother see her weakness and stood tall like the queen she would one day be. Her mother didn’t bother looking proper for once and surveyed her daughter.

“We’ve sent out scouts to find the Viking.” Her mother began. “Please, Merida. Admit to your mistake—soon news will get out you’ve helped the Viking escape and the clans will be calling for a gathering.” Elinor explained. Merida felt her stomach churn. The other clans were going to be involved, and she knew even as a princess, they will call for a punishment.

“I won’t, Ma. It was my fate to set her free.” Merida replied with conviction. Elinor looked pained.

“Are you prepared for the price that your fate will cost, lass?” Elinor asked seriously. Merida jutted her chin, refusing to let her fear show. She was a princess of DunBroch—she would not show weakness.

“Then I will pay it with honor knowing I did the right thing.” Merida answered. Her mother looked defeated.

“Very well.” Elinor said. “Then you leave your father and me no choice.”

“What do you mean?” Merida asked, heart starting to pound. Were her parents really going to execute her?

“You have been professing your independence to rule, but it is clear you do not have the sound mind or skill to rule on your own.” Elinor explained sternly. “Come in the morning, we will be writing the clans and ask them to offer their sons for ye as a husband and king to rule by your side.”

“An arranged marriage?!” Merida shouted outraged. She began pacing around, her patience wearing thin. “No, Ma! I refuse to be married off, so some ninny can rule in my stead!”

“You have proven already you are not fit to rule—you do not act in the best interests of DunBroch. A husband and lord will ensure you know your boundaries.” Elinor countered.

“I’ll be a prisoner then!”

“No, Merida, you’ll be married. Be happy your father and I thought of this to help you avoid actual imprisonment for your crimes against the crown!” Elinor fought with her growing frustrated, sorrow tugging at her heart. Why couldn’t Merida see this was for her own good? Fergus and her thought of everything before coming to the conclusion Merida needed a husband to put her in line. It wasn’t easy for them to decide that, but they would rather see their daughter married off than be executed or imprisoned for life.

Merida felt herself hyperventilating. Her parents were going to marry her off and she was expected to be okay with it?! She felt shackles taking a hold of her, restricting her lungs. She was doomed to an unhappy marriage where all she would do is pop out heirs while her husband would rule. She wasn’t a fool. Her parents were lucky to have found love, but she remembered the three heirs last time they had met at a gathering. None of them were fit to be king and would not be her companion as queen. It would be a terrible fit. She was too wild for arrogant Macintosh, too headstrong for quiet MacGuffin, and too vivacious for spacy Dingwall. A marriage with any of them would be unhappy and unequal. She would be expected to be a docile wife, not a powerful queen like her mother was, like Fergus encouraged. She could feel her freedom crumbling before her, stealing her life away.

Elinor was unaware of the thoughts of her daughter and walked towards the family tapestry hanging in her room. She fingered the tapestry.

“I know we’ve indulged you for so long, but Merida, this is what you have been preparing for yer whole life.” Elinor began gently. “Your twenty now—it’s time you settled down and began working on being a proper wife who will stand by her king’s side. You’ll be expected to be more feminine but the joy your family will bring you will outweigh all the restrictions. One day, you’ll make a tapestry of your children and husband to hang on your first born’s wall as well to show them family is important, and tradition is what keeps our kingdom at peace.”

Something snapped within Merida then. She was seeing red and her whole body felt like it was fire itself. She stalked towards the tapestry that her mother had worked on her whole life and felt a white hot fury course through her. She felt a desire to hurt her mother the way her mother was hurting her by condemning her to a life she didn’t want.

Elinor’s heart struck when Merida’s hands reached and tore her tapestry like it was nothing to her. She gave a heartbroken cry as Merida threw the cloth away. Her daughter’s face was red as her hair and she was breathing deeply, fist clenched at her sides.

“I am no longer your kin! I am kin of Valka only!” Merida declared with a raging inferno in her eyes and heart. Elinor seemed to have come to her senses and a vivid anger filled her, running through her veins. She snatched the necklace around her daughter’s neck violently and threw it into the fireplace where the fire roared. Merida gave an anguished cry.

“If you claim to be Viking kin, then you will be treated like Viking kin.” Elinor snarled. However, her eyes widened when Merida raced towards the fire and stuck her hand in to retrieve the necklace. “Merida, no! You’ll hurt yourself!” Alarm rose in her for her daughter’s safety and she raced towards the girl as her child stuck her hand determinedly in the fire.

Merida ignored the agony of the flames licking her skin and clutched Valka’s dragon necklace like a precious treasure. The burning metal imprinted in her skin like a mark of anger and shame, and she winced, crying out. Her mother raced towards her to aid her, but Merida pushed her away, grabbing her bow and arrows, fleeing her room.

“Merida!” Elinor shouted, urging her to come back. “Merida!”

Her shouts of Merida’s name echoed through the halls, but Merida pretended not to hear them. She gave a wounded cry as she retrieved Angus and fled the castle with only Valka’s necklace and her bow.

Angus sensed his master’s anguish and raced towards the woods as fast as he could. The necklace was clutched tight in Merida’s grip, and she knew she was branded with the mark of a Viking necklace, but couldn’t bring herself to care. Tears ran down her face from everything that transpired in the last twenty-four hours. The wisp had betrayed her and now she must pay the price with her freedom. Angus ran in a random direction, and mist soon blocked his vision. He gave a shout, seeing shadows that he couldn’t identify and skidded to a stop, flinging Merida from her house.

“Angus! What’s wrong?!” Merida cried, nursing herself as she felt the tears run down her face. Angus trotted worriedly, searching around for the shadows, wary if something was lurking. Meanwhile, Merida saw they were in the spot where Valka and her parted ways, and she rose from the ground, surveying the structure. It was definitely old, and Merida was cautious at the lack of sound in her surroundings. She was in the middle of the stone circle, and she gave a start realizing she couldn’t hear Angus anymore.

“Angus?” she called, wiping her tears. She placed the now cool metal of Valka’s necklace around her neck as she looked around in alarm. Merida squinted through the mist, trying in vain to find her horse. She heard his cry in the distance, and began to advance towards it when a shadow fell over her. The princess turned, and she gave a scream when she saw a giant, hulking bear behind her with a scar.

