#the last brush stroke I did would change color

[banditblvd]

youidraw.com was lowkey a little disappointing

[azrielsrealmate]

never just a best friend

azriel x reader

summary: your best friends offers a massage after a stressing day, only that his hands end up slipping to dangerous places.

warnings: smut

word count: 2k

Your feet ached, your head throbbed, and your skin itched in places you couldn’t reach to scratch. And your back—God, your back hurt.

You just needed a break. A break longer than the eight hours of sleep you rarely had time to get.

Azriel’s gaze from where he sat at the edge of your bed made the back of your neck burn. So you hurried to pull your shirt over your head, and the feeling disappeared, knowing he’d look anywhere but at you while you changed. You almost sighed in relief, almost rubbed the space between your brows. But instead, you unclasped your bra and slipped into a shirt several sizes larger than what you usually wore.

You hadn’t deliberately chosen Azriel’s shirt to breathe in the comforting scent of cedar and mist instead of the tobacco and beer your idiot ex had left lingering everywhere. You really hadn’t. But it was a relief you hadn’t known you needed.

“What happened?”

A simple question, but spoken in that voice, deep yet so soft, like silk brushing against clean skin, it almost made you sob.

What happened wasn’t the question; the question was why you felt so easily overwhelmed. You turned to look at him, and the caramel color of his eyes softened as he read how overstimulated you felt. He stood up, and even from the distance between you, you could clearly see how tall he was.

He crossed the space in mere seconds, and his scarred palm found your cheek, cradling it tenderly. Your eyes closed involuntarily. The warmth of his hand melted your mind, sending the hot liquid of it out of your body in the form of a sigh.

“What happened?” he repeated again.

You sighed.

“Adrik.” You said the name of your ex, not needing to open your eyes to know that Azriel’s features had hardened.

You spent so much time watching him that you’d almost memorized his micro-expressions.

“I ran into him at the café next door, and…” your best friend’s thumb stroked your cheek, encouraging you to continue. “Well, obviously, it didn’t end well.”

“What did he do?” Azriel asked, his voice rough. So different from how he’d asked what happened earlier. You could hear the sharp undertone clearly.

You’d been through this before.

You shook your head and moved his hand away from your cheek, your thumb tracing a small caress on his skin before letting go. You took off your pants, because you slept with little clothes, and you sighed heavily, walking toward your side of the bed.

“He just stuck to me like the worm he is.” You didn’t even want to imagine what would happen to the poor drunk Adrik if you let go of the weakening reins on Azriel. The muscles under your skin tingled pleasantly just thinking about it. Adrik had treated you so poorly, and it would be so easy to let Azriel handle him…

But, no. No. You weren’t doing this.

You sat on the bed, feeling your body tense slightly under his gaze. He studied you as if he wanted to squeeze out that feeling he knew existed in you, the one you worked so hard to push down, to extract and stretch it so he could examine it.

“What do you mean by…” his brows furrowed, finally processing your words.

You didn’t let him finish.

“Damn it, Azriel, he left after two minutes. Please, just lie down, I’ve had the worst day ever,” you pleaded, feeling a cramp run down your back. “And to top it all off, my back hurts,” you complained.

You heard Azriel exhale. It took him a fraction of a second to speak.

“I can see the tension in your muscles from here,” he said.

You rolled your shoulders, as if that would bring relief.

“It’s not that bad.”

He didn’t pay you the slightest attention.

“Where did you leave the oil from last time?” The last time he’d worked a wonderful massage on your back, you could swear it could have made you finish faster than Adrik ever had.

The silence in the room grew thicker as Azriel waited for your response. You knew he wouldn’t move until you told him. Not because he was pressuring you, but because he wanted to take care of you. As he always did.

“It’s in the nightstand, top drawer,” you replied, trying to sound casual, even though you knew exactly what it meant once he put his hands on you.

Azriel walked over to the nightstand, pulled out the small bottle of oil, and held it in his hand for a moment, assessing your state. His eyes met yours, and something in his gaze made your breath quicken slightly. It wasn’t the first time he’d offered you a massage, but this time, there was a tension between you that you couldn’t ignore, not when it made anticipation itch in your skin.

“Take off your shirt,” he instructed, his voice soft but firm. Your heart skipped a beat, and you hesitated for a moment, but seeing the calm in his eyes, you made up your mind. Slowly, you removed your shirt, revealing your body covered only by a tiny black thong.

Azriel swallowed, his eyes darkening slightly as they roamed over your figure. You felt a warmth spread across your skin under his intense gaze, but you remained still, waiting for his next move.

He approached, leaned in, and his large, warm hands grabbed your hips, quickly dragging you until you were sitting where he could rest his hands on your shoulders first, beginning with a light pressure. His touch was firm but gentle, and he began working on your tense muscles, gliding down your back with expertise. The oil, warm against your skin, made it easier for his hands to move as he focused on relaxing you.

A sigh escaped your lips as you felt a knot dissolve under his fingers. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your ear.

“Let go of all that tension,” he murmured, his voice rough with concentration as his hands traveled down your back to the curve of your waist, his thumbs pressing gently at the base of your spine.

A low moan escaped you, and you closed your eyes, allowing the pleasure of the massage to envelop you completely. Azriel continued, his hands moving confidently, exploring every inch of your lower back, dangerously close to the edge of your thong. His touch was addictive, and though you tried to stay calm, you felt your body reacting to every caress, every calculated pressure.

“You have no idea how beautiful you look,” Azriel whispered, his voice vibrating against your skin as his hands paused for a moment, just above the line of your thong. The heat in his voice made you shiver.

Opening your eyes, you turned your head slightly to look at him, finding his face close to yours, his eyes locked on yours. The tension in the room became almost palpable, and in that instant, you knew you had crossed a line.

Azriel lowered his hands, sliding them down your hips to the edge of your thong, slowly—too slowly.

He stopped in the curve of your hips, squeezed the flesh, in his hands, feeling and appreciating them. And slowly, he guided one hand toward your abdomen, the other toward your ribs.

You whimpered slightly, needily, your breath heavy.

“Be patient,” he murmured against your ear, your eyes fluttering closed. You felt the warmth of his hand move up to cup one of your breasts, relishing its size. Your brows arched. “Az…” you sighed.

His other hand slid down to slip under the fabric of your black thong, finding there a wetness that made him hum in satisfaction.

“So wet, all this for me?” You moaned again, struggling to keep your eyes open.

His scarred fingers explored your wetness, tracing a line from your entrance to your clitoris, spreading all your arousal. He drew a circle on your clit, torturously slow, tentative, you might have said if your brain weren’t mush.

Your back arched again. “Azriel,” you moaned his name, and he, in turn, growled in your ear.

“Do you like that?” he asked, and you realized he wanted an answer when he stopped his fingers.

“Yes, yes!” you pleaded, almost desperately.

Azriel let out a low sound, almost a growl, upon hearing your response, satisfied with the power he had over you in that moment. His hand remained still, his fingers barely brushing your clit, enough to keep you on edge, but not enough to give you the relief you so desperately craved. The tension in the room was palpable, each passing second seemed to stretch time, amplifying the desire that wrapped around you.

“If you enjoy it so much,” he murmured against your neck, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine, “then you’re going to wait a little longer.”

The sweet agony of anticipation spread through your body as Azriel maintained that light, frustrating touch that made every fiber of your being burn with desire. You tried to move, seeking more of him, more of that contact that promised so much, but his hands became firm, holding you in place.

“Don’t move,” he ordered gently, and there was an authority in his voice that made you obey without hesitation. There was something about the way Azriel controlled you, how he handled your body with such precision, that made you feel vulnerable and at the same time completely safe. You felt the heat of his body against your back, his hardness pressed against you as his scarred fingers moved again, this time applying more pressure on your clit. The pleasure that blossomed from that simple touch was overwhelming, and you couldn't help but moan, arching your back to get closer to him.

"Good girl," Azriel whispered, his tone laden with satisfaction as he increased the rhythm of his caresses. You felt his other hand slide up your abdomen, moving up to caress your breasts, squeezing them with a possessiveness that made your breath catch in your throat. His lips pressed against your neck, sending waves of pleasure through your body as his fingers continued to play with your wetness.

“I want you to come for me,” he growled against your ear, his voice a comman. And with that, his movements became more intense, more urgent. The sweet torture he’d imposed on you faded into a wave of pleasure so overwhelming that it left you trembling, your moans turning into cries of pleasure as you approached the edge. His fingertips skilfully working on your clit.

Azriel’s fingers worked with expert precision, pushing you closer and closer to the precipice of an orgasm, until you finally exploded in a wave of pure pleasure, your body trembling as you were suddenly blind and deaf from pleasure. You let out a long, satisfied moan as Azriel’s name escaped your lips in a sigh, your whole being consumed by the heat of that moment.

And even as the pleasure began to fade, Azriel didn’t stop. His hands continued to explore your body, his lips still pressed against your neck, leaving wet kisses that sent delicious shivers through your spine. The sensation of his touch, so skilled and confident, combined with the residual pleasure of your orgasm, left you breathless, utterly spent in his arms.

When you finally came down from that blissful high, you turned to look at him, finding a possessive gleam in his eyes, as if he couldn't get enough of you.

Well, you had never considered him just your best friend.

"I hope your back doesn’t hurt anymore.”

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

In Another Life

Pairing: Dean Winchester x f!reader, Dean POV

Summary: When Dean wakes up in another life with you, he begins to question your friendship and realizes that he has loved you all along. But how can he change that? (I’m so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Tropes: Angst, Fluff, Pregnancy Fluff, Mutual Pining

Word Count: 5.5K (I have an addiction don't judge me)

Warnings: I don’t think there’s any. I’ll say mention of gore, but for one second. Maybe one allusion to sex, but not really.  Some swearing (once or twice). Dean might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Dean’s perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. This is my first time writing for Supernatural, so please be gentle. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics

Main Masterlist

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

Dean couldn’t remember what happened last night only that the bed beneath him felt like an old friend welcoming him home. The night before ghosted across his mind, hovering just out of reach, memories of a dream barely forming from a fog of uncertainty. He fades in and out of sleep in a mist that soothes his aching body.

“Dean?” A soft voice whispers.

Dean groans and squeezes his pillow tighter against his chest to avoid waking up. He didn’t care what time it was, all he knew was that he didn’t want to get out of bed.

“Leave me alone Sammy.” He grumbles into the pillow.

“Dean.” The voice says again, this time with a happy laugh that sounds nothing like Sam.

His eyes open,  blinded by the sunlight that streams through the large windows on the other side of the bedroom.

Wait. Where am I?

“Dean we have to get up or we’ll be late for the party.”

Dean looks towards the voice and  realizes that he’s not squeezing a pillow, it’s you. You’re facing him, hair fanning out over the pillow beneath your head, eyes wide and crinkled around the edges, smiling at him.

“Y/n?” Dean says it hesitantly, arms tightening around your waist.

“No no no. Don’t look at me like that. I will not be roped into staying in bed. We can’t be late for your mom’s birthday party and you promised you would come with me to pick up the cake.”

“But-“ Dean couldn’t remember how he got here, only that something feels wrong.

“No buts.” You giggle, before leaning forward and kissing him.

Dean freezes, confused, but the soft movement of your mouth against his erases any uncertainty. He eases his face forward nudging his nose into yours to deepen the kiss. Dean doesn’t know how he got here, but all he knows is how natural it feels to be here with you. Before he can stop himself he rolls you over your back, bringing a moan from you that vibrates though his skull. His fingertips blaze a trail along your hips.

“Easy there tiger.” You smile up at him. “You don’t want to crush Zeppelin.”

Dean’s confusion makes you laugh, before he finally looks down between you. “You’re pregnant.” He whispers, noting the protrusion of your abdomen.

“I mean I think so.” You laugh in a way that makes his heart jump and buckle.

Dean lays his hand down on the smooth skin where your shirt pushes up. Why can’t I remember this? He thinks to himself confused, searching for memories he can’t recall.

“I believe we’ve talked about it several times. And it was you who decided to stay up until 4 am painting the nursery.” Your hands gently brush his hair back out of his face. “You did such a good job baby.”

Dean reaches for the memory, but he can’t seem to

 grasp it. “I did?”

“Mhmm. Look at you, you’re still covered in paint.” You smile wider picking up the hand that rests on your belly to show him the splashes of cream colored paint flecked along the back of his hand. And as you do he notices the ring on your left hand.

“Are we married?” Dean tries again to grasp for his memory but comes up empty handed. He strokes his thumb along the back of yours examining the ring.

I should remember that. How could I forget that we’re married?

“Feigning amnesia will not make me stay in bed with you. No matter how cute you are.”  You gently lay your hand against his chest pushing him back so you can sit up in bed.

Dean can’t help but notice how beautiful and carefree you look. Hair catching fire in the light from the window, t-shirt brushing against the top of your thighs, and how you smile at him with so much love it makes something catch in his chest.

“Dean?” You suddenly look worried. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “I’m just tired I guess.”

His cell phone rings where it sits on the nightstand, drawing his gaze to the alarm clock and car magazine that sit on top of the dark wood.

“You better answer that. It’s probably Sam asking us where we are.” You kiss him on the cheek, before standing up and walking into the closet on the edge of the bedroom.

Dean watches you go, his eyes tracing your familiar figure as you leave the room, before reaching for his phone.

“Hey where are you guys? Jessica’s freaking out because you haven’t brought the cake.” Sam’s  voice triggers another memory for Dean, but this one remains allusive.

“Sam?”

“Dean.”

“Um.”

“Dean are you hungover or something?”

“No. Sorry, just running a little late-“ Dean apologizes looking around the bedroom. It’s small, filled with light from the open window that shows a quaint backyard. The dresser on the wall opposite the bed has photos of him and you, photos of Sam and Jessica, and a photo of Mary and John Winchester. Dean’s eyes stop on the photo as a memory triggers at the back of his mind, but Sam interrupts the thought.

“Well come on. Dad’s not going to like it if you guys miss mom’s birthday-“

“Dad?” Deans memory spikes again and he sees his father sitting in the drivers seat humming along to a song on the radio. Another memory flashes, Dean and his father standing behind the impala with Sam looking into the trunk.

“Yes dad. Your boss. Our father. Dean are you okay? Y/n said that you were painting the nursery last night all by yourself. You could have told me. I would have come over to help-“

“I’m alright Sammy.”

But he doesn’t feel alright, something is definitely wrong.

“Okay well hurry up. I’ll see you when you get here.”

Dean hangs up the phone and sits on the end of the bed with it in his hand.

You walk back into the room wearing a green sundress. Your hair is soft again, falling over your shoulders in a way that makes Dean’s breath catch, effortlessly beautiful.

A memory of you wearing jeans and a leather jacket washes across his mind of you standing with him at the back of the Impala reaching in for a shotgun while he knocks your hand away.

“Dean?” You walk towards him, this time standing between his legs. You place your hands on his shoulders and he can’t help but turn to look at the wedding ring. “Are you sure you’re okay? Because if you’re not feeling well we don’t have to go today. I can call your dad. But I just thought your really wanted to go. You hate missing your mother’s birthday. It’s usually you that drags me out of bed.” You trail your hand against the side of his face with a worried expression, to turn his gaze back on you.

Someone deep in the back of his mind the expression triggers something and he sees a memory of you. Except you’re holding a machete in your right hand that drips blood on the floor but, the look of worry in your eyes the same.

Where could that be from?

“I don’t know.”