Mor’du! Merida realized with terror. She immediately ran away from the threat as the huge bear monster gave chase. His roar was deafening to her ears and she scrambled past trees and branches to flee the creature. However, her heart lurched when she realized she was in the clearing of stones yet again. Pumping her legs to go faster, she ran into the forest only to emerge at the stones once more and her heart dropped at realizing the bear must’ve trapped her.

She inhaled deeply, knowing she would have to fight the bear—the very bear that even her father couldn’t kill—and readied her bow. Its hulking mass emerged from the mist and charged at her full force. Arrows flew through the air but none of them deterred the beast’s speed. Merida backed up and stumbled, crying out as she fell to the ground. She shut her eyes, covering herself, not being able to stomach watching herself getting eaten alive by this beast.

Nevertheless, an arrow shot through the air and pierced the beast in the back of its head. Mor’du gave an agonized cry before falling forward. Merida leapt out of the way just in time before the monster crushed her. Heart pounding and body trembling, her bright ocean eyes looked up to see someone in a cloak holding a bow. The figure stepped forward, reaching a hand to remove their hood and Merida was shocked to see a beautiful woman with raven hair staring back at her. The woman gave her a look of worry.

“Are you all right, Sweetling?” the woman spoke with an accent that wasn’t Scottish. Merida quickly sprung forward and engulfed the woman in her embrace, happy to be alive. The woman lowered her bow and embraced her back, stroking her hair comfortingly. “Oh, you poor thing! You must have been frightened!” the woman cooed soothingly. She let Merida hold her as the poor girl cried in relief.

“I-I-I thought I was going to die!” Merida gasped out through. The black-haired woman nodded in understanding and separated them a bit so she could look into Merida’s face and pushed her messy curls out of the princess’s eyes.

“It’s all right now, Sweetling.” The woman soothed her. Merida could see now under her cloak she was wearing a lavish red dress worthy of nobility. “You’re safe now. I killed the bear.”

“I can’t believe you killed Mor’du!” Merida exclaimed. She chanced a look at the monster to see if he was actually dead, and the beast was still as before. She eyed the arrow jutting out of its skull with appraisal and caution, as if afraid the arrow would disappear and Mor’du would come back.

“You’re lucky I was looking around for some herbs for my famous Hazelnut soup.” The woman chuckled, unperturbed by the dead bear. She circled an arm around Merida. “Come to my cottage, Sweetling. We’ll have you warmed up and relaxed after that ordeal.”

“Thank you…” Merida said, not knowing what to address the woman as.

“Oh, silly me! I forgot to introduce myself! You may call me Gothel!” the raven-haired woman, Gothel, told Merida.

“Thank you, Gothel. I am Merida.” Merida replied. The woman smiled, as if she knew something Merida didn’t.

“Oh, I know who you are, Sweetling! Anyone can recognize your hair a mile away.” Gothel said, caressing Merida’s red locks. Merida blushed, realizing that indeed, the DunBroch red hair is a recognizable trait among the highlands.

“Please don’t tell anyone I’m here!” Merida begged Gothel. “I… ran away from home. I don’t want anyone finding me right now.” She confessed. Gothel made a tut sound.

“Come, Sweetling. We can talk over tea and a nice warm fire. You’re lucky it’s not winter yet or else without a cloak you would surely freeze.” With that, Gothel led her away from the stones, neither of them seeing Mor’du’s corpse dissolve into smoke and the arrow with it.

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Gothel’s cottage was a very homey place, Merida concluded, as the scent of Hazelnut soup and tea drifted through her nose. She huddled close to the blanket Gothel wrapped her in and took a sip of herbal tea the kind woman had given her. Gothel busied herself around the kitchen, like she was unaffected by company as she did her daily routine.

“I can’t tell you how nice it is to have company.” Gothel said, stirring the soup and testing its taste before adding more spices to it. “It’s always so lonely around here. I almost forget what company felt like.”

“You don’t normally have company?” Merida asked, wondering why. Gothel was a very nice woman and she was sure the woman would have many coming to her door. Gothel gave her a sad smile.

“Well, my profession seems to ward people away sadly.” The woman confessed. Merida tilted her head.

“Ya mean your bow? I’m a skilled archer and no one avoids me—not unless they did something worthy of me shooting ‘em.” Merida gave a small smirk at that and Gothel laughed.

“Oh no, Sweetling! I’m afraid that’s just a past time. One has to be good at hunting while living in the woods after all.” Gothel judged the soup to be done and poured Merida a bowl before herself. She set the two bowls down at the table and gestured for Merida to sit. Merida took a seat, beginning to perk up after her near-death experience along withg some warm tea and the prospect of a hot meal. “There now, eat up, Sweetling.”

Merida wasted no time in gorging herself with the soup while Gothel ate like a proper lady. Gothel studied the girl as Merida took the bowl with both hands, drinking from the bowl rather than using the spoon, despite it burning her throat and tongue. When she was finished, she placed the bowl down and wiped her mouth with her wrist. Gothel grimaced at the girl’s lack of table manners but didn’t say anything.

“If archery isn’t your profession, what is?” Merida asked, eager to learn more about this female archer who lived by herself in the woods. It seemed like a dream come true for Merida to live that kind of life. She imagined being able to ride Angus every day and hunting for food, living in a small cottage instead of a large castle, and found she didn’t mind the change. In fact, she welcomed it. No one would bother her, and she was free from princess expectations and the weight of ruling a nation hanging over her head every day.

“Do you believe in magic, Sweetling?” Gothel asked her a question instead of answering her. Merida nodded, trying to not frown at the memory of the wisp leading her down to Valka’s cell.

“Aye. My father doesn’t believe, but my Ma taught me to respect magic.” At her answer, Gothel smiled.

“Your mother is very wise—not many Scots respect the sacredness of magic these days.” Gothel said.

“Bah! Only because it’s the men who think magic is a bunch of ‘woman’s folly’.” Merida mocked what her father always told her when her mother Elinor would tell her stories of the fae folk and the other magical creatures of Scotland.

“True. Men are quite stupid, aren’t they?” Gothel smirked, sipping her tea. Merida grinned.

“Aye. If not for men, I would be able to rule DunBroch by myself.” Merida declared. Gothel raised an eyebrow.

“A queen ruling by herself? Never heard of that before in these times.” Gothel admitted. Merida wasn’t discouraged.

“Oh aye, but to be honest, I’d rather be doing what you do. Then no one would bother me, and I’d be free to do whatever I wanted.” Merida told Gothel.

“I might be able to help you with that, Sweetling.” Gothel confessed to the girl. Merida leaned forward curiously, doubtful that Gothel could persuade her mother to let her abdicate.

“How? Ya haven’t met my Ma! She’s worse than a bear!” Merida said and Gothel smiled at the comparison.

“Why, Sweetling, I’m a witch, of course.” Gothel rose from the table to collect the dishes and take them to the sink. Merida’s eyes widened, leaning forward and clutching the table tightly in eagerness.

“You’re a witch? Really?” Merida asked, excitement coursing through her.

“Of course, Sweetling. I’ve studied magic for many years. I could easily help you.” Gothel smiled coyly.

“Then change my fate!” Merida demanded before realizing she was being rude and reworded herself. “I mean, could you change it?”

“Oh, it’s quite easy really.” Gothel began, walking over to the cauldron by the fire. “All you would have to do is make your family drink a potion and voila! Freedom obtained!” Gothel promised. Merida was practically bouncing in her chair.

“How much?” Merida asked her, barely containing her enthusiasm at the prospect of having a solution to all her problems. She had freedom within her grasps!

“Don’t worry, Sweetling. I won’t charge you in money.” Gothel soothed the girl as she began the mixture for the potion she was going to give Merida. “This is a special potion and requires sacrifice of a different kind.”

“What do you mean?” Merida furrowed her brow. Gothel gave her a teasing smile.

“Oh nothing. You don’t want to be princess anymore, correct? You want freedom?” Gothel asked.

“Yes! More than anything! You can have my princess title!” Merida proclaimed, glad to be rid of it.

“Excellent!” Gothel added some more mixture to the potion and it glowed. She poured some into a bottle and handed it to Merida. “Add this to their drinks and as soon as your family drinks this potion, you will no longer be a princess. Do you understand, Sweetling?”

Without hesitation, Merida grasped the potion bottle from Gothel and held it close to her. She looked at the glowing liquid in fascination and awe as she couldn’t believe obtaining her freedom had been so easy.

“Aye. Thank you so much, Gothel. I will cherish this.” Merida sincerely thanked her. Gothel smiled and led her to the door.

“Good. Now run along, Princess. Your family awaits.” Gothel shooed her along and Merida was shocked to see Angus.

“Angus!” Merida shouted and raced towards her horse to embrace him. The horse nuzzled her in return and Merida climbed upon her stallion, the potion securely in her pocket. “Thank ye, Gothel.” Merida bid the witch goodbye and raced towards the castle, not seeing Gothel’s smirk as she watched the young princess go.

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The journey back to the castle took until nightfall, and Merida knew by her stomach that it was dinnertime. She carefully placed Angus back in his pen while trudging through a secret passageway towards the kitchens. Maudie, their head maid, was busy with food preparations and did not see the young girl uncork the potion bottle, emptying its contents in each of her parents’ and brothers’ goblets. Snatching the tray of drinks, Merida crept towards the private dining hall where her family took their meals and took a deep breath, hearing the worried chatter of her family on the other side. Straightening her posture, she opened the doors to the dining hall and faced her family.

Naturally everyone was chaotic.

“Merida!” her mother cried, instantly rising from her seat. She could see the worry lines on her mother’s face and the wrinkles in her father’s brow. Guilt filled her then for she knew she had caused their distress, but it wasn’t enough to deter her from her plan.

I have to do this. No matter what it takes! Merida vowed to herself, placing on a placating smile.

“Where have ya been lass?!” her mother didn’t stop fretting, examining her hand that was burned. Sure enough, she was still branded by the Viking trinket, and her mother led her to the table to see if she could try and treat it. Nonetheless, Merida didn’t take a seat.

“I’ve been thinking…” Merida started, surprising her family at the thoughtful tone in her voice. Seeing she had her family’s attention, she began her deceit. “I’ve thought about what ye said and I realized you were right. If I am going to be queen, I need to make sacrifices. It’s time I married.” Merida wanted to gag at the words coming out of her mouth, but she didn’t let it show. Her parents brightened at her words and her brothers made gagging noises at the thought of their sister marrying and making kissy faces at someone. Merida’s heart pounded as she distributed the goblets to each of her family members, the blood pumping in her ears relentlessly.

“Oh, thank the Gods, lass! We were worried something worse would happen to ya if you didn’t agree.” Fergus sighed in relief.

“I can’t imagine you being married. It’s weird.” Hamish commented. Harris and Hubert made kissy faces.

“She’ll finally start acting like a lady probably.” Hubert said. Harris made a face.

“Nah, she’ll probably act worse.” Harris retorted.

“But that’s our sister.” The three said joyfully. Merida grinned at her brothers while Elinor gazed at them with disapproval.

“This is a very big step Merida.” Her mother told her. Nonetheless, she smiled sincerely at her child. “I’m so proud of you, mo nighean priseil.”

Merida swallowed her shame, refusing to let this deter her from her plan and declared next. “Guess we should drink a toast then?”

“Aye! Our daughter is finally showing she’s ready to be queen!” Fergus claimed, gulping down his goblet. Elinor delicately drank hers while the triplets copied their father. After drinking, they each made a face of disgust. “Bleh! Whatever Maudie put in this tastes like sh—”

“Fergus, language!” Elinor quickly cut him off, seeing the triplets mouthing the cuss word to themselves in glee. However, before Fergus could reply, he began coughing violently, banging against his chest hard. Elinor, Hamish, Harris, Hubert, and Merida had alarmed expressions at the display. Elinor was quick to assist her husband. “Fergus? Are ye all right—” soon Elinor began violently coughing and tumbling over, causing the children to scream. Merida raced towards her parents in panic, trying to help them, and her heart plummeted when she heard her brothers begin to choke as well.