“Hey.” You whisper, sitting down in his lap and his arms can’t help but secure you there, burying his head in your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I’m scared too.”

“What?” Dean raises his head from your shoulder

“We’ve talked about this. You’re going to be a great dad. And honestly we probably won’t know what we’re doing, but that’s how everyone starts.” Your fingertips drag through his hair in a soothing motion.

Dean tries again to grasp at earlier memories of this life, early memories of you, but all he sees are motel rooms. Motel rooms where you sleep on a pullout couch in a corner and where Sam sits  at a small table shuffling through endless books and papers.

Why?

Dean can’t understand, because that life seems so different than this one. This one where you look softer and happier, where you share a bed and are married. He thinks about the other memories, where your smile is not as bright, where there’s a hardness to your face, but still just as beautiful. Another memory of him and you sitting in a bar drinking beer, another of you laughing at something he said and hitting him, and finally one of you reading in bed while Dean sits at a motel table and watches you softly turn the pages.

Deep down Dean knows in his bones that in those memories  you and him are just friends, but he allows himself to indulge in your touch, enjoying the comfort that comes with being with you.

“It’s not about the baby.” Dean sighs. “I just can’t remember how we got here.”

“Here?”

“Married.” His arms tighten around your waist not wanting to let go. You’re the only thing he recognizes in all of this.

“Um well, my car broke down and I brought it to a mechanic shop where I met a devilishly handsome man with green eyes.” You smile at him. “Who refused to let me leave until he bought me dinner.”

Dean stares at you.

“Practically kidnapped me. But you were so charming I couldn’t resist.” You lean closer to whisper in his ear. “Not to mention sexy covered in grease and wearing a meatloaf t-shirt.” You kiss him before he can respond, and he loses himself in you. The way you hold him close, the way your fingers work up into his hair to secure him right where he wants to be, and the way you feel in his arms wipes away any uncertainty. “As much as I’d like to go back to bed with you, we’re going to be late.” You whisper against his lips.

And Dean allows himself to be dragged away.

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

“Did you remember to order the parts for that ‘76 Camaro right?” John Winchester asks Dean, but Dean’s not focused, he can’t focus on anything.

The drive over to his parents house was different. Instead of sitting on the opposite side of the front seat of the impala, you had sat in the middle, holding his hand and leaning against his shoulder, humming softly.

It made driving for Dean especially difficult. The memories of you in his car that came across his mind while he drove distracted him.

You  in the backseat shouting something at Dean while he completely ignored you rolling his eyes, you sitting in the front seat with a map trying to direct him while Sam slept in the back, you singing to “The Eye of the Tiger” with him while Sam tried to close his ears, and finally you asleep in the front seat with Dean’s jacket draped over you.  That last one stayed in his mind. He liked how you looked wrapped up in his jacket, breath fogging the glass window, while Dean tried his best to drive smooth and slow so you wouldn't wake.

But you in the front seat holding his hand and leaning against his shoulder while humming along to the music blew all of those memories out of the water. All Dean wanted to do was exist there and then.

When you both arrived at his parents home Dean tried not to be disappointed. Now he was too distracted watching you talk and laugh with Jessica and his mother across the room to listen to anything his father said.

“Dean are you listening?” His dad tries again.

“Huh?” The cold beer in Dean’s hand drips condensation against his skin. He turns to look back at his father.

Another memory of him momentarily distracts Dean, this one of John leaving Dean and Sam in a motel room so he can go hunting.

Did we ever go hunting? Dean tries to think of a time where they went out into the woods to shoot some deer, but comes up empty handed. A few memories of him and Sam toting guns rise to the surface, but he can't remember why they had them.

"You'll have to excuse Dean, he's still mentally painting the nursery." Sam snorts into his beer.

"Shut up."

"Don't tease him Sam. I'm sure that Jessica will have you turn your office into a nursery before you know it." You appear on Dean's left, raising his arm around you so you can lean into his side. Dean automatically tightens his arm around your shoulders.

"Don't joke about that y/n."

"Uh-huh. You can't hide in that big fancy law firm forever. She'll find you." You smile up at Dean in a way that makes his heart feel like its stopped beating.

Why can't I remember any of this life?

"She's right." Jessica comes over to kiss Sam on the cheek.

"I do not hide at the firm-" Sam rolls his eyes.

"You do."

Mary Winchester comes over. "Are you fighting at my birthday party?"

Dean's father puts his arm around his mother, pulling her into his chest with a smile he hides by taking a swig of beer.

"No mom, we're not-"

"Sounded like a fight to me." You whisper to Dean, and he can't help but smile at you.

"It's not a fight y/n!"

"Don't yell at my wife Sammy." Dean says before he can stop himself. He thinks about how natural it sounded coming out of his mouth.

His wife. You're his wife. He thinks and presses a kiss to the top of your head that makes you sigh into his chest.

"I'm not yelling at y/n." 

"Sam we're just teasing you." Jessica laughs, placing her hand against his chest. Dean notices the ring on her own finger, and a memory of Jessica rises in the back of his head. Jessica standing in the darkness of an apartment, while Dean holds on to the front of Sam's shirt, her eyes wide and confused.

But it vanishes when you wince in his arms. Dean's eyes are drawn back down to you, worry spiking in his chest.

"I'm okay." You whisper. "Just think Zeppelin is hitting his limit."

"You guys go on home. I think that John has grilled Dean about the garage enough." Mary smiles, before taking a step forward to hug you. Dean is disappointed when you leave his arms, but smiles despite, watching you with his mother.

"Let the little linebacker get some rest." John hugs you.

"Of course. Thank you so much for letting us come. I'm sorry we were late." Dean watches the subtle blush of your cheeks as you apologize.

"I'm sure it's my son's fault." Mary moves to hug Dean.

As soon as she does Dean is overwhelmed by a surge of sadness as another memory of his mother rises in the back of his mind that he can't quite bring into focus.

"Mom?" Dean whispers.

"Hmm?" She looks up at him confused. "We'll see you on Tuesday for dinner. Okay?"

"Okay."

"We love you."

"I love you too mom." But something sticks in his chest when he says it.

“Don’t forget to order the parts.” John says shaking Dean’s hand.

“Sure.”

“Bye Jessica. Let me know if you need us to bring anything for Tuesday.” Dean watches you hug her and just for a moment Dean sees Sam holding a bouquet of flowers at a gravesite.

What is happening?

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

When Dean pulls the Impala into the driveway of your home something still feels wrong. After saying goodbye to everyone he still can’t shake the feeling that he forgot something. The radio plays "Black Dog" filling the silence as the car idles in front of the house.

“Dean!”

“What?” He turns to look at where you sit beside him in the front seat.

“Feel.” You grab one of his hands from the wheel and place it against your abdomen an excited smile gracing your cheeks. “Little future drummer."

The kicking against the palm of his hand makes Dean smile, leaning forward into where you sit beside him. Happiness breaks in his chest like the crest of a wave. He can't remember a moment in his life where he felt this happy, this much love for someone.

"Y/n?"

"Mhmm."

"I love you." Dean refuses to believe that he has said it to anyone else ever in his life, can't remember wanting to say it to anyone else, can't believe that he will ever want to say it to anyone else.

"I love you too."

He leans down to kiss you, hand still against your stomach, drawing you further into him to breathe you in. Everything else vanishes, just the feel of your soft lips against his, the tickle of your hair against his cheeks, and the pulse of his son's kicks against the palm of his hand.

But then it's all gone.

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

"Dean!" Sam's voice jars him into reality, his eyes opening to see his brother standing over him, one hand on his shoulder. "Dean are you okay?"

"What happened?" Dean sits up with a groan, ignoring the headache that throbs behind his eyes.

His eyes adjust to the dim light. He's in a long room where wooden tables sit every few feet covered in dust and machinery blanketed with old sheets. The musty smell fills his nose, replacing the smell of your shampoo that lingers under his nose from when you were in the front seat with him.

"Djinn ambushed you. Y/n and I got here as soon as we could."

"Y/n?" The memories of the dream strike him in the chest all over again, merging with memories of reality. "Where is Y/n?"

You enter the room out of breath, blood flecked across your cheeks and holding a baseball bat that drips a dark liquid onto the concrete floor. “It’s dead.”

"You sure?" Sam asks raising an eyebrow.

"There's enough brain matter on the floor in there for a zombie buffet." You shoulder the baseball bat. "So yeah, it's dead."

Dean’s eyes trace your body taking in the leather jacket and dark t-shirt his memory flashing to the green sundress and beautiful smile. You’re half-smiling, but Dean can see the hardness in your face again and understands where it comes from.

She wasn’t a hunter. He thinks of the dream version of you, where your hair fell in soft curls, but now it’s tied back in a ponytail. His eyes drop to your abdomen expecting more, but disappointment flicks in his heart. It wasn’t real.

“Dean are you okay?” You step closer to him. The smile has dropped now, replaced with a worried expression.

He flashes back to when you asked him that in the dream, when you sat on his lap and tangled your hands in his hair, sighing into his mouth as he kissed you.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

He traces your face again but every time he does he only sees the other version of you, the version that’s in love with him, married to him. And he knows that here you are just his friend.

“Yeah.” He says again standing up. “Let’s get out of here.”

The ride back to the motel is silent. Dean doesn’t put on any music, too afraid that it’ll remind him of the memory of you and him in the front seat while his son kicked against his hand. Instead, all he can think of was how happy he was in the other life, how in love with you he was-

Dean knew that it wasn’t just a fantasy, that he really is in love with you, but now after seeing how everything could be, it weighed on his chest. Each time you looked at him he wanted to pull you close to him, hug you, kiss you, but he knew you would pull away. Because this version of you was not his.

“I’m going to go to that diner on the corner. You guys want something?” Sam looks around the room expectantly, but Dean doesn’t look up from the carpet.

“Sure.” Dean hears you respond. “Maybe just a burger and a piece of pie. Preferably apple but I'll take cherry if they have it."

“Okay. Dean?” Sam asks again.

Dean shakes his head. He can’t eat. Not now.

Sam hesitates at the door worried. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t want anything.” Dean snaps.

“Yeesh don’t bite my head off.” Sam throws you a shrug before leaving.

Dean is aware that it’s just the two of you now, the memory of the two of you in bed surfaces making him tighten his grip on the edge of the blanket beneath him.

“Dean?” You whisper.

“What?” His voice comes out harsher than he means it to.

“What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

“Nothing is wrong.” But he can’t look at you, not when he knows he'll look up and you won't be pregnant and not when the other version of you still has a hold of his heart.

“Dean you’re my best friend I know when something’s wrong. Plus you haven’t been able to look at me since you woke up and you never say no to food.”

“I’m fine.”

“Dean-“

“Just leave me alone damnit!” He snaps at you, able to raise his gaze from the floor for one second. Dean immediately feels bad, watching the pain in your eyes as he pushes you away. But he lowers his eyes to the carpet once more to avoid your gaze.

You sigh, but don’t get angry with him. “If you don’t want to tell me that’s fine. I'll just leave you alone then.”

And as soon as you leave to take a shower he feels the loss of you beside him.

He listens to the sound of the shower, feels the passing of time, but he does not move. The memories of the dream rise and fall, replacing the darkness of the hotel room with brilliant light. The memory of the sun catching your hair on fire as you laid next to him in bed tracing your fingertips along his jaw, the memory of you in the front seat of the Impala leaning against him and humming while you hold his hand, the memory of the party where he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you tightly into his chest, and finally the memory of the last kiss you shared in the front seat of the Impala each dance across his mind. He acutely feels the loss of your body against his, the loss of your lips, and finally the sound of your voice telling him you love him while his son kicked against his hand.

“Dean?”

He looks up at you. You look softer than you did. The blood is gone from your cheeks, your hair falls over your shoulders still wet from the shower, effortlessly beautiful, he decides. You’re wearing one of his old t-shirts that he gave you and a pair of sweatpants. It does something to him, watching you stand there in his shirt. It hangs past your waist like a dress, making you look smaller than you are. The smell of your shampoo wafts out of the bathroom, something familiar that makes his throat tight.

“You know when that Djinn got me a few months ago it threw me for a loop too.” You say softly leaning against the doorway of the bathroom. “Everything felt so real. It was hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t.”

Dean remembers when that happened. When you vanished out of the blue while checking out a case alone and he and Sam tore apart the small town looking for you. Dean remembers how worried he was, how desperate he was to find you.

I loved her then too. Dean realizes looking at you. How did I not know?

Dean remembers the aftermath, when you woke up and wouldn’t look at him. How your gaze was almost haunted and how he had to carry you out of there because you couldn’t move. He remembers you laying in bed and turning away from him and Sam when they had asked you what was wrong and the following day when you acted like nothing happened.

“What did it make you see?” Dean whispers, noting the way you shift back and forth on your feet. He hadn't seen you nervous before, seen you face down demons and vampires without batting an eye, but now you looked vulnerable.

You look down at your feet.  “If I say it you can’t laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“Dean, I’m serious.”

“I promise I won’t laugh.” He watches the tension in your shoulders.

Why would she be afraid to tell me? We talk about everything.

“It was us.”

“What?” Shock tugs at his heart and for a second he thinks that he heard you wrong.

“It was us. We were married. We had 2 kids. My brother was still alive and my parents were talking to me again. I was happy there. It was hard to come back. Not that I’m not happy, but just that it’s hard to think you’ve lived a life that doesn’t exist. Especially one so different than all of this.” Dean watches you take in a deep breath, tapping your finger against your bicep, avoiding his eyes. “That was when I realized I was in love with you.” 

Dean’s heart stops beating. “What did you just say-“

You look up and smile tightly. “It’s when I realized I was in love with you. That’s why I was so messed up. I didn't know how to-“

Sam chooses that exact moment to walk in loaded with bags of food. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing much.” Dean watches you easily shift your expression to hide what just happened, smiling at Sam as if you hadn’t said the one thing that Dean had been trying to say to you since he woke up. “Just trying to convince Dean to let me work on Baby. I think I’m wearing him down.”

Dean had never realized how much of a good liar you were until this moment, sure he had seen you pretend to be a government agent, but this was different.

“Like that’ll happen.” Sam hands you a bag of food before turning to look at Dean. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Dean watches you pull out the burger, stunned by your confession.

You place the burger next to him on the bed. “Eat this. It’ll help.”

“But-“ He looks up at you, wanting to finish the conversation.

“I promise I’m not that hungry Dean. I’d rather have the pie. Unless you’re going to fight me for it?” You smile raising an eyebrow.

Dean doesn’t understand why you’re acting like you didn’t just say you were in love with him. He gazes at you, searching your face. For a second he sees the mask slip, but before he can comment it’s gone.

“No I won’t.” He whispers.

“Good.” You turn to the made-up pull out couch and fold your legs underneath you with the slice of pie balanced on your knee, before reaching into your bag for a worn paper back.

Dean sits there watching you turn the pages. She loves me. The memory of you in his dream in the front seat of the Impala whispering it to him doesn’t hold the same weight because now all he can hear is you saying it here, now.

Dean can’t move. He wished Sam would leave again. He wished Sam would leave so he could bring you into his chest and kiss you, so he could tell you the one thing he wished he said ages ago.

But he doesn't. All he does is sit there and watch you read.

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

A few hours after Sam and you have fallen asleep Dean lays in his bed and stares up at the ceiling. He can hear your soft breaths against the pillow, the crinkle of the sheets as you move in your sleep. Usually he allowed himself to fall asleep listening to you, but tonight all it did was keep him awake. Each time he shut his eyes he saw the memory of you in bed with him burning against his eyelids and each time he shut his eyes he heard the real you telling him that you loved him.