“Ma! Da! Hamish! Harris! Hubert!” she shouted, staring helplessly at her family as they were passing out. “Help!” she called to the guards. “Someone help!”

“Poor little Sweetling.” A familiar voice cooed.

“Wha?” Merida whipped herself around to find Gothel standing in the dining room like she was always there, and she looked unperturbed by the unconscious bodies around them. “Gothel! What have you done to them?!” Merida demanded, grabbing her father’s sword. Gothel merely tut-ed and walked over the bodies like they were simply dirt piles. Her disregard for her family’s passed out forms distressed Merida, and she held the sword tighter. Gothel stopped walking when she was closer to the sword.

“Oh Sweetling,” she cooed, and Merida heard the malice that wasn’t heard before. “I didn’t do anything to them. You gave them my potion. You tricked them. I just gave you the means.” She reached to stroke Merida’s cheek, but the princess wouldn’t let her, holding out the sword threateningly.

“I didn’t know it was poisoned! You said I just wouldn’t be a princess anymore!”

“I did, but you were the one who didn’t think of what that price entailed, now did you?” Gothel grinned cruelly. She surveyed the dining hall with an appraising eye. “I could get use to this. Though it does need a bit of redecorating. You Scots have peculiar tastes.” She mocked, fingering one of the tapestries in distaste.

A sound startled Merida from her stance and she turned to find instead of her family’s bodies, there were five black bears. Two large bears and three cubs. She raced towards them as they looked at her in curiosity as well. The second largest bear tried to say something, but only a bear call came out. A paw clamped on the female bear’s mouth and her eyes widened. The largest bear limped over to her, now missing his prosthetic leg, making bear sounds as well in confusion. The three cubs examined each other and yeowled when they saw they were all bears. Merida paled.

“W-what happened to them?” Merida panicked. Gothel smiled.

“Not to worry, Sweetling. Your family is still there—they’re just a little different now.” With Merida’s guard down, she grabbed the girl’s chin and turned her roughly to look at her. “Isn’t this what you wanted, Sweetling? You are free now. You are not a princess anymore.”

Merida growled, wrenching her face away and spat at the witch. She held the sword in front of her, hissing.

“I am Merida of DunBroch and I demand ye turn my family back before I slaughter ye like ye did to Mor’du.” She promised.

“Oh right, right. You thought that monstrous bear dead didn’t you?” Gothel spun dramatically, smirking in glee. She snapped her fingers and the bear appeared in black smoke, roaring at her through chains. Merida backed away and her family tensed, seeing the infamous bear, growling at the monster. Gothel snapped her fingers again and the bear disappeared. “It was easy to imprison the beast and use him to my advantage. I thought it would take longer to get to the palace but then you came right to me, Sweetling.” Gothel cooed mockingly at her.

Merida wanted to vomit as she remembered all the signs. Being trapped by the stones, the mist, the fact that Gothel could easily kill Mor’du when even her father and his men couldn’t, and her sweet words enchanting her into taking Gothel’s potion. She had played right into Gothel’s hands and didn’t suspect at thing.

With a battle cry, she flung herself at Gothel. The woman screamed as Merida managed to nick her side. Merida’s eyes were alit as a blue inferno and Gothel sneered back at her.

“You wretched girl! I’ll teach you to cut me!” Gothel brought out a bottle and drank it, and Merida and her family watched in horror as the image of Queen Elinor stood before them. The imposter opened her mouth, screeching in her mother’s voice. “Help! Please! The princess has gone crazy!” Guards burst through the doors at last, but it was too late. Merida paled when she realized they saw her brandishing a sword against the imposter Elinor. The fake Elinor was sobbing.

“My husband! My sons! She’s killed them all and now she’s trying to kill me!” Gothel cried in anguish. “She has branded herself with the mark of a Viking trinket! She’s a traitor to the crown! She’s a witch! She’s enchanted Mor’du and his bears to attack us all!” Gothel screamed.

The soldiers wielded their swords, intending to kill the traitor princess for harming their queen and killing their king. Merida felt her stomach drop and her heart burst.

“No! She’s lyin’! She’s not my Ma!” Merida cried.

“Enough, Witch!” one of the guards shouted, advancing on her. Before he could cut her though, the bears roared and charged through, the female grasping Merida by her dress in the bear’s mouth. Merida yelped as she was carried through the castle, the five bears running for their lives as archers and swordsmen chased after them. Fergus was aided by Hamish, Harris, and Hubert as he was missing a leg while Elinor carried Merida through the halls. Arrows barely skimmed them and the ones that came close Merida whacked away with her father’s sword, and they turned a corner luckily before any arrows could do some real damage.

“That way!” Merida shouted, pointing towards the window. Elinor gave her a dubious look but the sounds of weapons getting closer caused the five bears to throw caution to the wind and leap out the window into the moat below.

Merida burst through to the surface and coughed violently. She searched around frantically for her family.

“Da! Ma! Boys!” she called. Sounds of distressed bears caught her attention and she swam towards the bears struggling to swim in their new bodies. She went towards her father first, as he was the biggest and was missing a limb. Next, she grabbed the three cubs and Hamish and Harris held onto her back with her bow and arrows and Hubert on her head while her mother was the easiest to guide to shore. They all trekked to the shore, water-logged and despaired as they watched the castle above making sounds of panic throughout the stone structure. Merida watched as her home soon branded her as an enemy and pronounced her family dead at her hands. She gripped the sword close to her.

Merida was brought out of her stupor when her mother nudged her. She turned towards her family like she was looking at strangers. She couldn’t wrap her head around that her family were now bears. She was sure they themselves felt like strangers in their new bodies. She had did this to them. The princess bit her lip hard, causing it to bleed. How could she face her family after what she had done?

“We… We can’t stay here.” Merida said at last. She clipped the sword to her belt and readjusted her bow to make sure it was still there. “They’ll find us. They’ll kill us.”