Finally, he can't take it anymore.

Dean gets up and makes his way over to the pull-out couch, pausing once to move the paperback book out from under your head. It wasn't the first time that you'd fallen asleep reading, and Dean thought it was cute.

He slides into the bed behind you, gently touching your shoulder to wake you as quietly as possible.

"Hmm." You inhale softly.

"Y/n." Dean whispers.

He watches you turn towards him, eyes blinking in the darkness to rouse yourself from sleep. You hair is flared out over the pillows, eyes hazy. “Dean what are you-“

Dean moves his arm to your waist before pulling you flush into his chest, lips finding yours. The memories of the kiss in his dream are everywhere, but none of them compare to this. You sigh into his mouth, bringing your hands into his hair. Dean breathes you in. You still taste like apple pie, body soft against his, lips smooth and welcoming.

“I love you too.” He whispers against your mouth, eyes finding yours in the darkness of the hotel room.

Your smile breaks him. “It made you see us didn’t it?”

“How did you know?”

“The way you looked when you came out. The way you looked at me. I think it’s the same way I looked at you when I woke up." You brush back his hair and Dean can't help but lean forward into your touch. "What did it make you see?"

“We were married. You were pregnant and I was working at a garage. My parents were alive. Jessica was alive-“

“Oh Dean.” You cup his cheeks with a sorrowful expression, before brushing your lips against his. “I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Dean brings you into his chest, laying on his back so you can rest your head on his heart. His hand slowly traces up and down your spine. You both lie there for a few moments. The subtle beat of your heart soothing the sadness that rises with the memory of his mother and father. Your hand gently rests against his shirt, fingers curling into the soft fabric.

“I missed you.” He hears you whisper into his chest.

“What?” Dean doesn't understand. "Where did I go?"

“Not like that. I know that it sounds stupid, but we were so happy in the dream. It made me miss you, miss this.” He feels you rub your face into the front of his shirt.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Dean you’re my best friend. I didn’t want to lose any of this.” You prop yourself up look him in the eye. “I’m happy here with you and Sam. Y’all are my family and I didn’t want to jeopardize that just because I’m in love with you.”

“Did you think I would have made you leave if you told me that?” Dean can’t help but feel hurt. Sure it would have been awkward for a little bit, but I’d never do that to y/n.

“Not made me leave, more phase me out. It would have made all of this awkward and-“ He watches the weight settle on your shoulders as you press your forehead into the space between his collar bone and neck. “I’ve lost so many things. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Dean squeezes you to him. “You’re not going to lose me sweetheart.” He traces a fingertip under your chin to raise your face to his. “I love you. And even if I didn’t, you’re my family too. I wouldn’t make you leave just because it was a little awkward. We’ve all been through too much together for that.” Dean’s thumb rubs soft circles against your cheek.

“I love you too.” You whisper, the soft smile gracing your lips  mirrors the memory from the dream, but this time it fills him with warmth and comfort, because this time he knows it’s real.  It's not some Djinn messing with his head, it's you. You lean upwards to kiss him gently, while Dean weaves his hand through you hair to secure you to him.

But then you pull away, your smile slipping into a smirk. “So when you say family, are you saying you see me as a sister or a cousin? Because, I don’t know how things are in Kansas, but where I'm from, that's kind of a red flag.“

Dean sighs loudly. Before he rolls you over and pins you to the bed, pressing his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

“Oh. So as a sister-“ You joke.

“You are one of the most annoying people on the planet.”

“I know. It’s why you love me.” You trace his lips with your index finger, gazing up at him the same way the dream version of you did.

Dean feels warmth trail behind your touch. “One of the reasons at least.”

But just as he leans to kiss you again-

“If you guys don’t shut up I’m not going to get any sleep.” Sam grumbles from his bed. “I could have told you two idiots, that you loved one another and it would have taken five seconds.”

“You don’t have to eavesdrop-“ You say glaring over in the direction of Sam’s bed.

“Kinda hard not to when you guys are making out. LOUDLY. I might add.”

“Gonna have to get used to it Sammy.” Dean snorts, before pushing your hair back behind your ear and drawing your gaze back to his face.

“Next time you guys are getting your own room.” Sam continues. “That way I can get some sleep.”

“Doesn’t seem very economical.” You say, but you’re gazing up at Dean again with the smile that makes him feel like he’d swallowed the sun. “I love you.” Your voice is barely a whisper.

“I love you too.” Dean leans down once more to capture your lips against his, erasing all semblance of everything else, except the feel of your body beneath him and the warmth that surges with each breath as the dream of you becomes a reality.

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

Thank you so much for reading!

[jayden-writes]

just this once

pairing: Lucifer x gn!Reader

wordcount: ~1.4k

genre: fluff

cw: none!

summary: Maybe Lucifer could allow himself to indulge every now and then.

other notes: no name, Y/N or MC used // AO3 // thanks again to @gravedwe11er for helping me so much with this fic!

Lucifer wondered what had happened to him; why did his chest feel so warm and fuzzy when he looked at you, peacefully asleep on the couch in his study? He was the Avatar of Pride, the third most powerful demon in all of the Devildom, and yet you had wormed your way into his heart, made yourself home with frightening ease as if this was what you had been made for.

Crouching in front of the couch, he took in your sleeping form, the serene look on your face. How you were able to let your guard down in his presence, to be so trusting despite everything that had happened, everything he had done, was a mystery to him. Was he even deserving of the trust, the kindness you bestowed upon him?

With a gentle touch that contrasted his strength, he brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead. You stirred a little and he froze, holding his breath.

“Mh… Lucifer…?” you muttered sleepily, and your eyelids fluttered open.

Seeing your bleary gaze, he couldn't help but smile fondly, stroking your cheek with his index finger.

“Apologies, my dear, I didn't mean to wake you,” he responded in a hushed tone. “Go back to sleep.”

Humming in agreement, you closed your eyes again and Lucifer chuckled softly before standing up to return to work. However, he didn't get very far. Your hand had reached for his pants, tugging on them, and he crouched down, regarding you with an attentive, yet curious expression.

“What is it?” he asked quietly.

“Are you done?” you whispered, seemingly a little more awake now.

“Soon, I promise,” he soothed.

“You said the same thing earlier,” you grumbled, pouting.

He sighed. “I know I did and I apologize for taking longer. I assure you, I will be done soon. Be patient for me, will you?”

When that didn’t make your pout disappear, he cupped your face with one hand, and pressed his lips against yours briefly, before placing multiple small kisses on your cheekbone. You giggled at that and Lucifer observed the blush on your face, the way the corners of your mouth were curving upwards.

“There it is. As much as I adore seeing that pretty little pout on your lips, I would much rather see you smile.”

The flush coloring your features grew more pronounced and you grasped his hand that was resting on your cheek to hide yourself from him. A pleasant tingling sensation spread through him as you nuzzled his palm and placed a kiss on the pad of his thumb.

Lucifer's gaze softened and he allowed his touch to linger for a moment longer, savoring the feeling of your breaths on his skin, before he withdrew, straightening up. “Sleep now. I will be done by the time you wake up again.”

“I'll hold you to that,” you mumbled as he watched you shift on the couch to get comfortable. Once your eyes were shut, he quietly returned to his desk and resumed working, occasionally glancing at your slumbering form.

He didn't quite know whether you were a distraction that kept him from finishing his work or more of a motivation to get it done as soon as possible. Perhaps you were both at the same time. With a silent sigh, he focused his attention back on the documents spread out in front of him, and the sound of a pen scratching on paper filled the room, sometimes interrupted by a soft rustling when he had finished a page.

Even as Lucifer worked diligently, he listened closely to your steady breaths, his heightened senses easily picking up on the faint noise. Whenever he heard the pattern of your breathing change just a little, he paused what he was doing to check on you, making sure you were alright and not waking up.

Eventually, he finally wrote the last words on a document, and to his relief, you were still fast asleep. He started putting everything aside, cleaning the desk as he always did once he completed his work. Despite his efforts to do so quietly, you stirred awake again, sitting up and rubbing your face tiredly.

“Are you done now?” you asked, voice heavy with sleep.

“I am,” he responded softly, smiling to himself at the sight of your weary form. “Shall we go to bed?” he suggested as he stood up, walking towards you, and offering you his hand to help you up. Lucifer observed your gaze briefly dart down to it, then back to his eyes, your lips pursed.

“What's the matter?” he inquired.

“Carry me,” you simply replied, looking at him expectantly.

Huffing in amusement, he shook his head with an indulgent smile. “Well, aren't you a demanding one?” Bending down, he moved one arm underneath your legs and the other around your waist, allowing you to loop your arms over his shoulders. With ease, he lifted you up, cradling you securely against his chest, and started carrying you.

“Maybe I am. But I know you wouldn't want it any other way,” you retorted lightly, pecking his cheek before nestling your face into the crook of his neck.

Glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, his lips quirked upwards. “I suppose you are right. And perhaps this is how I can make amends for letting you sleep on that uncomfortable couch. I do apologize for taking so long. Mammon’s… shenanigans have caused more paperwork than I had anticipated.”

Sighing heavily, he wondered what punishment would be appropriate this time, in spite of him knowing full well that even the harshest consequences could never discourage Mammon - or any of his younger brothers for that matter - from causing trouble. He could already feel a headache coming on.

His train of thought was disrupted by the sensation of you yawning against his skin, and he immediately felt the tension that had been building up inside of him melt away again.

“Tired, are we, my dear?” Lucifer asked, his voice low and amused as he gently squeezed you closer to him.

“It’s pretty late, so, yeah,” was your mumbled reply.

He hummed in agreement as he reached his bedroom and placed you on the mattress of his large bed, where you promptly crawled under the blanket and curled up.

“It is rather late, yes. Fortunately, there is no RAD tomorrow, so feel free to sleep in,” he said while unbuttoning his waistcoat to get more comfortable.

As he worked on the buttons, he could sense your eyes on him, your brow furrowed as if contemplating something. Before he could ask what was on your mind, you spoke up. “And you? Will you sleep in as well?” You glanced at him, the expression you wore telling him that you knew he would most likely give you a negative answer.

Not immediately replying and averting his gaze, he slowly opened the last button, taking the waistcoat off and folding it, before setting it aside. It was silent as he thought about the paperwork still waiting for him in his study and the additional work that would inevitably come during the day.

When he settled on the edge of the bed, he looked back at you, seeing the disappointment forming in your eyes.

“I will,” Lucifer finally answered, lying down next to you and joining you beneath the blanket.

At first, it was almost as if the words didn’t register in your mind, but then happiness bloomed on your face, and just the sight of you smiling like this already made up for the extra stress that he would have to deal with. You squeaked cheerfully and shifted closer, wrapping your arms around him. Chuckling in amusement, he returned the embrace and held you tightly against him. He nuzzled your hair, kissing the top of your head and tracing his hands along your spine.

Just this once, he thought to himself as he turned the light off with a flick of his hand, plunging the room into darkness, just this once will I allow myself this indulgence.

“I love you,” you whispered, your breaths tickling his neck as you made yourself comfortable next to him.

“And I love you,” he responded quietly, his voice laced with affection. He buried his face in your hair, and tightened his hold on you, drifting off to sleep with a smile on his lips.

Just this once, he told himself.

[corn-cardigan]

Hey so artist to artist, share a secret, how do you achieve that effect? I'm obsessed with how raw it looks love to coloura love the impression and softness just *chefs kiss*

https://www.tumblr.com/corn-cardigan/760825147001339904/random-stuff-from-july-legarde-thing-i-probably?source=share

<- last art from this post

Thank you so much (´༎ຶོρ༎ຶོ`) !

The way I paint is honestly a hodgepodge of methods. I’m in no way a professional painter or visual development artist - I work like this because it’s a nice change of pace from my usual stuff. But here’s a look into my process!

I work in glazes, then I build up to full opacity when I render. This way, whatever subject I’m painting melds with the background color. I prefer my pieces having low contrast and details. I save the most contrast and details for focal points and areas in direct light.

I’m also mindful of what direction my brush strokes are in as a way to sorta replicate traditional painting. It tends to do some heavy lifting in terms of indicating form. ((I love low effort things with big payoffs yippee!!))

It’s really noticeable in my last painting but I add these borders when the subject’s colors contrast too much with the background. By adding that transition border, it makes the subject feel less like a sticker and more incorporated into the background.

When painting portraits, my focal point will usually be the face and eyes. So I prioritize all the rendering and information into that area. Everything else outside that zone is kinda a mess of colors, shapes, and brushstrokes - but it’s ok because it’s not the priority. (Also the above pics are WIPS so if I finished them, it would be a bit more refined…)

Somethings I did in 2022 that kinda exemplifies my points. Although if I did these again, maybe I’d bump down the contrast and make it more focused??

Again, painting is not my main thing!! I just do it for fun and it’s meditative and when you're a storyboard artist, you miss colors…

I always strongly recommend studying contemporary and classical painters who have a stronger, articulated grasp on this matter. I’m just noodling around most of the times.

Lengthy post but hope this helps!!! 💕

[separatist-apologist]

Long Live

Summary: All archeologist Elain Archeron wants is answers about the past.

Fate is determined to give them to her

MASSIVE thank you @abbadinfluence for having the idea AND allowing me to write - I've had the time of my life, this has been so fun.

And @octobers-veryown for being my personal Rome/Italy consultant- thank you for your knowledge, your time, and most importantly, catching when I used a particularly offensive and/or wrong swear word

For @elucienweekofficial | Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

Elain waited until she and Arina were alone to turn to her friend. Arina was one step ahead of her. “We’re fucked,” she said in English, face devoid of any true color. “He’s basically got us under house arrest.” 

“They don’t trust us,” Elain said, taking an anxious breath of air. The last three days had been something out of a nightmare. They’d been arrested, put in chains, and then transported from the country estate to Rome, during which they’d been groped and threatened with assault more times than she could count. Elain had never known true fear until that first night outdoors, camping with a group of leering, bored soldiers. 

She couldn’t enjoy seeing Rome, well aware of where they were being taken. Mamertine Prison was a church in the present day, built over the bones of prisoners sent to languish while they waited out their sentences. Elain had expected some low level judiciary to come and decide their fate. Not the newly crowned Emperor himself, accompanied by his older brother. Nor had she expected Arina to react so viciously once they were so close to freedom.

“We simply have to convince them they can trust us.”

“And how do you intend to go about that?” Arina demanded, picking through the clothes set out for the two of them. They knew enough combined history to get through this, she decided. If they could convince the Emperor they were no threat, Elain believed they could make their way back where they’d started and get back to their own home before they changed history. 

“Well, for starters maybe we should stop biting patricians?” Elain said, rounding on her friend sharply. 

“He’s no better than the soldiers who dragged us up here,” she snarled furiously. “He saw two unprotected women and decided we must exist for his pleasure.”

“Of course he did!” Elain hissed softly. “They’ve never even heard the word feminism. You know women are not on equal standing with men. Stop biting them.”

“If he puts his finger in my face again—”

“No biting.”

Elain turned, looking at the spacious room that belonged to her and her alone. Arina had been given a suite just down the marbled hall but had immediately followed after Elain, prompting two servants to lay clothes out for the both of them nervously. Elain knew what was waiting and was desperate to put her hands on true, Roman garments.

“Why aren’t you panicking?” Arina demanded.