The bears continued to look at her as she trembled, trying in vain to keep herself from breaking down. She couldn’t stop thinking about what she had done to her family. She was so selfish that she had ignored the signs of a dangerous person and sacrificed her family just so she could have what she wanted. She had betrayed them twice now—with freeing Valka and trusting Gothel. She looked at where her decisions have brought her: an arranged marriage and now a banished princess.

I truly am not fit to be queen. Merida concluded, her lips quivering. How could she be queen when she has just doomed her kin and her country to a false ruler? The lack of sleep and despair was starting to crack away at her sanity, and she grabbed her hair to try and steady herself.

Merida jumped when she felt wet snouts brushing up against her. Elinor, Fergus, and her brothers cuddled around her, staring into her.

Be strong. They conveyed to her, and she shook her head, wiping her tears away.

“We can hide at Firefalls. Not many known its location.” Merida explained. Elinor lowered herself and Merida climbed on top of her, the boys joining. Fergus limped beside Elinor and they began their journey to Firefalls.

-----------------------

There’s chapter two. Hopefully should have next chapter up soon. Please let me know what you think!

Mo nighean priseil= my precious daughter

Also does anyone know any Old Norse phrases like "I love you", "My everything", "My cherished one", "My Beloved", "My world" ?

[anavoliselenu]

Hiched chapter 13

“Years?” I don’t mean to blurt it with such force, but holy hell. Seriously?

She frowns. “Don’t make fun.”

I touch her cheek softly. “I’m not.” Then I lean in for a chaste kiss. “I just want to make this good for you.”

“You will.” She kisses me back. “I have no doubts about that.”

And then her hands are on my dick again, and I couldn’t stop her even if I wanted to. She’s unbuckling my belt, tugging down my zipper, shoving her hands inside my boxers to palm my erection. Her hands are so delicate, so warm, and it’s the first time she’s touched me.

“Christ, Selena.” I grunt, pushing my pants down my hips so she can stroke me freely.

Is marital sex hotter than hookup sex? The answer to that question seems to be a big fucking YES. Because just the thought of banging my wife has me harder than ever before. So hard that my cock is leaking pre-cum from the tip, something Selena seems to have noticed. She rubs her thumb along the head, smearing the warm fluid against my sensitive skin, making me groan.

I look down between us to where Selena’s gaze is glued as well. Her hand moves up and down my shaft with a firm, yet tender grip.

“You’re so big, so sexy,” she murmurs.

“That’s right, baby. Now stroke that big cock.”

I take her mouth in a hungry kiss, our tongues dueling as her hands slide up and down. Oh God, I can’t think, but I need to stop this. Man up and push her off. Tell her what’s on my mind.

Instead, what do I do? I pet her cheek with my thumb and say, “Get down on your knees and put your mouth on me, baby.” I’ve fantasized about Selena’s sassy mouth wrapped around my cock for so long, this is sure to be a dream come true.

Without a trace of the hesitation I expected, she drops to her knees before me and grips my base with both hands.

I don’t ask her to suck it, because unless she’s secretly a blow job expert—or she can unhinge her jaw—I doubt I’ll fit in her mouth. So instead I stroke her hair, and caress her cheek, and watch her lick me like a lollipop and swirl her tongue around the tip. Her efforts are cute. And the languid, wet kiss she leaves on the crown feels incredible. She murmurs little enticing noises as I pet her hair. She fits the tip of me in her mouth and suckles lightly, making me groan.

Hauling her up to her feet, I kiss her one more time. “Let’s take this to the bedroom.”

She nods eagerly and turns to walk ahead of me, swinging her hips in that backless dress.

I can’t believe she’s mine. Can’t believe that she’s about to give herself to me. A flash of pride tinged with guilt whips through me, and I give chase.

In the bedroom, Selena watches me as she lets the straps of her dress fall down her shoulders, until the whole thing is just a puddle of fabric at her feet. Having forgone a bra, she’s left standing in a lacy black thong and her black stiletto heels.

“So fucking sexy.” I groan, stopping in front of her to kiss her lips and then her neck.

My pants are still open in the front, and Selena reaches inside to take me in her hands again.

“Christ, woman.” I’m putty in her hands. Whatever she wants to do, I’m game. But I can’t give her all the control. “On the bed,” I growl, taking a step back.

Selena obeys, stepping out of her heels and moving to lie down in the center of the bed. Our bed. Shit, that’s going to take some getting used to. It should make me nervous that this woman will be here when I wake up, that this isn’t just another one-night stand. If I fuck this up, if things change and get weird after, there will be no escaping Selena.

Strangely, though, that isn’t what’s making me nervous.

It’s the sweetly hopeful way Selena’s wide blue eyes are watching me. She wants this erotic experience with me, wants to experience all the pleasure I can show her. But what if this encounter goes the way it’s supposed to and she ends up pregnant? What then? Are we ready for a baby? Are we even cut out to be parents? Will she hate me?

But the time to talk has passed. I blew all my chances to talk about the heir clause tonight; I’ll just have to tell her tomorrow. Because right now Selena is waiting for me, and I’ve never left a woman in need.

Pushing all those troubling thoughts of babies from my brain, I strip, then lie down beside Selena so we’re facing each other.

“Are you nervous?” I ask her, stroking her cheek, trying to get back into the moment.

She gives me a careful nod. “That’s stupid, right? We’re married now.”

“Nothing you’re feeling is stupid.”

She smiles at me. “It’s just . . . been a while.”

I caress her upper arms, unable to stop touching her. She looks so sexy lying here in just her thong, looking at me like I’m the big bad wolf who’s ready to eat her up.

“We can go slow,” I murmur, my lips on hers.

“Okay.” She nods, kissing me back.

In the moonlit room, we lie side by side, our arms and legs intertwined, kissing for a long time. My tongue explores her mouth and she matches my eager pace, meeting me lick for lick. Her tongue tastes of champagne, and I’m having a hell of a time holding myself back from stripping off her panties and diving between her legs. The taste I had last night wasn’t enough. When it comes to Selena, nothing can ever be enough.

A sound of frustration rises up her throat. “We don’t have to go that slow.”

“No?” I chuckle. Thank fucking God. I peel her thong down her legs and toss it over the side of the bed. “My kind of woman.”