“What good would it do to panic?” Elain asked, tennis shoes squeaking against the marble. The heat coming from the nearby hanging lamps made the room feel warmer than was comfortable, and Elain was quick to fling open the shutters of her window so cool air could push in. “Besides…haven’t you always wanted to see Rome as it actually was?”

“Not really,” Arina said, trailing after Elain apprehensively. “Not like this. What if we can’t get back, Elain? Or worse, what if the Emperor decides to make us some other man's problem?”

“This is Rome. We’ll simply kill him if he tries,” Elain said with far more bravado than she felt. Her room overlooked the garden, replete with beautifully manicured hedges, rows of olive trees, and flowers so vibrant she almost didn’t believe they were real. 

“Elain, I’m serious. Aren’t you afraid?”

“Yes,” she admitted, turning back to the room made of marble and gold. Elain knew if Arina wasn’t so scared, she’d be examining the pillars and telling Elain all about the brush strokes and how the tiles beneath them had been cut. Elain, too, wanted to examine the palace piece by piece, committing it all to memory. Her phone was still in her pocket, the battery at seventy two percent. She could take pictures if she was careful…and then, what? No one would ever believe her.

Maybe just to have once she got home. 

“We need to leave,” Arina hissed, her urgency echoing through Elain’s skull. 

“What we need is to be careful. We were spared once, but I don’t think they’ll be so forgiving the second time. Better to play pretend and wait for our moment than to rush out and get thrown back into prison. Or worse.

Citizens were made slaves all the time, after all. Lucien could make them prostitutes in the eye of the law if he wanted and no one would be able to stop him. Here, at least, they had access to means and the privilege that came from being a patrician woman. 

“He could do horrible things to us,” Arina reminded Elain, standing in the middle of the room with her arms wrapped around her chest. “Things he might think are kind.”

“Then we simply have to convince him not to,” Elain replied, thinking it was easier said than done. “Women might not be allowed a true voice, but there are plenty of Roman women who ruled behind the throne. If we can make him care about us, we can thwart the worst of his machinations. He’s a new Emperor, he’s about to meet his wife…he won’t have a lot of time to spend worrying about us.”

“You’re right,” Arina breathed, closing her eyes before exhaling slowly. “If we blend in and give them no reason to think about us, we can slip out in the night.”

“Or better, he’ll put us on a horse with gold in our pocket.”

“So what now? We just…play dress up?” Arina questioned, finally turning toward the stola. “Drink wine and lounge in the sun?”

“We could explore the city?” Elain suggested, reaching for the red dyed garment. “Tell me, doctor. Where do you think the fabric of this dress comes from?” 

“Egypt,” Arina said, rubbing her fingers against the lenin. “It’s not silk.”

“If we could bring this back—intact—think of—”

“Are you crazy?” Arina hissed, cutting Elain off before she could finish her sentence. “We can do nothing. Make no suggestions, inform them of nothing, do not rip any wings off a butterfly. We aren’t supposed to be here, Elain, and we can’t go around meddling.”

“It’s not meddling. It’s history,” she protested. “And if we’re not supposed to be here, why are we here?”

“Maybe we’re not. Maybe we just ingested something toxic, breathed in too much lead. We’re probably in the hospital having a really vivid hallucination.”

Elain sat on the edge of the bed, sinking into the feathers and straw with delight. Covered in blankets, the mattress was softer than she might have imagined. “This isn’t a hallucination. It’s real.”

She’d thought the same thing when they’d first come through. Elain didn’t believe it anymore, though. They’d been gone for three days and some of her panic was beginning to subside into excitement. They were in Rome at the height of its power and living with the current emperor. Elain knew, from having memorized Lucien’s journals, that he would be meeting Helena soon if he hadn’t met her already.

She didn’t need to meddle—she could merely watch, go home, and reconstruct what she knew. If she could just find out what family Helena belonged to, Elain was certain she’d could piece together whatever tragic fate the empress met. 

Like he so often did, Graysen’s face wormed its way into her memories, flooding her with guilt. She needed to get back—where was her urgency? Arina certainly had it, pacing the room like a caged animal. She’d become wilder by the day, viciously spitting curses at the Roman soldiers who’d dragged them to the prison cell, and again when Eris had tried to touch her.

She was afraid in a way Elain simply wasn’t. She ought to be—oh, how Elain knew she should be scared. They were at the mercy of a time period that valued women even less than the one she’d just left, under the care of a man who didn’t know them at all. They had no one to vouch for them, no refuge in which they could seek shelter in. No one to advocate on their behalf. If they angered the Emperor, he could have them exiled or worse.

And yet…Elain simply wasn’t worried about any of it. She believed they’d be fine, that Lucien would continue to be hospitable, and they’d make their way back no worse than they’d come through. If she was honest with herself, Elain felt a small measure of relief. She didn’t have to make a decision about her own life so long as she was here.

Sure, Graysen would move on eventually, but Elain didn’t intend to be gone for years. Maybe just a month—long enough to have one last, grand adventure. Maybe living in Rome would put some things into perspective for her, besides. Help her make a decision on her own life and relationship.

What did it say about her that she didn’t miss him?

Nothing good.

“Bath?”

Arina threw her hands up in the air with exasperation. “You’re not taking our situation seriously.”

“I am. I’m just realistic. We can’t go anywhere and I don’t want to sit in a bedroom all day. Don’t you want to see how they lived?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“The pipes here are made of lead, Elain. Lead. You’ll be drinking lead tainted water—”

“We’ve been drinking it for the last three days and I feel fine,” she replied, though it did worry her a little. “And we can drink more wine than water, if you’re really that concerned.”

“You want to bathe in lead tainted water?” Arina demanded.

Elain whirled on her friend, her frustration mounting. “There is no deodorant here and I smell like shit from two days of traveling and a night spent in an ancient prison. The water could have sharks in it and I’d still risk it.”

“You’re gonna dress up like a proper Roman lady?”

“Yes, because the alternative is letting them think we don’t belong, grow suspicious of us, and do something horrible. We need to play along, Arina…and we need to stop biting Consuls.”

“I hate him,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

Elain only shrugged, beckoning for her friend to follow her out of the bedchamber. The hall was brightly lit from both hanging lamps and nearby arched windows that allowed light and air to pour inside in equal measure. It was here that Arina seemed to relax a little, running her finger tips over the gold encrusted walls with awe. 

“Look at this,” Arina breathed, pausing beside a Corinthian style column. “To see it…just…wow.”

The pair touched the marble on the column, craning their necks to look up at the ornate estatis just at the top. The whole thing was pure decoration and though Elain knew it had been built a good several decades earlier, the marble was pristine and vibrant. 

“This is real,” Arina breathed.

Elain couldn’t help her smile.

This was real. 

LUCIEN: 

Lucien was having a difficult time focusing. He ought to be listening to important business of the empire…and yet his eyes kept sliding to the open window where Elena was, walking through his garden in a vibrant red stola. No one had done her hair and so she’d left it wild like a child, half hidden beneath a palla pinned into her dark curls. Lucien was so curious about why she wore it—he had it on good authority she wasn’t married. Was she widowed? 

Did she not know the custom? He was woefully uneducated about life in Brittana, perhaps all women wore the palla. Maybe she was worried about her modesty like a good Roman woman ought to be? The only way to know was to ask and Lucien couldn’t ask without revealing to the men around him that he’d rather spend his time talking to a woman rather than dealing with important matters.

But he did want that. He wanted to try and piece together her rather charming accent…and if Lucien was honest, he wanted to touch her. Wanted to touch the coils of curls blowing in the breeze, wanted to run a knuckle over her unblemished cheek just to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.

He wanted to do other things, too—things that were wholly inappropriate if he was to find a suitable husband for her and get her out of his home. And then he’d spend the rest of his life wondering what it was like to have a woman like that in his bed, until he inevitably took her as his mistress, pissing off whatever man he’d arranged for her in the first place.

Problems for future Lucien, certainly.

Turning his attention back to the room, Lucien’s eyes slid to the map laid out before him. He wanted to invade Germania and succeed where so many before him had failed. Taking that northern territory would allow him to hunt down the saxon’s that plagued his coastlines, too, and take back the treasure they’d been plundering. 

There were a few routes they could take in, but crossing the Rhine was Lucien’s preference. He’d been there during the first campaign and had assisted in building the bridge they’d used to cross—it had terrified the Germanic barbarians to see the might of Rome, sending them scattering further into the interior.

Lucien could build roads and bridges all he liked—getting through the forests was what plagued them. They didn’t have the tactical advantage and Lucien refused to go if defeat was the only path forward. If he was going to lose men, it was going to be in service of victory.

Agreeing to reconvene over wine that night, Lucien sent his advisors away for the time being, intending to meet with a few generals—and Jurian, who would lead his campaign—later that week. Just in time for the games to begin and spread the right amount of propagare that would convince the people of his authority.

Above all else, Lucien needed the backing of the people of Rome just as much as he needed the army. He was drowning in tasks, which didn’t explain why Lucien began his descent into the gardens the mere second he was alone. It was shameful to be so curious about a woman, especially one his brother had accused of being a whore and yet…Lucien’s father had always been especially taken with his mother. There had been no infidelity on his fathers end unless you counted the time he’d been sleeping with Amera while she’d been married to Beron.

Beron had divorced his wife for political reasons and Helion had merely swooped in and married her quickly and quietly before anyone could truly object. And then, when Beron was made Emperor, Helion took off for the outer provinces…just to be safe. It hadn’t been until Lucien had been a man and called back to the city that Helion dared to return, too.

Lucien just needed to know if another man had a claim to her. That was all—it was practical, he swore, adjusting his toga so the purple was especially vibrant in the afternoon sun. He knew he ought to cut his long, auburn hair to conform with the more fashionable short styles and yet…Lucien had left it long because he liked it. It had started on the battlefield, curling around his neck before the length straightened it all out. It had been a joke among the legion he was in—they always knew where Lucien was because of his lovely, effeminate hair. 

What had begun as a joke had somehow transcended Roman norms and though some of the older patrician’s threw him a dirty look now and again, the rest of them didn’t seem terribly bothered so long as Lucien kept it neat and pulled out of his face. No braids or beads like the barbarian’s wore, no adornments of any kind. When he worked, he often tied it off his neck in a bun to give the illusion of short hair.

At least it wasn’t a beard, he reasoned. 

He found Elain among the olive trees, one hand outstretched to touch one of the leaves. Lucien cleared his throat, hands clasped behind his back.

“Where is your friend?”

She turned abruptly, eyes wide. “She ah…” Elain bit her bottom lip. “She found the library.”

Lucien nodded. “Do you like to read?”

She shrugged. “I prefer being outdoors.”

“Do you spend much time outdoors?” he asked, noting the freckles dotting her nose. She must and yet her skin didn’t betray any of it. Most women preferred to stay indoors, far from the sun's vicious kiss that too often left their skin lined and leather-worn. 

“Do you?” she replied, looking up at him through thick, dark lashes.

Lucien offered her a lopsided grin. “Of course. Especially when I have diverting company. Walk with me?”

“Only if you agree to answer all my questions.”

Something warm spread through Lucien. As he’d risen through the ranks, women had begun treating him differently—respectfully. In his mind, he was always thinking of Jesminda and how he’d been just another nobleman’s son and no one special at all. She’d teased him, taunted him—had wanted him without any of the fake modesty he loathed. Lucien had been fortunate to marry for love, once, and having had a taste of true marital bliss, he didn’t want the Roman arrangement his peers often found themselves embroiled in. Jurian was all but married to a woman he barely knew. It was a good prospect for him, if for no other reason than it increased his social standing and available wealth. Lucien didn’t need to worry about any of that anymore, though he would be a fool if he thought he could snub the fellow patrician families and choose just anyone.

Including the beautiful woman standing beside him. She was Roman and yet he knew she had no connection to anyone of importance in the city. He might as well declare himself in love with a barbarian princess and be done with it.

And he wasn’t. In love with her, that is. He was merely fascinated by her mouth and the way her curls caught the sun, making them seem almost golden in the right light. And Lucien had to admit he liked the sound of her voice and the rolling way she spoke.

“I’ll answer anything you ask of me,” Lucien agreed, offering her his bare arm rather selfishly. He just needed to know if her skin was as soft as it looked. She beamed up at him, the prettiest thing he’d ever seen in his entire life, and accepted. Her fingers were warm, gliding over his bare bicep without a care in the world. What would she look like adorned in gold, he wondered?

“How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked before she could get one of her own questions out. He didn’t need to answer anything if he did all the talking. 

She considered his question and only after her silence stretched did Lucien consider that she did not speak Latin as well as he thought. He gave her space, walking her over a careful, stone laid path around the olive grove.

“Your hospitality has been generous,” she began carefully, fingers fidgeting in the pleats of her dress. “I’m sure Arina and I would be fine living somewhere on our own—”

“Who will protect you?” Lucien demanded, getting close to the question he was most interested in. “Two unmarried women shouldn’t be alone in the city.”

She nodded, not disputing his words.

Lucien pounced. “You’re not married?”

She glanced up at him, eyes narrowing. “No, I’m not married.”

“Why?”

She took a breath. “I have a fiance—”

“A what?”

She murmured something under breath in a language he didn’t understand. I forgot french hasn’t been invented yet. He didn’t like that Britanic language—it was too harsh, too angry to be coming out of such lovely lips.

“I am…sponsalia?” 

Lucien blanched. “To who?”

“He lives far from here.”

“And he let you leave unaccompanied?” Lucien demanded, thinking if he met this man, he’d kill him for his cowardice. What kind of man sent his future wife on the road alone where any number of horrible things could happen to her? No, that man was no man at all. Elain had been overtaken on the road and had she not found his home, who knew what might have happened to her?

Lucien didn’t want to think about it. 

“He trusts me,” she said foolishly. What did trust have to do with reality, he wondered?

“And look at how well that worked for you both,” Lucien replied, unable to keep the bite from his words. “You were set upon by bandits and then imprisoned for being a spy. If my brother had his way, you’d be working with the local prostitutes and your fiance would be disgraced to have ever been attached to you.”

Her cheeks reddened, not with shame like he expected, but anger. “Don’t do me any favors, Caesar.”

Why did he like it, he wondered? And yet… “Do you consider this a favor, Elena?”

“I did.”

“And now?”

She kicked a clod of dirt with her foot. “I feel like an imposition.”

“Disavow him,” Lucien commanded, halting in his tracks to look at her. “Say he means nothing to you.”

“I…”

“Disavow him and I will put the backing of Rome behind you,” he swore, wishing he had his sword to swear upon. 

“I can’t—”

“You will.”

It was wrong, perhaps, to force her into ending whatever marriage she’d been entered into. The bond clearly wasn’t strong if he was willing to risk his future wife. Perhaps he hoped something would happen to her. The thought angered Lucien.

“Please don’t,” she whispered, but Lucien’s mind was made up and he would not be denied. 

“Then call him to Rome to answer for his treatment,” Lucien ordered, certain she would not do that. Elain rounded on him, hands on her hips and he wondered with delight if she would deny him.

“So you can slaughter him?”

“You wound me. I believe in the rule of law—”

“What law did he break?” she demanded and oh. She had him there. Technically the man had done nothing other than offend Lucien. Wasn’t that enough? He was Emperor, why should he be offended by some man from Britannia that didn’t value his soon-to-be wife? 

“You broke laws,” Lucien reminded her, scrambling for anything that would give him validity. “Your father is responsible—”

“My father is dead,” she said, some of the fire in her eyes extinguished.

“Then your brother or uncle—”

“I have none.”

Lucien offered her a smile so saccharine it tasted sweet on his tongue. “Which leaves your soon-to-be husband to answer for your crimes. Call him or disavow him.”

Elain looked up at him, arms crossed over her chest. “And if I disavow him, what then?”

Lucien’s grin widened. “I would be delighted to accept responsibility for you and find a suitable husband.”

“A terrifying prospect,” she grumbled. Lucien was half decided on who he’d marry her to—no one he knew was good enough for her. Was he? He wanted to find out. The more she spoke, the longer he breathed the same air, only made him want her more. “Fine. I disavow him. He means nothing to me, I owe him nothing.”

“Would he mourn your death?” Lucien asked curiously, tilting his head to the side. She blinked, eyes strangely glassy.

“I don’t know,” she finally said as her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Lucien’s body went taut for a moment, eyes tracking the way she moved. He felt like a predator back on the killing fields, sword in hand even as he prepared to have his life ended. She could end him, too—not with a weapon but her words, a look, a touch. If she would not marry him, Lucien would take her in any way he could get her. He would deny he’d touched her if that's what she asked, would keep her as an ornament in his home and raise their illegitimate children. She had no father, no brother, no husband. No man who could deny him, though Lucien could not have been denied even if she did. 

Reaching for her chin, Lucien forced Elain to look at him. Elena, he thought with pleasure. She’d need a more Romanized name to be accepted by the people. Would she like Helena, he wondered? He was getting ahead of himself and yet Lucien felt settled.

Pleased, too.

Holding her gaze, he said, “I would mourn you.”

“You don’t even know me,” she replied, drawing a soft, shaking breath.

Lucien shook his head. “I feel the opposite. I feel as if I’ve known you my whole life.” Like he’d been waiting for her. Guilt slithered through him, hot and oily as he remembered Jesminda. He’d once said the same thing about her. Was he the kind of man who could forget love so quickly? Lucien couldn’t help his foolish heart. Looking at the woman beside him, far paler than she’d been when they’d first begun talking, he knew he had his work cut out for him.

He could demand her hand—could assert himself as the sole authority over her and then demand she wed him. And Lucien could imagine just how well that would go. He’d have her in his bed, but she wouldn’t be willing, wouldn’t want him. He knew plenty of men with disinterested wives, who submitted out of duty but not desire. Having tasted love with Jesminda, Lucien wanted it again. Wanted it so badly he was willing to toss out tradition, at least until she got to know him better. 

“Come,” he said with an easy smile, “let me show you the fountain. It’s my favorite.”

—

Arina didn’t care what Elain said—they needed to leave. Elain was too struck by the history of it all that she’d forgotten they were living in an ancient human civilization that was so far removed from their own that any number of horrible tragedies might befall them. Elain had, if nothing else, seen the toilet situation.

Holed up in the Emperor’s library, Arina forced herself to sit in a chair that was deeply uncomfortable, a book laid across her lap. On any other day, finding a first edition transcription of Aristotle’s teachings would have been a dream—she could touch it. Now, though, Arina couldn’t even enjoy herself. 

In truth, she was terrified. Obvious problems aside, they had no way to get back, no way to escape. There were far worse things between Rome and the estate they’d broken into beside just Lucien and his army. But if they could steal a horse, could get some coins…well. Arina figured they could be long gone before anyone in the capital even realized they were missing.

And with some knives—ideally with poisoned blades—they’d be in decent shape. They couldn’t take on a good swordsman, but how many highway robbers were any better than them?

Arina heard the sound of leather on marble, heard the high, bronze doors open and without seeing who came in, she just knew. Eris. He was the blueprint for all modern Italian men—arrogant, certain of his own greatness, and desperate for a woman to subjugate. Just like her father, she thought darkly. He strolled in, dressed like the immaculate senator he was. Did he know that Arina knew everything about him? The would-be Emperor, ousted by his own father who knew ahead of time, had planned to kill his son. He hadn’t suspected Eris had conspirators, but he had destroyed every soldier who might have taken the city for Rome and alerted Helion who then moved quickly to ensure his own son took the city before it could fall into the hands of some hated rival. 

Eris survived—thrived, even. He lived just as long as his brother, had a whole host of children with a foreign born woman known only to history as Agripina, and seemed generally happy in his later writings. Arina had never cared much for this period of time outside of the art, the sculptures, the architecture. Now, though?

Well, Arina would be an expert at this rate. 

Eris made his way into the large atrium, amber eyes finding hers. His impassive expression shifted into a frown, his disdain plain. 

“Who taught you how to read?”

Arina cocked her head and smoothed her blue stola beneath her hands. “Are you looking for lessons?”

She really shouldn’t test him—knew that he could make her life exceptionally difficult. And yet it was fun to see his gaze sharpen and his spine straighten as he recognized the challenge. 

Striding toward her, Eris plucked the book from her fingers to examine the writings. “What do you know of Aristotle?” Arina wanted to laugh in his face. More than he did, she’d wager. “Enough.”

He handed the book back, closing the leather bound cover carefully before doing so. It was tempting to tell him that his own wife would be so literate that in his final years, she was the one who wrote down his every thought. 

“You’re excused,” Eris informed her dismissively, turning toward the arching windows overlooking the garden. He made his way toward them, hands folded behind his back, to do the same thing Arina had been doing—spying on Elain and the Emperor. 

Elain was so beautiful that every man who saw her fell a little in love with her. It wasn’t unusual for men to stop Elain on the street spouting sonnets about her beauty or begging for just ten minutes of her time. If Elain wasn’t careful, he’d be demanding she marry him before the week was out and they’d be in real trouble. 

Arina rose to her feet, unwilling to argue with Eris. She couldn’t argue with him as far as she remembered. His word was law even in this place, and even over her. 

“Che cazzo,” she hissed under her breath, well aware Eris had no hope of deciphering the actual meaning of her words. Italian wasn’t a language anyone spoke yet. Eris’s head whipped around all the same, eyes narrowed to slits.

“What barbarian tribe are you actually from?” he asked, crossing his arms over a broad chest.

Adopting her most brain dead smile, Arina said, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“That language…” he wrinkled his nose with disdain. “Is lingua latina not spoken even as far North as Britannia?”

Arina couldn’t help her laugh. If only he knew. “But of course.”

“Tell me.”

“Why? So you can accuse me of any number of untrue things?”

Eris took a soft breath, nostrils flaring. “If I swear not to accuse you?”

“I would still lie,” Arina replied with that same saccharine smile. “Surely you understand the importance of speaking multiple languages? Or can you not speak Greek?”

“I don’t speak any of the barbarian languages—”

“Yet,” she interrupted, holding his gaze. “But who knows? Maybe in five years you’ll need someone who can.”

“What were you really doing in my brother's home?”

Arina’s eyes slid over his shoulders, toward the dots that were Elain and Lucien standing before a marble carved fountain. Studying it. She so badly wanted to tell him the truth—to tell someone all of her fears, of the nightmare she currently found herself in. She couldn’t. Arina pressed her lips shut, eyes returning to the man standing before her.

“I’m going to find out,” he warned her softly. “I’m a terrible enemy to have.”

She only shrugged, heart thudding roughly in her chest. “I’ve already told you everything. I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”

She was nearly at the door when he called out, “‘Che cazzo.’ What does it mean?”

His Italian wasn’t awful—certainly less offensive than when Graysen had bid her a good day in the choppiest drawl she’d ever heard in her life. Arina knew better than to tell him the truth, and yet…

“Capitium,” she said, using the Latin for little head as Eris’s expression darkened. Dick. She could call a man a dick in every language. 

Pleased with herself, Arina attempted to flounce from the room, satisfied she’d at least cut Eris down to size. It didn’t solve any of her problems but it did make her feel better.

She was nearly to the hall when strong fingers wrapped around her bare arm, pulling her back flush against his chest.

Lowering his mouth to her ear, Eris murmured, “The next time you reference my cock, I’ll assume you’re asking to see it.”

“You disgust me,” she whispered without thinking.

He only chuckled, low and soft. He smelled nice, a mix of spices she didn’t immediately recognize. Shouldn’t all men reek of body odor? This one, especially, ought to smell like sewage given how handsome his face was. 

“I’ll bet you’d say that on your knees.”

Arina elbowed him roughly in the ribs, certain he would do nothing but let her go. There was the faintest echo of outrage etched on his features, but more horrifyingly, she found something that read like a challenge gazing back at her. That was dangerous, especially in a place where men could do whatever they liked to women under their protection. 

Forcing herself to smile, Arina wrenched from his grasp to look up at the tall warrior gazing back at her. “If you put your cock in my face, you’ll regret it.”

“Such a filthy mouth,” Eris all but crooned, undeterred by the threat. “I look forward to using—”

She knew better. Oh, Arina knew better even back home, than to slap a man. It was dangerous back home where men were prone to violence when provoked—and literally anything might provoke them.

It was worse, here. He already thought her a barbarian, knew she had no male relative to watch over her, and just barely tolerated her. The two of them stood there, chests heaving as a patch of red bloomed across his cheek. Arina’s palm stung from the force of the blow, hidden behind her back as if she could take it all back.

Bracing herself for his fury, Arina steeled her spine even as she flinched back. Eris watched, head slightly cocked, his own hand rising not to strike her back, but to touch his face. Arina wasn’t going to apologize—he had no right to speak to her that way.

And still, she was scared. 

Eris exhaled through his nostrils. “Watch yourself,” he warned her, lifting his chin as though that might salve his wounded pride, “or I’ll put you in the military since you want to fight.”

Arina exhaled the breath she’d been holding. “I—” I’m sorry. “Of course.”

Eris gestured for her to leave, turning his head and Arina, not willing to stick around and test his good will, tripped over the skirt of her dress in her haste. At the end of the hall, she turned to look over her shoulder, surprised to find him still standing in the archway.

Watching.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Hi,

A very happy new year to you !!

Hello! ❤️💚❤️💚

A very happy new year to you as well! I pray this year brings you many blessings and great joy!

Please allow this to be an excuse for me to write a little drabble for you (my first of 2024) honoring the New Year! (I just keyboard smashed it in my phone, please forgive any typos!)

———————

It was the bloody fireworks that woke Harry up from a dead-sleep. His body instantly alert, hand reaching for his wand on the nightstand.

The colors lit up his hotel room once more as the next set of fireworks exploded through the sky, lighting up the unfamiliar skyline in Hong Kong where Harry and Draco had been sent on (and just completed) their latest mission.

Draco.

Harry looked around the room, a room which now seemed conspicuously empty. Without his permission his hand strayed to the other side of the bed. The side of the bed that Draco had crawled into when they’d returned to their hotel after the harrowing escape. Draco had slipped in under the covers next to Harry and murmured, “is this okay?” Like he was afraid of the answer.

Harry’d reached across the small gap to take his hand, nodding because he couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t say how much he’d longed to be close to the other man.

“Can I kiss you?” Draco had whispered next.

Harry had met him halfway across the space between them.

He shivered at the memory of how softly he’d pressed his lips to Harry’s, at the way his fingertips had trailed feather-light over Harry’s cheekbones, leaving a tingling warmth in their wake.

When Draco had pulled back, Harry had been nervous that he’d want more; more than Harry could give. But he hadn’t, he’d just gently stroked Harry’s hair back off his forehead and pressed another soft kiss there too. “Can I just hold you for a while?” Draco murmured.

And how was Harry meant to say no to that? He’d cuddled in and fallen asleep within minutes as Draco’s fingers carded through his hair. His last thought before he’d drifted off had been to wonder how he could have gotten so lucky.

He shook his head as he collapsed back on the bed, he should have known it was too good to be true. That someone would just want to cuddle, would just want to be with him, it was too much. Or perhaps not enough. Either way, it didn’t change the fact that the new year had arrived and Harry found himself as alone as he always was when the new year arrived.

He was sulking, considering having a proper cry, when he heard the toilet flush and the sink start.

His heart leapt into his throat, an unwieldy frog trying to escape the hands of a child who would capture it.

The door opened a moment later and Draco tiptoed out, closing the door with a soft snick before turning back to the bed. He froze when he saw Harry staring at him. “Sorry,” he whispered, honoring the warm-dark around them, “did I wake you? I didn’t mean to disturb-”

Another round of fireworks interrupted him as Harry shook his head, “the fireworks,” he said helplessly. “I thought you’d gone,” he said, hoping his voice held steady enough that it didn’t betray his grief over that fact.

“Did you want me to?” Draco asked, gesturing toward the door.

“No!” Harry said quickly, too quickly.

But Draco’s shoulders eased and he slipped back into the bed next to Harry.

Harry reached out and tentatively brushed his knuckle over Draco’s hand, longing to close the distance between them but not knowing how.

Draco cleared his throat, “did you know there’s a tradition that says whoever you kiss at midnight is the person you’ll be with until the next new year?”

He swallowed roughly, “I don’t think that anyone wants that responsibility.”

Draco’s tongue darted over his bottom lip, “seems more like a privilege than a responsibility to me.”

He laughed, knuckle still trailing over Draco’s hand. “I like kissing,” he whispered. “And I love to be cuddled and held,” he continued. “But…” he trailed off, swallowing past the shame and embarrassment.

“You don’t like sex?” Draco offered, voice warm with compassion and devoid of any judgement.

He nodded, avoiding his gaze.

“Harry?” he murmured, “can I kiss you?”

He blinked, “I’m not going to change my mind about it. It’s not something that can be fixed.”

Draco nodded again, “it’s not something that’s broken.” He shrugged, “you don’t have to want to have sex with me for me to want to be your partner in more than the work sense of the word. I’m,” he broke off and bit his lip, “honestly I’m a bit gone on you.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, eyes stinging, chest constricting painfully at the thought that he might get to have this, might get to love Draco and be loved in return.

“Yeah,” Draco replied with a little laugh. He cupped Harry’s cheek, stroking his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone. “So, what do you say? Want to spend this year with me?”

How about this lifetime? Harry thought. But he didn’t say it, instead he nodded and leaned in letting Draco kiss him. They had their whole lives ahead, one day, one kiss, at a time.

[mimisempai]

It has always been there

Summary

The morning after the shopkeepers' meeting, Aziraphale awakens at Crowley's side.

Gazing at the sleeping demon, he once again realizes the depth of his feelings, and a moment of shared tenderness allows them to reaffirm how they feel about each other.

Notes

Just another lazy morning

On Ao3

Rating G -  1366 words

When Aziraphale awoke and opened his eyes, his gaze was immediately drawn to Crowley's red hair, which had caught the only ray of sunlight that had managed to flit through the curtains.

The angel turned a little more toward Crowley, resting his head on his hand and taking advantage of the moment of quiet to look at the sleeping demon.

He was so beautiful that sometimes Aziraphale couldn't believe his luck. He smiled fondly, for while Crowley slept, a strand of his hair, always slicked back perfectly, had fallen across the demon's forehead.

The angel reached out and delicately caught the red strand with his fingertips. He admired the changing shimmer in the sunlight before gently flicking the strand back.

He reflected that Crowley's hair was like the demon's personality, vibrant with color, full of different shades, but paradoxically, so constant.

He ran his eyes over Crowley's face, amazed to see him so relaxed in his sleep. So trusting.

His presence had been so precious and comforting during the stress of preparing for the shopkeepers' meeting and during the meeting itself last night. 

Stress that Aziraphale had to admit had been caused in large part by his own desire to do everything too well. 

Fortunately, Crowley had been there to channel it and help him gain some perspective.

Unable to resist a sudden impulse, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against the demon's forehead.