I shift closer and part her legs, sliding her top knee over my hip, so she’s open for me. Then I rub the head of my cock over her clit, coating myself in her warmth and making her moan at the contact.

“That feels so good, Justin,” she cries, circling her hips, pushing herself closer.

“Need to make sure you’re ready for me.”

I bury my face against her neck, breathing in her familiar scent while I push one long finger inside her. She’s snug, and I take my time adding another finger before slowly withdrawing.

She reaches up to palm my cheek, feeling the stubble on my jaw. Her eyes never leave mine as I pump my fingers in and out.

“I want you, Justin.”

Her voice is just a whisper, and when I look in her eyes, I see the amount of courage it takes her to admit that. She’s been so strong, so resolute for so long, that sex will only complicate our business arrangement. I have no idea what changed her mind. Okay, so I have some idea—it could have been that orgasm I delivered the other night. There’s plenty more where that came from.

Just do it. “I know, baby. Soon. Nice and easy . . .”

I line myself up, shuddering at how warm and soft her wet opening feels on the tip of my cock. Easing in just an inch, I bite back a groan. Her body grips mine so tightly, it’s perfection.

Everything inside me wants to pump her full of my cum and watch her squirm, breathless as she comes down from the multiple orgasms I know I can give her. Instead my brain is screaming at me to stop this. To tell her the truth.

“Wait,” she says, placing one hand on my chest.

I’m almost relieved when she stops us. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t we need a condom? I’m not on birth control.”

“I . . .”

My heart is pounding and I feel light-headed, almost dizzy. Whether it’s because I’m desperate to feel her around me, or because I’m not cut out for the deception and devastation that lies ahead, I have no idea.

“I can’t do this,” I bite out.

“What? Why not?” Selena sits up, peering down at me with confusion all over her features.

I look away. “I just can’t,” I repeat uselessly, unable to think of anything else.

“If this is about the condoms, I’ll run down to the drugstore. It’ll take ten minutes. Fifteen tops.” Her voice rises in concern.

I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I’m suddenly not feeling well.”

That’s not a total lie; my stomach is certainly churning. I climb out of bed and grab my boxers from the floor, slipping them on while Selena scowls at me.

“What the hell, Justin?”

I don’t reply; I just grab my pillow from the bed and head to the couch. It’s going to be a long fucking night.

• • •

“So let me get this straight?” Sterling says around a mouthful of pancakes. “You feigned a headache like a bitter old housewife instead of fucking her?”

I jab my fork at my eggs, stabbing the runny yolks, my appetite gone. Of course I wasn’t sick last night. It was an attack of shame and regret.

“I couldn’t do it.”

Sterling shakes his head. “Of course you couldn’t. You need to stop behaving like a grunting caveman and talk with her about the contract. Use your words and have a real conversation about this. Which has been my position since the wedding, I’ll remind you.” He waves his fork at me for emphasis.

“Yeah, yeah. Shut it.” I take a sip of my tea while Sterling continues eating. At least one of us has an appetite.

After a sleepless night spent tossing and turning on the couch, I got up early and asked Sterling out to breakfast before work. We’ve never met up so early before, but he practically jumped at the invitation. He knew from the start that my arranged marriage was going to implode, and I think the bastard just wants a front-row seat.

“I don’t even know if she likes kids, if she wants kids,” I muse out loud.

“Yeah, that’s a problem.”

Damn him for always being the voice of reason. He makes all my conundrums sound so simple and obvious.

What I’m starting to realize is that there’s the spark of something more between Selena and me. I can’t deceive any woman about this, but especially not Selena. She isn’t just a means to an end. We can have the seeds of a real relationship here, and I’m not ready to fuck up that possibility.

At the same time, though . . . the fate of our entire company is still at stake. How do I protect both Selena and Tate & Cane? How do I convince her?

I toss some cash onto the table and stand, unable to stomach any more. “I’ve got to get to the office. Thanks for the chat.”

“Anytime you need a therapy session, I’m here.” Smiling, Sterling gives me a wave before digging back into his pancakes.

When I arrive at work, I go to the one place I know Selena won’t find me.

“Hey, Rosita,” I call, clearing off a countertop in the mailroom and sitting down.

“I’ve missed you, mi amor,” she says, wheeling a cart full of packages over. As she approaches, she makes a tsking sound under her breath. Then she stops in front of me and runs her thumb under my eye. “You don’t look well. These dark circles aren’t normally here.”

I shrug. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Oh?” She gives me a knowing smile.

“No, nothing like that.” I guess I need to preface my statement; otherwise, people are likely to think I was burning up the sheets with my blushing bride. We are newlyweds, after all. “I slept on the couch last night.”

Her expression instantly falls. Frowning, she gives my cheek a pat. Then she lowers herself into the chair across from me. “Tell Mama Rosie all about it.”

“Things between me and Selena are good . . . they’re just kind of complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Rosita raises her eyebrows.

“How did you know you wanted kids?”

From her surprised expression, that’s clearly not the topic she was expecting. “I don’t know. I guess I always just knew from the time I was small that I wanted to be a mother.”

I nod. Makes sense. I think women just know. They have that maternal instinct, that ticking biological clock. Only I don’t know if Selena feels that way.

“Do you want children? Is that what this is about?” Rosita asks in her calm, yet confident voice.

I have always wanted at least one kid, hopefully two. But this situation isn’t about what either of us want. Our know-it-all, matchmaking fathers thought it best that we start a family in order to take over their massive corporation, and now I’m feeling the pressure of putting a bun in Selena’s oven ASAP.

Does Rosita really need all that background information, though?

Deciding to keep this conversation as simple as possible, I just answer, “Yeah. But I don’t know how Selena feels.”

Rosita smiles warmly at me and rises to pat the back of my hand. “You have plenty of time. The ink is barely dry on your marriage certificate. Enjoy life with just the two of you for a few years first. Once kids come, you can never go back. This time is precious.”

The sour feeling in the pit of my stomach intensifies. Great . . . yet another reason why everything in my life is fucked. Not what I need to hear right now. But Rosita doesn’t know that, so I nod and force a smile at her, as if her wise advice perfectly hit the spot.