Crowley let out a small sigh, but kept his eyes closed as Aziraphale raised his hand and traced the contours of the delicate face with his fingertips. 

His fingers ran along the line of the demon's cheek, up to trace the line of his nose, then down the other cheek to end at his soft lips.

Suddenly, the lips under his fingers curved into a smile, and the angel raised his eyes to meet Crowley's, now wide open. 

He wanted to remove his hand from the demon's lips, but Crowley would have none of it and grabbed his wrist to kiss the angel's fingertips before saying in a still sleepy voice, "You really do look like an angel, like that."

Aziraphale chuckled slightly before saying, "You're not fully awake, you obviously can't see very well. 

Crowley immediately replied in a firm tone despite the fact that he had just woken from his sleep, "I can see just fine, on the contrary, angel. With the sunlight behind you, it looks like you have a real halo, but... it's mostly your smile that made me say that. And I won't accept any arguments."

Aziraphale shook his head, but didn't protest, knowing it was a losing battle. 

He stroked the demon's cheek gently with the back of his hand and asked thoughtfully, "Did you sleep well, my dear?"

Crowley replied unblinking, "I always sleep well when I sleep here with you.

He wrapped his arms around the angel's waist, pulling him closer until he was almost on top of Crowley. Aziraphale buried his hands in the red hair and leaned his head forward to press his lips to the demon's in a lazy kiss.

The sounds of the street awakening could be heard in the background, but the angel and the demon, so focused on each other, were oblivious as the kiss lingered.

Moments later, Aziraphale moved back a bit and began to rain a shower of butterfly kisses on the demon's face, causing him to laugh slightly.

The laughter changed Crowley's face so much that Aziraphale couldn't help but give a small gasp. The angel was always a little emotional when he saw the same joy on the demon's face that he'd seen the first time he'd met him as an angel. But at the same time, he was happy to be the one who had just brought that joy to that face.

He continued to shower the demon's face with light kisses, and after a last one on his lips, he caught the demon by the shoulders and with unexpected strength rolled him onto his stomach, causing Crowley to let out a small, startled yelp.

Crowley turned his head to the side and asked, "Angel, why are you..."

Aziraphale, now astride the demon's waist, leaned toward his head and whispered softly in his ear, "It's my turn to take care of you, my dear, because you've been such an incredible support these past few days."

"Angel, you owe me nothing for that."

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his temple and replied softly, "I'm doing exactly what you keep telling me to do, which is what I really want to do."

He straightened and, after placing his hands on the demon's back, began to rub it gently, making circles with the palm of his hand. Then, a little unsure of himself, he tried to apply more and more pressure, attempting to replicate what Crowley had done for him when he had massaged his shoulders two days earlier.

He said softly, "I'm not sure I'm as good as you, I've never done this before."

Crowley replied gently, "I've never done this before either, you know. I'd say do what I did, let your instincts do the work, it's perfect as it is, I swear, Angel, I've never felt so good."

Aziraphale, emboldened by the demon's words, continued his massage, working his way down from the shoulders to the lower back, and judging by the little grunts of satisfaction that came from Crowley's mouth from time to time, he must not have done too badly.

When he was through, he leaned over the demon's head and, seeing his relaxed face, realized with amusement that Crowley had fallen back asleep.

Since Crowley couldn't hear him, Aziraphale dared to whisper in his ear, "I've never been prouder than I was last night to officially tell everyone that you were my partner. That we were together." 

Azirapahle felt his throat tighten, but continued, "Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined this. That I could call you mine and show it to the world. I swear, my dear, I've never loved you as much as I love you right now."

Suddenly, he saw the demon's lips curl into a smile as he whispered, "I love you, angel."

Aziraphale blushed, embarrassed that Crowley had heard him, and had no time to react when, with a deft move of the demon, he found himself beneath him as Crowley murmured against his lips, "Don't be embarrassed to tell me how you feel, angel. Because I love to hear it."

He pressed his lips to the angel's, and when he pulled away, Aziraphale said without preamble, "I love you."

It was the demon's turn to blush slightly, surprised by the forthright declaration.

Aziraphale laughed lightly and said, "Who shouldn't be embarrassed, hmm?"

The demon buried his face in the angel's neck, and the angel wrapped his arms around him, still laughing.

Then he whispered into his hair, "I want to tell you again, I'm proud, Crowley, proud that here, those who make up our friends, those we pass every day, know what you mean to me."

Crowley lifted his head and added, "What we mean to each other."

He kissed the angel's chin and asked, "Do you think that one day we will be able to tell each other that we love each other without it being a surprise or thinking that the other can't hear us?"

Aziraphale gently replied, "Maybe it'll never be easy, but what's important in the end is that we know it. And you know, don't you, that I... that I l..."

Crowley burst out laughing, and it wasn't long before the angel joined in.

But it was the truth, after all, maybe grand declarations weren't for them.

For centuries, they had expressed their love for each other through their actions.

A multitude of small gestures over the millennia.

A wing that sheltered from the rain.

A spot of paint erased in a breath.

Books saved from the rubble.

Thinking of the other as soon as the word trust was uttered.

All of this meant "I love you" as surely as if the words had been spoken.

The difference was that now they knew it was love.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

[shallyne]

The Diary of Feyre Archeron Ch 4

CHAPTER FOUUUUUUR! YAY!!! All chapters on A03

Words: 1.6k

TW: signs of a panic attack, death, implied murder

July 19th

It's barely daybreak and we already got bad news. Mom had a stroke last night, so severe that she's now in a coma. I tried talking to Nesta but she didn't reply and just left, Elain still seems in shock. I don't know how I feel, it all just seems going downward right now and there is no way to stop it. Is it possible to feel nothing about mom's stroke? Maybe I am in shock but I don't feel like I am in shock, I just, I feel nothing. Does that make me a bad person? Maybe it does, maybe I am a bad person but if I am a bad person, then mom is a bad person, too.

I'm trying not to think too much about it, Elain and Nesta are more important right now because they do feel something, and I want to make sure that they know I am there for them if they want to talk. I doubt they will but it's always nice to know that there is someone, right?

Also, should we tell dad? Should we tell him soon or wait for some news? He's going to be devastated, like we were when we lost everything because of his antics.

I shouldn't go down this route right now, maybe another time.

Well, I guess it's time now to get ready for school, maybe Rhys will distact me from this shitshow my family is right now.

July 20th

Rhys told me today that he needs to talk to me soon about something important, whenever I have time. I only have time next Saturday and he was okay with meeting in the little park close to school then, so it can't be urgent.

OMG, maybe he's asking me on a date? That MUST be it!! I don't know how I am just thinking about it. Maybe I can borrow a dress from Nesta for Saturday and wear a little makeup. I don't know much about makeup, maybe Elain can help me. This is so exciting. FINALLY!! I'm totally saying yes but not instantly, he took long enough to ask me on a date.

I'll let my hair open, I know he likes it. I did it once and he told me I looked pretty, so that's a given. I also have this perfume I'm only wearing for special occasions, I'll use that, too.

Maybe I can get some details about it in the following week.

This is the best day of my life!!!!

Also, Ianthe has been a bitch to me. Rhys had told me she kept flirting with him after he rejected her a bajillion times and I told her to go away after she tried AGAIN. Unbelievable, right?

Such a shame she smashed her hand in her locker door in the PE changing room where no one could see us her.

I hope it heals just fine, would be sad if it didn't.

July 21st

I'm trying to draw and I just can't. Everytime I try I'm staring at a blank canvas, which is just as blank as my mind. I thought the maybe-date with Rhys would inspire me at least a little but it's impossible. I have a creative block. Even thinking about picking up a pencil or a brush takes all my energy, I never felt this way about painting. Painting was always my escape, I was always good at expressing any feeling through art. Now, I just get angry. I want to take the canvas and throw it away. I like having this diary but it's not the same as painting, I can't express myself in words like I do in sketches and paintings, or even scribbles. That part of me just feels empty now, like someone stole all the colors, all lights and feelings and shapes. It's a void.

Elain looked at my canvas and told me to give it a few days, maybe she's right. It's a stressful time for us all. We will get through this and then we go back to our normal lives because everything will be okay.

I'm trying to tell myself that at least, like Elain does, but there is always a little voice in my head that doubts any happiness will come our way.

The feeling of impending doom is still there, gripping me everyday, reminding me that all is not okay. Maybe it's just a puberty thing, I'm sure Nesta and Elain went through the same thing. I wouldn't know, talking about feelings in the Archeron household is like eating a steak as a vegan. You don't do it.

July 26th

Rhys is dead to me.

He and his stupid father don't exist anymore, not in my world. They are dead. DEAD.

Rhys hadn't invited me to ask me on a date, I didn't get ready, borrowed Nesta's dress, let Elain do my makeup, use my good perfume, because he wanted to ask me on a date. No, he invited me to tell me that he is the reason for ruining my life. My whole family's life. That we have NOTHING! Okay fine, it's his father's fault but what's the difference? I AM SO ANGRY. He just moved here to ruin my father's business because of some stupid deal my father broke. Speaking of father, my father is just as dead to me. He can rot in hell, I hope he rots in prison. My sister's are suffering because of HIM. Because of his decisions, because of Rhysand's family. I hate my father, I hate Rhysand's father, I hate Rhysand.

I must have looked just as distraught as I feel because Nesta knew instantly that something happened when I came home. I told her everything, her and Elain, and she is seething.

I can't believe I fell for Rhysand, I can't believe I fell for a fucking lie.

I'm just so angry I can barely breathe. I can't breathe. I can't fucking breathe.

How am I supposed to see Rhysand everyday at school and not scream at him, at the unfairness of it all. How can I ever look at myself, live with myself, for falling foe his tricks to get close to me like a fool.

It was all a lie.

Dad's business was a lie.

Our life was a lie.

Rhysand was a big fucking lie.

I can't breathe.

July 31st

I'm sitting in a train.

The last twenty-four hours five days felt like a bad nightmare, one I just want to wake up from. But it's not a nightmare, is it? It's real.

Mom is dead. They said it was the stroke. Rhysand said it wasn't. I don't know why I believe him but he looked genuine. Maybe I am a fool for trusting him in this but Nesta seems to believe him, too.

Ruining my father's business wasn't the last of Rhysand's father's plans for my father. My father ruined a big deal, now Rhysand's father ruins his life. Meaning that he sends out his men to kill the people my father loves. Which includes my mother. And his daughters.

I think this is how shock feels, feeling like an empty shell. Every movement feels robotic, only muscle memory making me move.

Nesta told me that Rhysand's brothers knocked like crazy on the front door, the tall one was even short of breaking the freaking door down, to warn them about the threat on their lives. Meanwhile Rhysand dragged me out of that diner, kicking and screaming. I didn't want to listen, I didn't want to touch him, but he didn't budge. He brought me to my sisters. Telling me the plan.

The plan to send us away, to a friend who can help us. I think his name was Jurian. We are traveling to him now, he lives in a little city near Austin.

After that we won't be the Archeron’s anymore, we will live under another name, in a city far away.

I don't even know why Rhysand helped us, why would he care. He used me as a pawn for his father and now he helps us running away? I know that he said he never used me but the timing of befriending me seemed convenient. He also said he wouldn't track us after we got our new identities in Austin, but I don't know if I believe him. Maybe his friend will rat us out.

I made a promise to myself when we entered the train station this morning. I promised to keep Nesta and Elain safe, whatever it takes. They used me, they got my mom but they won't get my sister's.

Also, dear diary, this will be my last entry. Nesta wanted me to burn my diary, so it couldn't be tracked to us, but we compromised and I would keep it hidden wherever we end up. Never touch it again.

It was nice to have you as a silent companion as long as it lasted.

Bye

Excerpt from a group chat between Rhysand, Morrigan, Cassian and Azriel

Azriel: They just left Jurian’s house.

Cassian: so, that's it?

Morrigan: no contact anymore, it's to keep them safe, Cassian

Cassian: I know but how sure can we be that Aamon’s men won't track them down?

Rhysand: they won't

Cassian: but can we be SURE

Azriel: yes

Morrigan: Rhys, have you told Feyre?

Rhysand: no, it wasn't the time

Morrigan: there will never be the perfect time to tell someone you love them but it was your last chance

Rhysand: I know

Cassian: maybe it won't be forever

Rhysand: maybe

Morrigan: maybe

Azriel: maybe

Feysand Taglist:

@captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @starfall-spirit @rhysiedarling @corcracrow @sydney-fae25 @tothestarsandwhateverend @aayo-whatt @dreamlandreader

[hiccanna-tidbits]

@jackunzel-time

Jackunzel Month Week 1 - The Artist and the Muse

***

You hide your eyes behind the shades Your stroke can make the climate change Your art should see the light of day (you and me a masterpiece)

You never let your colors show Lose your face when we get close I’ve seen you paint, nobody knows (you and me a masterpiece)

You’ve got an artist inside you Come drown in my navy blue Tonight let the artist inside me be you

Baby paint me like a canvas – don’t mind You’re dripping colors on the mattress tonight Dip your brush into the pallet, all mine Make the shades of you and me a masterpiece

Put your body where my heart is My love I’m the muse and you’re the artist Don’t stop Gotta finish what you started Oh, god Make the shades of you and me a masterpiece

You make me Scream in Starry Nights The golden kiss, mysterious smile You never let the paint run dry (you and me a masterpiece)

I’m standing pose for your design Your fingertips, they reach for mine Let’s make a mess and cross the line (you and me a masterpiece)

You've got an artist inside you Come drown in my navy blue Tonight let the artist inside me be you

Baby paint me like a canvas – don’t mind You’re dripping colors on the mattress tonight Dip your brush into the pallet, all mine Make the shades of you and me a masterpiece

Put your body where my heart is My love I’m the muse and you’re the artist Don’t stop Gotta finish what you started Oh, god Make the shades of you and me a masterpiece

Make the shades of you and me a masterpiece

Baby paint me like a canvas You’re dripping colors on the mattress Drip your brush into the pallet And make the shades of you and me a masterpiece

Baby, paint me like a canvas – don’t mind You’re dripping colors on the mattress tonight Dip your brush into the palette, all mine Make the shades of you and me a masterpiece

Put your body where my heart is My love I’m the muse and you’re the artist Don’t stop Gotta finish what you started Oh, god Make the shades of you and me a masterpiece

***

People always ask her at art shows where she gets her inspiration. Come spring, the assortment of pieces she's pumped out during the darker months never fails to amaze.

Streetlights shining through blizzard flurries. Ice on early April buds. Peach, rose, and lavender sunsets through snow-filled clouds. White-topped pine forests so mesmerizing that you can practically feel the stillness and silence of the winter.

Every time, Rapunzel smiles mysteriously and cites another artist.

"He's...underappreciated. His work hasn't ever had its day in the sun. But I've seen the best of it."

She always straightens proudly at the last part. And her customers can't help but be jealous that she gets to see this mysterious obscure talent apparently hidden from the rest of the world.

It has to be hidden, or else Rapunzel's work wouldn't be so uniquely spectacular. More people would paint even the coldest and bleakest of winter nights--even with no holiday lights to shine through the darkness.

"What's their name?" people always ask, hoping to investigate the esoteric artist themselves.

"Jack Frost."

And they laugh, because they think she's just being poetic. Taking inspiration from the fabled creator of ice patterns on morning windows and vast, quiet snowscapes.

If only they could see the white-haired boy just above them, perched on a nearby lamppost and chuckling to himself. Invisible to all the world except the artists who see beauty in his work.

***

HIHI I'M SO SORRY I'M LATE

Heh, you didn't really think I'd forgotten Jackunzel month, did you??? Had a lot on my plate these last couple months but by GOD am I gonna pull through for my children!!! I've been making them November content for 3 years straight and I ain't about to stop now!!!

Anyways this song popped up on my spotify and I was like oh huh. Yeah that's a Jackunzel song all right. And then this happened!

I feel like it could be from both of their POVs, btw! Like Rapunzel is the one we think of as the artist, but Jack kinda is, too--just look what he can do with snow and frost! Art that never sees the light of day indeed ;_____; And "your stroke can make the climate change" like??? Literally Jack??? Also love the idea of him doing little frost designs on her skin and clothes ;_____; Just little reminders of her mans she can carry around for a while before they melt! Especially in the summertime, when she could really use it!!!

But "come drown in my navy blue" is very Jack @ Rapunzel, too. And Punz definitely has a golden kiss and mysterious smile akdjsuilkh

Depending on how you interpret these two and their relationship, you can pretend some of the, er...spicier implications of this song are a metaphor for like. Deep conversations and enthusiastic cuddling if you like XD

Can you imagine Rapunzel actually painting in her bed and getting acrylic all over her blankets and insisting it gives them character??? Shit would be hilarious. Jack would also thoroughly approve of the chaotic and general unhinged nature of it all ajshdksgd

I missed them!!! God, it's been too long!!!

As always, moodboard pic credits available upon request :3

[basilone]

Every so often, I write things that don't make it further than a groupchat. They're often AU try-outs, characterization processes, the genuine meaning of the term 'spaghetti' when it comes to writing stuff and seeing what sticks. Not everything is publication-proof, but some of this stuff definitely is. And because it's that time, because this AU has been stuck in my brain for months, I'm going to haul a little something out of groupchat confinement. Keywords here being: Speirs as an artist, with my OC Tatiana as his rather unruly muse. I hope you'll enjoy it!

She is the best out of a very bad bunch. That’s what Chuck had claimed, at least, and Ron isn’t about to argue with his friend’s patient but brutal process of vetting models. About three hundred women swiped firmly to the left by photo alone, to be more precise. Ron doesn’t even want to know what happened to the lunch hour meetings that had Chuck rambling out a state-of-education-in-this-country-holy-fuck condemnation that had lasted until well into the early morning hours.

The Russian was all he was going to get.

He’d complained about it, sure. Too blonde, too frail-bodied, had been his initial dismissal, eyeing the very few photos Chuck had provided. He’d wrinkled his nose at the tilt to her chin and the wordless challenge she’d dealt the camera. All the air of a spoiled brat.

Then, however, she’d sauntered into his studio and all his complaints had become personal.

Tatiana soaks up space. He doesn’t know if she does it on purpose, or if it’s just a fact of life that her fur coat lands on his table and her chewing gum gets stuck beneath his best table and her high heels leave a dent in his favorite chair. She doesn’t reach past his shoulder, really, but he’d griped a like Godzilla trampling through Tokyo at Chuck after one particularly trying afternoon when she’d stood in the middle of his studio and had attempted to dictate where all his lights and equipment should go.

She can’t hold still for five minutes, either. If he was a lesser painter, dependent on models sitting utterly still, this would be the real issue. He almost wishes he could throw her out over it anyway, citing some sort of irreconcilable artistic differences that would sound vague even to his ears, but then the sunlight crowns her blonde hair with a halo and he sucks in a breath and bears the offense of her gesturing about politics and stupid Ameeeeericans regardless.

He captures her defiance before he paints anything else. There’s a glitter to her eyes that sparks even more of a challenge than her photos did, brought to life by the fact that she can’t shut up about all of the things he doesn’t care about and proceeds to make all those things his problem by leaving books and folders in the strangest places around his studio. He pulls all her gestures into the art he makes – the crossed arms, the dismissive wave of her hand, the impatient tap of her foot – until it’s all motion and a blur of color that she eyes critically and sneers a need more blue at.

Blue is her favorite color, which he realizes only when he leaves her alone in his studio just so he can stock up on coffee and cigarettes and returns to find her doodling on a stray canvas with nothing but blue paint. He watches her for a time, leaning against the doorway, cataloging her lip bite and the certainty of the brush strokes before he slams the door shut too loudly and proceeds to argue even louder about not helping yourself to other people’s stuff without asking, Tatiana, what are you, five years old? that’s got her raising her brows and tossing his new packs of cigarettes back out the window before she takes her leave.

It’s the last he sees of her for a while, though he finds bits of her everywhere. There’s the ugly unicorn mug she’d snort-laughed over having bought, wedged between his own mugs in the kitchen cabinet, and there’s the glitter-spilling tank top that he’d made her change out of when it had looked like his rug was suddenly bright pink and sparkling. There’s the folder about incarceration rates and discrimination that she’d debated for over an hour without realizing once that he was agreeing with every word she said, tucked away in her copy of Du Maurier’s Rebecca that she’d underlined and annotated in scribbled Russian he only knows is not critique because no hated book could ever be this dog-eared and worn.

He almost tells Chuck he’s going to need a different model, because the two last paintings have yet to be made, but then he turns on the radio to find that Tatiana had switched the channels from rock to classical again. Ron thinks he can paint her blind the minute he hears the waltz she used to hum under her breath whenever she claimed he was being really very stupid, dumbest American I ever met, oxygen thief, like drill sergeant in army, and other insults he had only ever shrugged at.

He paints her from memory, in blue.

She shows up the next morning.

I need money, she says, looking small for once in her life.

To buy ice cream? He asks, just to be that asshole, just to have something to say that isn’t happiness at seeing her. You came back for that?

Yes, she says, waving her hand in such clear dismissal that he almost laughs, of course for ice cream.

He lets her walk back into his life like she’s never been gone. Her high-heeled boots land on his best table as she leans back in his favorite chair, lights a cigarette, and starts to gesture about her friend who’s doing ballet and her brother who’s dating a man they grew up with as if he knows and cares about these people in the same way she does. He tries to listen as she downs three coffees in quick succession, but then her hair comes loose from her braid and her favorite jacket slips down from her shoulder and he’s sketching with charcoal before he good and well realizes that was not a part of their artist-model agreement.

He half-expects her to argue that point, but she never does. All he gets is a my mouth does not do that thing and a pat on his head as though he is now the five-year-old stuck with a mother who could do nothing but make him cry.

There’s nothing soft about her. She does kickboxing, or so she’s told him, and he’s pretty certain some of her fights were the illegal kind if the spider’s web of scars on her side is anything to go by. The one time Chuck and friends had come over when she was just leaving had ended with one panicked look at being handed a baby, as if she hadn’t the faintest clue how one is meant to act around such a small and squalling thing. He’d seen her defenses go all the way up before she’d shoved the child at him and disappeared in a cloud of loud stomping footsteps that hadn’t endeared her to anyone.

There’s nothing soft about the way she always gets in his face when she’s arguing and thinks he’s not listening, or about the way she presses against his arm and invades his space with her gestures. There’s nothing soft about the tilt of her chin when she glares up at him. There’s nothing soft about the way she goes utterly quiet one night, listening to a podcast in Russian that he dares not interrupt because the look on her face is terrible and terrifying in equal measure, and proceeds to sob her heart out in loud and keening wails that almost have her throwing up all over his kitchen table until he makes hushing sounds and sits with her until her nails have left permanent imprints in the palms of his hands.

She’s loud and demanding and tough and he doesn’t realize he paints her in sharp lines and sweeping arches until Chuck eyes his recent works and calls her a cathedral that houses all of your fuck-ups and dreams as though that explains why his insides don’t feel right. Ron can barely meet her eyes in the days that follow.

She’s on his doorstep one evening, teetering in heels, loose-haired and wrapped in a black-and-gold dress he doesn’t want to linger on, and he lets her in despite all his misgivings. Tatiana’s small-voiced in a way he hates, now, because her lower lip wobbles when she says she left her fur coat behind in that fancy restaurant uptown. I don’t know where I go so I come here tumbles past her lips and her eyes meet his almost as though she dares him to turn her away.

You can stay, he says instead, sighing and dropping his paint-stained cloth on the stool beside the too-blue and too-much-of-Tatiana painting that he thinks holds a good deal more than he should express out loud.

The look she shoots him is wondering. Open in a way that scares him, if he’s honest, and maybe that’s what makes him cross the gap between them.

Maybe that’s why he kisses her this time.

She tastes like cherries and mulled wine, warm with something of a bite, and the surprised sound that trembles loose from the back of her throat is almost a cat’s purr. Her mouth is gentle, pliant, welcoming in a way that the rest of her has never been. He almost reels back from the touch but then her tongue runs over his bottom lip and her hands land in his hair and he crashes against her whole. Her back’s against the wall and still she escapes confinement by kicking her heels off mid-kiss and running her bare foot up his leg until he presses up against her hips. She muffles a whimper against his mouth that he almost dares smile at.

Ron, she breathes, when his hand tangles with her hair and his other hand’s skimming past the hem of her dress, and it might be the first time she’s ever said his name and certainly the first time it’s not accompanied by a roll of her eyes.

Tatia, he hums, because she’s been Petrova since Chuck showed him her photos and Tatiana since she walked into his life and Tati Tat Tanya in different stories about different people and Tanusha to the brother he’s never met, and he wants to know her in a way that all these people do not. Tatia, Tatia, he murmurs when his hands slip the straps of her dress of her shoulder and she doesn’t stop him but arches into the touch, come here, hm, let me..

She kisses him to drown out the words. Streaks of blue paint are on her cheeks, on her thigh, in her hair. He’s sure he’ll never eat another cherry without tasting her again.

[rosegoldandsequins]

❛  i don't know how you do it. how are you able to stay so strong when everything around you is falling apart?  ❜ (this is for emotional fangy girls when we eventually shift to that verse again 8D)

Okamura pathed up the flight of the stairs to her mate's office with determination. The socialite did not pause for anyone — even the guards near the door to her beloved's sanctuary were given only a curt growl. It was a low, otherworldly sound ; the sort of thing to remind them that their attention should stay fixed to the floor.

The blonde slipped inside without any trouble ( evidently the valiant detail defending the crew valued their lives ) and approached the back of the room. She knew exactly where to go. Okamura knelt down beside the grand desk and extended a finger into the darkest corner beneath it.

After a moment, she felt a bit of warm fuzz cuddle against her digit. Their bond changed. It was no longer brimming with anxiety. Okamura smiled at the wave of relief that washed over her. Murmuring affectionate nothings, she brought the little creature who had crawled onto her into the light.

Okamura knew her mate was not fond of her bat form. Too weak, she said. Too small. — but the blonde couldn't help but adore it. She allowed Melissa to crawl into her palm before Okamura kissed her, colored lips brushing gently against the trembling body that was no bigger than her pinky. The Queen of Tokyo opened her mouth, exposing her minute teeth. Sensing her impatience, Okamura withdrew her features and brought her hand up to her golden waves.

"I'll get you home, monaka," Okamura promised. Her mate crawled into her hair, happy to be lost ( and therefore hidden ) in the thick yellow sea. Grateful that the little bat was safe, Okamura stood. With a last pat to the top of the desk as a thank - you for how many times it had been used to shelter the troubled Queen, Okamura left.

Many vampires would laugh at Okamura's mundane method of travel. She knew that a lion stalking the city streets would raise more attention than it was worth, however. Rather than taking the busy subway or hailing a cab, the blonde elected to walk. It was a nice, clear night, and she hoped the emptiness of the back alleys would soothe her precious cargo. Idly, Okamura tangled her fingers into her hair. To the average eye, it merely looked like she was playing with it ; in reality, she was stroking the bat clinging to the back of her ear with the edge of her thumb. Keeping her most valuable treasure, worth more to her than any of the diamonds and fine chains she wore, close.

it was only once they were inside their decadent flat that Okamura removed her sweet touch. She tenderly plucked Melissa from her dangling earring and carried the bat to one of the sofas that faced the window. From here, they could see a glimpse of the stars, just barely shining through the sea of pollution and hazy lights. The blonde sat. As she did, she carefully set Melissa on the cushion next to her.

Okamura had scarcely settled into place when the Queen shifted and fell into her lap. Melissa curled up on her mate's torso, head tucked beneath her chin, and gripped her clothing fiercely. Without hesitation, Okamura held her. An arm bent behind Melissa's back, which allowed the younger immortal to play with her tresses, while the other offered her wrist for the Queen to bite. Melissa accepted the offer almost mechanically. Her fangs slid into Okamura's skin. The Queen closed her eyes and took in the liquid, glad for the intimate connection.

It was rare for her to fall apart like this. Melissa did not usually acknowledged the stress of her position — normally, of course, it wasn't this bad. She was managing to keep the peace after Katsura's death ( with a skill few could rival, Okamura said often ), but that was hardly a simple task. The world was at her door, hour after hour. Demanding to know what could have killed an ancient. Asking where it was safe to hunt. Desperate to know if humans had discovered the parasitic species living among them. There were only so many vampires that Melissa could charm and questions she could field before other whispers arose. That she was a foreigner, a woman as well, who had been entertained on her throne for far too long. These tiresome statements were ones that Melissa was used to ; however, now, they just added to the overwhelming cacophony of voices aimed in her direction.

Some nights, she couldn't take it.

Okamura kissed the top of Melissa's hair, humming softly. She emptied herself of all of her own concerns and focused on how much she loved her Queen. How brave and beautiful she thought the brunette was.

Eventually, Melissa released her mate's wrist. Okamura licked the wound closed and tangled her arms further with the older immortal. "I don't know how you do it," Melissa whispered hoarsely, snuggling in tighter.

"Do what, monaka ??"

"You're so good at it," the Queen answered, clearing her throat. "How are you able to stay so strong when everything around you is falling apart ?? Our home, Gwen . . . all that I've worked for these past centuries. It's like none of it matters to them. I'm tired."

Okamura ran her fingers through Melissa's chestnut tresses, admiring how glossy they were in the moonlight. "Because, of the two of us, I am by far more selfish," she said thoughtfully, ending her sentiment with a chuckle. "I was born to protect you, Lily — quite literally. You were my dying and waking thought. As long as I see you are safe, I'm fine. No home or political arena will ever matter to me as much as your well - being."

The blonde hissed out something like a sigh. "I love you, monaka. That is all I need."

Okamura pressed her cool palm to the Queen's cheek and curled her fingers up in order to shield the elder vampire's eyes from the minimal light in their home. "My sweet flower. You love me, yes, but you also love them. Even if they are undeserving of you."

She did not know what else to say, but it seemed that her words had soothed Melissa. Okamura murmured again that she adored her mate, and the strength of her emotion was shared in their bond. Once more, the blonde attempted to wipe it clean, eliminating the confusion and anger she felt on her beloved royal's behalf. Melissa deserved better than her temper : she would give her, thus, a mental oasis full of calm and the assurance of an affection that would never cease. Okamura inhaled, filling her torso with air, and released it in one long breath.

"You used to hold me like this when he was through with me," Melissa finally whispered, voice soft. "Do you remember, Gwen ?? After he left, you would always bathe me and bring me to bed. For this."

Her mate snarled as her lips brushed against those brown locks. Okamura's eyes closed. Pointed nails scraped gently across Melissa's pale skin.