“Thanks for the talk, Rosie. I better get back to work.”

“Anytime,” she calls after me.

Now I just have to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do.

Chapter Eight

Selena

What the hell happened last night? I worked so hard to psych myself up for sex, and Justin was the one who got cold feet? Unbelievable. The man can never stop flirting with me or bragging about how amazing he is in bed, but when the time came to put his money where his mouth was . . . actually, his mouth didn’t go anywhere either.

And I can’t even ask Justin about it, because I can’t find him. I woke up to an empty bed, with no sign of my husband anywhere in the apartment. He wasn’t in his office when I arrived at work either.

All damn day, I’ve been trying to catch him alone. He won’t answer any of my calls or texts or e-mails, and his secretary keeps saying “oh, bad luck, you just missed him” every time I stop by her desk.

Is it really bad luck, though? Is his jam-packed schedule today just an annoying coincidence? Or . . . is he avoiding me on purpose?

I stomp down the little voice in the back of my head that whispers, He’s changed his mind about you. He finally came to his senses, realized what a huge mistake this relationship is. He regrets everything. He doesn’t want to touch you or even talk to you. That poisonous hiss sounds an awful lot like Brad, and I’m done with him for good.

But God, I’m still so confused and frustrated. I was all set to confront my sexual hang-ups, and then our showdown was canceled at the last possible second.

Dammit, I refuse to let my emotional effort go to waste. I’m going to be brave and get laid if it’s the last thing I do. But first, I’m going to find out why Justin suddenly abandoned ship last night. And if I can’t track down the slippery SOB at work, I’ll just corner him tonight. He has to come home sometime, right?

• • •

Just as I’m folding a sheet of office paper into a voodoo doll and preparing to repeatedly stab it in the crotch, Camryn swings by my office.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask as she slides into the chair in front of my desk.

“Not much.” She shrugs. “I wanted to see if you wanted to grab an early lunch.”

I glance at the clock and see it’s only half past eleven, but yes, getting out of this building and escaping the rejection burning through my veins is exactly what I need. “I would eat dog shit right now if I meant I got an hour’s worth of girl time with you.”

Camryn’s cheery expression falls. “Well, I’m not real keen on eating dog shit, so why don’t you tell me what happened, sweetie?”

I huff out a sigh and rise to my feet. “I’ll tell you all about it over lunch.”

And I do. Over chicken strips and fries (nothing says comfort food like deep-fried anything dipped in generous amounts of ranch dressing), I lay it all out on the table. All my baggage. All the pain and hurt and doubt Justin caused me last night.

“He had me convinced that he wanted me, wooed me, was on his best, most charming behavior, and then bam! Nothing.” I lick the grease from my fingers and take a big gulp of soda to wash down my lunch.

“What a twat,” she grumbles, nodding to encourage me along.

“He slept on the couch and was gone before I got up this morning, so obviously he’s avoiding me like he knows he did something wrong.” I freeze, my straw halfway to my lips.

“What?” Camryn asks.

“Unless I’m the one who did something wrong.”

This earns me a confused look. “Do you think you did something wrong?”

I shrug. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told him that it had been so long.”

“Justin isn’t like that. He wouldn’t care.”

Camryn’s right. I replay the evening in my head. Dinner. Champagne. Dancing. Flirting. Laughing. Groping.

“Maybe I was too aggressive. I had my hand in his pants the second the door closed.” I push my hands into my hair, remembering how I acted, in all my horny glory. “The lock didn’t even click into place and I was all up in his business. I started giving him a blow job in the damn foyer of our apartment.”

“That’s hot,” she commented, taking another bite of her food. “What guy doesn’t want a blow job in the foyer?”

I don’t know. Apparently Justin. But he’s been practically begging to show me his dick . . . I frown, unsure if my actions last night somehow caused him to pull away.

She leans toward me, her eyes full of sweet pity. “Sweetie, if you’re sucking his dick, you can do it anywhere, anytime, and it’s okay. It’s almost a rule.”

The worst part of this whole situation is the growing seed of doubt he left. What’s wrong with me? Why wasn’t I good enough?

“What happened next?” she asks.

“He took me into the bedroom and stripped me down. We were kissing.” God, the kissing. The man can do incredible things with his tongue. “And then he was rubbing his . . . anaconda . . . all over my . . . honey pot, and I mentioned something about a condom.”

“Hmm.” She looks as perplexed as I feel. “Please tell me you didn’t use the word honey pot?”

Shaking my head, I continue. “No. But maybe it was me. Maybe my vagina’s ugly?”

The guy seated next to us whips his head in my direction so fast, I’m surprised he doesn’t get whiplash.

Camryn pats my hand. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with your vagina. I’m sure of it.”

“Then why, Cam? Why? Why would he do that? Because I don’t believe for one second that he was all of a sudden ill.”

She shakes her head. “No, neither do I.” She sets her fork down next to her Cobb salad. “Do you really want to know what I think?”

My stomach tightening, I nod.

She wipes her mouth with her napkin and leans forward. “I think it hit Justin that this unique situation with you isn’t what he’s used to. This isn’t a random hookup, or a booty call that he can duck out on in the morning. Whether you guys like it or not, sex between the two of you is going to mean something.”

I frown and chew on my thumbnail. “In what way?”

“You’re a married couple now.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s a business agreement. An arranged marriage. And I proposed we be fuck buddies since we’re stuck together. It’s not some romantic till-death-do-us-part, lovey-dovey marriage.”

Camryn holds up her palms. “All I’m saying is sex for men isn’t just physical like we sometimes like to believe. And I think something spooked Justin—got into his head.”

“That’s ridiculous.” But is it? Aren’t those some of the same things I was worried about? My whole objection for us having naked fun in the first place?

“Ridiculous or not, I want you to know that his backing out had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with something going on inside his head.”

“So, what do I do now?”

She grins wickedly. “That all depends. Do you still want to bang him?”

Stupid question. Is the value of pi 3.14? Does my husband have a horse cock? Yes to all of the above.

“More than anything.” I grin back at her, my expression equally cheeky.

Camryn cracks up laughing. “Okay, then here’s what you do . . .”

• • •

Later, back at the office, I’m working away when my head snaps up. Walking past my window—was that Justin just now? I jump out of my chair and peek around the doorjamb. Yep . . . I’d recognize that ass anywhere. He turns the corner and I follow him at what I hope is a casual distance. Time to confront him, just like Camryn suggested.

When I reach Justin’s office, his door is shut and locked. But the lights are on and I can see the silhouette of his head through the frosted glass window. It doesn’t look like he’s on the phone or having a private meeting with anyone.

I give his door three loud raps. “Hey, Justin.”

No answer. So he’s being stubborn. Too bad; I can be stubborn too. I knock again and call, “I know you’re in there. I need to talk to you.”

The door flies open. Justin looks irritated. Well, good—I guess that makes two of us.

“Something better be on fire,” he snaps.

I keep my eyes steady on his. “Sorry, but no. And we should talk in private.”

His mouth presses into a firm line, but he steps aside to let me walk into his office.

I shut the door behind me and turn to face him. “So . . . about last night. Care to tell me what happened?”

He folds his arms over his chest. “Weren’t you there? You already know.”

“No, I really don’t.” Straightening my back—I can’t match his height, but I’ll still try—I plant my hands on my hips. “The date, the dancing, the wooing . . . and then the bailing.”

“I told you I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Really? Because you don’t look sick to me right now.” And if he was sick last night, then why sleep on the couch? No way. Not buying it.

Justin throws up his hands. “Maybe it was something I ate at dinner. Maybe I just got a headache. What’s with the damn third degree?”

Then he drops his gaze. It was only for a second, but I saw it, and I know evasive maneuvers when I see them. So I press harder.

“It really seemed to me like you were scared of having sex.”

He blinks, his mouth open, then forces a laugh. “What? We’re still talking about me, right? You’re always sniping at me for . . . how did you put it? Fucking half of New York City?”

“But I’m not your typical conquest. I’m your wife. Correct me if I’m wrong, but your style tends more toward ‘wham, bam, thank you, ma’am’ than ‘until death do us part.’” I pause to raise my eyebrows at him for emphasis. “Last night wasn’t going to be just a casual screw where you forgot my name five minutes later. I think you backed off because you were worried that sex would make things too real between us. You’re scared you might feel something for me.”

For a moment, he just stares at me with a look I can’t read. It’s wry, almost bitter, but at the same time, it almost seems somehow . . . relieved?

When Justin finally replies, his voice is much calmer. “What a bunch of horseshit. You’re reading way too much into this. I already told you why I stopped last night, so quit inventing crazy stories.”

I blink, surprised by how much his words sting. He calls the idea that he might love me . . . a bunch of horseshit?

But what do I care? I don’t love him. Romance was never part of this marriage, and it’s not part of our bedroom experiments either. So why does his vehement denial feel so . . . disappointing? I was just trying to get him to acknowledge what Camry and I discussed, that sex between us might seem like a big deal, but it’s not. We can keep it casual.

Disguising my twinge of hurt, I reply briskly, “Well, if you’re feeling better, then let’s reschedule sex for tonight. I already picked up some condoms at the drugstore on my way here this morning.” I watch his face carefully. “Unless there’s a problem with that?”

He frowns, but says, “Sounds good to me.”

“Great. See you at home.” I open his door and leave, heading back for my own office. Hopefully I can get some work done now that I’ve set my personal life straight again.

Chapter Nine

Justin

The conversation with Selena at work today is still ringing through my ears when I make it home just before five. I skipped out on my last meeting, asking my assistant to cover for me, because I know Selena will be expecting sex tonight. And I know I need to figure out a way to tell her everything. The contract. The bouncing baby we’re supposed to make.

She thought I was scared of having sex because I was worried about feeling something for her. But she’s wrong. I already feel a lot for her. I always have.

She was adamant. Tonight. Sex. Period. Even picked up some condoms. What the fuck am I going to do? Fake a latex allergy? No way in hell will she buy that. It’s such a stupid idea; I can’t even believe I’m thinking it. I’m so rattled, so panicked, all sorts of crazy shit is pouring through my head.

I kick off my shoes and stow them in the small entry closet. Loosening my tie, I head into the bathroom, where I stare at my reflection.

When I signed those papers, it seemed like the right thing to do. Save the company? Check. Get a shot with the woman I’ve always dreamed about? Check. And make a baby? No problem, right? But now that this is all happening, it’s become real, and I’m fucking losing it. Losing my edge.

Just over a week into our marriage and I’m already the world’s worst husband. Rosita was right about the dark circles under my eyes. I look like hell. I splash some cool water on my cheeks, hoping it might help. No such luck. I still look confused and tired and scared.

Well, fuck that. I straighten my shoulders. That’s not me. I’m not some wimpy little boy who’s too afraid to take care of his woman. And that’s what this is, isn’t it? Selena has needs. And I’m supposed to be the one to take care of those needs.

I have two choices when Selena gets home tonight. I can come clean with everything, tell her about the heir clause, show her the section in the contract she missed. Or . . . I can keep my fucking trap shut and go along with what she wants. No-strings sex.

We’re just beginning to click. She’s just beginning to trust me. If I fuck her tonight and she enjoys herself—which I have no doubts she will—that’s a big step toward bringing us closer as a couple. And isn’t that what we need if we really are to parent together? I think that’s what Rosita was trying to say today, that Selena and I need to enjoy ourselves. We’re in our honeymoon stage of marriage, after all. Baby-making can come later. After our relationship is strong enough that the heir discussion won’t bring it crashing down around us.

If safe sex is what she wants, with condoms galore, I’ll do it. If I don’t, I’ll arouse her suspicions. What choice do I have? The only thing I can do for now is buy more time to think. I just need to shut up and do my husbandly duty until I can figure out the best way to broach the topic of babies with her.

Glancing one last time in the mirror, I exhale a deep breath. Just go with it, man. This can be good for both of us. It can be the start of something real. For now, my wife wants to be fuck buddies, and I’m sure as hell not turning my nose up at that opportunity.

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