"I know," the Queen responded, kissing Okamura's exposed wrist. The silvery scar from her feeding glowed, showing clearly where the wound was still tender. "Thank you for protecting me — no matter what happens around us, I know I have you." Melissa turned her head slowly. She looked up at Okamura through her lashes, teeth glimmering as she spoke. "Why don't you put on your fur, Gwen . . . ?? You have been in your skin for most of the day."

The blonde fixed Melissa's hair with a single note uttered behind her closed mouth. Only once she was satisfied did she reply. "Not yet, Lily. I want you to rest. I'm going to go find you a pretty thing to play with. Let me fill your mind with a sweet girl and your belly with blood. It is my night to take care of you, monaka."

[middleearthpixie]

Promise Me ~ Chapter Eighteen

Summary: Friends since childhood, Gabriella has long held back her feelings where Boromir is concerned, as she did not want to risk losing his friendship if he didn't feel the same. But, then he is summoned to Rivendell, and the night before he is to leave, he stuns Gabriella by confessing his feelings for her as well. 

But, war is coming and he cannot put off what he knows must be done. All Gabriella can do is wait for him and pray for his safe return. 

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (AU, Boromir lives)

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Gabriella

Warnings: none 

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.2k

Tag List: @sotwk @heilith @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea @ass-deep-in-demons @quiall321 @mistofstars @justfollowtheroad @guardianofrivendell @glassgulls @doctorwhump @kmc1989 @estethell

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

“Gabby?”

Gabriella snuggled closer to Boromir, her arm draped about his hips, her eyes closed as she murmured back, “Mmm?”

“I’m sorry. I was a complete jackanapes to you.”

“Tell me true,” she lifted her head to gaze down into his sleepy green eyes, “were you with Ava last eve?”

Her heart thudded dully against her ribs as the words left her mouth and she braced herself for his answer. If he had been, she couldn't exactly be angry with him, no matter how much it might hurt to hear it. After all, she’d made herself clear that things were over between them, so who could blame him if he sought the company of someone else?

Still, she’d be lying to herself if she tried to convince herself it wouldn’t trouble her at all, because it would. It would haunt her until her dying days, whether it was fair of her or not.

But, to her relief, he shook his head. “No. I almost went to take a drink with her, but halfway to her flat, I changed my mind.”

Relief surged through her, although she tried to remain as blasé about it as she could. “Why?”

“She tried to kiss me,” he confessed softly, his fingers moving along her hair now, tucking it back behind her left ear. “And when I looked down at her, it was all wrong. Her eyes were the wrong color. Her hair was the wrong color. Her face was the wrong face. She wasn't the beautiful, silver-eyed blonde I’ve been in love with since I was old enough to know what love was, but the wrong woman entirely.”

She pressed her lips together as she shook her head, then managed to whisper, “You needn’t tell me what you think I wish to hear.”

“I tell you the truth, Gabriella.” He smiled, still stroking her hair. “There is no other woman who fires my blood and arouses my desire the way you do, love. And no other woman ever will.”

As he spoke, he came up over her, urging her onto her back, and covered her body with his. “I love you. And only you. And that will not change, no matter how angry you grow with me.”

She smiled up at him, winding her arms about his neck. “I am a lucky woman,” she whispered, tugging him down to meet her lips. 

He came flush against her, his lips warm and soft, moving slowly against hers. The coarse hair of his goatee tickled, her skin so sensitive to the brush of it. But at the same time, that coarseness was a caress all of its own. She couldn’t imagine his face without it, really, as he’d sported from the time he was old enough to grow it. Besides, while it prickled bit and tickled a bit, she would never in a millennia ask him to shave it. And when he swept a smoking kiss along her neck, and that hair scraped against her, her toes actually curled from the sensations it sent sweeping through her.

Her eyes slid shut and she couldn’t hold back her sigh. “That feels so nice…”

He lifted his head. “It’s supposed to, you know.”

“I know. But I thought you might like to hear it.”

Those green eyes glinted. “Of course… tell me if you like what I’m doing. Tell me if you don’t like what I’m doing. Tell me if I’m not doing something you want me to do, and I promise you, darling girl, I will do it. You needn’t be shy with me, you know. Anything you wish, Gabby, tell me and I will do it for you. Do it to you. And I will do so gladly and enthusiastically.”

She shivered at the husky promise in his voice. “The same holds true for you, you know.”

He brushed her lips once more. “I do love you.”

“I love you, too.”

His eyes darkened as he eased himself carefully between her thighs. “So, you will marry me after all?”

“Do I look mad enough to say no?”

He kissed her then, slow and deep and lingering and as he reached between them—

A knock sounded at the door and Dory called, “Gab! Are you in there?”

Gabriella let her head fall back as she muttered, “Oh, no…”

A low chuckle dusted her lips and Boromir whispered, “She has impeccable timing.”

“Perhaps she will go away.”

“Go and answer the door, love,” he told her, brushing her lips once more before easing off her. “She might barge in again and I’d rather she not see my cock in addition to already seeing my ass.”

He didn't sound angry, but rather instead sounded almost amused. She smiled as she admitted, “I owe her an apology as well. I was just a fool.”

“Yes,” he nodded, his grin keeping his words from being serious, “but you are my fool and I would have you no other way.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose.”

He bent to kiss her once more as Dory pounded again. Then, he drew back. “I’ll be out as soon as I’m dressed and tonight, you will sleep with me in my chambers and no one will disturb us.”

“Promise me?”

His eyes grew softer still. “I promise you.”

She winked, and slid across the bed to fish her clothes from where they’d fallen when Boromir pulled them from her body and as she left, he was tugging on his trousers. 

Dory pounded on the door once more. “Gab! Are you in there?”

“I’m coming, Dory! Do not pound down the door, if you don’t mind.”

The knocking ceased and Gabriella tugged open the door. “What are you about?”

Dory’s arm went limp at her side. “I was worried about you. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, really. And I owe you an apology, you know. You were right.”

Dory just stared at her. “I—I was?”

Gabriella nodded. “Come in and I’ll show you.”

Dory came into the kitchen, and her gaze went to one of the chairs, where Boromir’s cloak lay draped over its back, and then to his boots, just inside the door. Then, she looked back at Gabriella. “Is he here?”

Gabriella nodded, her smile widening. “He is. And you were right and I am a fool.”

“So he forgave you, then?” Dory rolled her eyes then and smacked herself in the forehead. “Well, that was stupid of me. Of course he did.”

Boromir came out of the bedroom then, his shirt in his hands. “And she forgave me for she was not the only fool in that battle.”

Dory’s cheeks went pink even as she smiled. “It’s good to see you here, and I’ll not breathe a word to anyone about it, either.”

He returned her smile before tugging the shirt over his head. “I didn't think you would, to be honest. I’d imagine you’d not want Gabby’s name on the lips of gossips with too much time on their hands.”

“True. Although,” Dory chuckled, “I wouldn’t mind telling Ava. She is rubbish.”

Gabriella smiled. “She is, but worry not. She’ll find out soon enough.”

“Still, I would like to see her face.” 

“You have a mean streak, Dory,” Gabriella told her, moving to the kettle. “Tea?”

“You just realized that?” Dory asked even as she nodded. “And I would love some.”

Boromir caught Gabriella about the waist. “I will let you ladies talk. I have to go and assure Faramir that I’ve not completely mucked everything up with us.”

Gabriella smiled. “Was he upset with you?”

“Oh, upset does not even begin to describe it. He was furious.” He leaned in to sweep his lips against hers. “And I need to look over the final arrangements for tomorrow.”

He said it softly, a hint of pain flashing through his eyes and without thinking, Gabriella laid her hand against his cheek. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not really, although I appreciate the offer.” He straightened up and moved to pick up his boots before dropping into one of the chairs to tug them on. “I will come by later.”

“No,” she told him. “I’ll be closing the tavern tonight until Friday out of respect for Denethor. I’ll come find you.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“I know.”

He stood and kissed her again. “I love you.”

She smiled. “I know. And I love you, too. Now, go and do what you have to do.”

“I am.” He lifted his cloak to drape over his arm and then glanced over at Dory. “Take care and it was good seeing you again.”

She smiled, her cheeks pink still. “And seeing you as well.”

With that, he took himself off and as Gabriella closed the door behind him, Dory chimed, “Oh, I definitely want details this time.”

“Dory!”

“What? That man is just…. Mmmm…”

“Dory!”

“What?”

Gabriella shot her a look. “Do I truly need to tell you?”

Dory shook her head. “No. I don’t suppose you do.” A low sigh rose to her lips. “But, I’d like to live a little vicariously, that’s all. And he’s cute.”

Gabriella laughed. Boromir was cute. He was also far more than that, but he was still cute. 

And he was hers.

Later that morning, after she’d finished her chores around the apartment and the tavern, Gabriella made her way up to the Houses of Healing to look in on Faramir. As she passed by Éowyn’s room, she paused and poked her head in. “Good morning?”

Éowyn looked up and smiled. “A good morning to you as well, Gabby. How do you fare? Are you hiding once more?”

Gabriella let out a laugh. “No, not this time, thank goodness.”

“Good. For he was a fool and you are better off without him.”

“Actually,” Gabriella came further into the room, “he and I made up.”

“Oh, wonderful. I knew it would happen, for you were meant for one another,” Éowyn replied without missing a beat. Then she patted the mattress beneath her. “Come and sit, won’t you?”

“Thank you.” Gabriella moved over to sink onto the edge of Éowyn’s bed. 

“So, tell me, does your soulmate have a name?”

“He does. Boromir, son of Denethor, the stew—” Gabriella hesitated—“that is, he is the Steward of Gondor.”

Éowyn’s smile faded. “I heard the healers speaking of Denethor. His funeral is tomorrow, I believe one said?”

Gabriella nodded. “It is, yes.”

“I should like to attend, as a representative of Rohan, for we’ve long been allies.”

“Are you well enough to do so? If not, I’m certain Boromir will understand. Unlike his father, he is not a heartless man without feeling.”

“I will speak to your healer, of course, but I think I am well enough.”

“Hopefully she will agree as you seem quite well to me.”

“It’s also rather lonely in here at times,” Éowyn confessed, her voice growing soft. “I wish I knew what had become of my brother, the rest of my people.”

“And your brother is?”

“Éomer, of the Rohirram.”

“I can try to find out what’s become of him, if you like.”

“I would, thank you. I’ve been trying not to worry, but that’s so difficult when you don't know what’s happening beyond the walls surrounding you.”

“That is something I know all too well.” Gabriella glancing toward the windows, where brilliant golden sunlight streamed in to bounce across the marble floor. “Being left behind is an impossible task. You need to go about your daily life, to keep your routine, and yet, all you can think about is someone who is on the other side of the world and you have no way to know what is happening to them.”

Éowyn nodded slowly. “I was right alongside him down on the battlefield.”

“Were you?” Gabriella couldn't keep the shock from her voice. “How brave you were. I’d have been scared witless.”

“I was,” Éowyn confessed. “But, my brother’s cause was my cause. The cause of the people of Rohan was my cause. I couldn’t, in good conscience, simply wait for word. I am not patient enough.”

“Gabby? What are you doing up here?”

She turned to see Faramir in the doorway. “It’s good to see you up and on your feet,” she said by way of greeting, waving him into the room. “Come in and I’ll introduce you.”

A hint of shyness edged his smile as he came into the room and Gabriella glanced over to see Éowyn offer up a smile that was also tinged with shyness. 

“Faramir, this is Éowyn of Rohan. Éowyn, Faramir, son of Denethor.”

“Oh, so you’re Boromir’s brother,” Éowyn said by way of greeting. 

“I am, yes. And it’s a pleasure to meet you, lady of Rohan.”

As he spoke, Faramir caught her by the hand, bringing it up to his lips to brush with a light kiss. Éowyn’s smile brightened. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well.”

“Did your brother pass through?” Gabriella asked him.

Faramir nodded. “He did. About an hour ago. He said he’d be in Denethor’s chambers if anyone needed him.” He met her gaze. “He told me he’d thrown himself on his sword and you made up?”

She nodded. “He did and we did, yes.”

“Good. He was an ass.”

“He was, but so was I.” Gabriella eased down off Éowyn’s bed. “I will let you two come to know each other better, then.”

“But, you will come visit again, won’t you?” Éowyn called as Gabriella moved to the door.

“Of course I will.” 

“Good.”

Boromir sat back in his father’s black stone chair, in his father’s chambers in the Tower of Echthelion, leaned his head back, and let his eyes close. The chamber was already cavernous and cold, void of anything of Denethor’s, and that had nothing to do with it having been cleaned out upon his death and readied for Boromir to settle in. No, as far as he could remember, Boromir couldn't recall seeing any part of his father in these chambers. They were as cold and bleak as Denethor himself had been.

He remembered as a child, running into the room after this lesson or that one and climbing up onto his father’s lap, to see what held his father’s attentions. Denethor never cuddled him close or explained what he’d been doing, but he never shooed him away, either. Not the way he’d always chased Faramir away. 

A sigh rose to his lips. He mourned his father, of course, but at the same time, the sense of loss he felt was not the same as it had been when his mother died. That loss haunted him to that very moment as he opened his eyes to a cold, stark, empty chamber.

“Am I disturbing you?”

He jumped at the unexpected interruption and opened his eyes to see Gabby in the doorway, at the far end of the room. A black runner had been laid along the black marble flooring, and she stood on the edge of it. “Not at all. Come in.”

“Are you all right?” 

He nodded as she drew closer. “I’m fine. Just… bidding some old ghosts farewell.” 

She stopped at the foot of the black stone steps and looked upward. At the top, stood the Throne of the King of Gondor, while Boromir’s chair stood on the dais of the lowest step. “I remember being so terrified of this room as a child. I’d only ever heard of it and it sounded so… imposing. I used to hope I would never be summoned here, for it could never be good if I was.”

“It is imposing,” he said, holding out a hand. “But it won’t be for long. Come, you have an in with the steward so make yourself comfortable. I promise you, you will never be summoned here for any reason but a good one.”

A hint of a smile played at her lips, and he almost sighed at the sight. She had no clue, no inkling, what she did to him. How something as simple as that slight smile, sent a rush through him that he could neither explain nor describe. 

He leaned forward to take her hand. A gentle tug, and he drew her down onto his lap, biting back a sigh at how perfectly she fit against him. She tucked her head against his shoulder, partially beneath his chin. “Did you spend much time here as a boy?”

“No. My father did not like to be disturbed and he made it clear that I was most definitely disturbing him. He’d give me a few minutes of his time, and then shoo me off to lessons or wherever I was supposed to be at that given moment. My mother would scold him, tell him I was growing up fast and he’d blink and find a grown man in place of a boy. And then he’d be sorry.”

“You don't speak of her often,” Gabby said, brushing her fingers through his hair, sweeping it back behind his left ear. “What was she like, your mother?”

“My mother?” He smiled, his memories of her warm and comforting. “She was everything Denethor was not. She spent hours amusing me, and later Faramir. She would take me, take us, to the river and let us splash to our hearts’ content. She taught me to swim there and I in turn taught Faramir to swim when he was old enough. She always worried that he’d be swept away, but for some reason, she never seemed to worry about me in that way.”

“Because she knew. She knew you would be cautious and not be one to rush headlong into anything without careful consideration,” she told him, smiling as she met his gaze. “And I’ll wager she knew that, once Faramir came along, she didn't really have to worry about him near the river either because she knew you would never let anything happen to him. And she was right. You have always watched over him, watched out for him.”

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

“I know. And she most likely did as well. So,” she snuggled closer, “tell me more of her.”

“Everyone loved her. And feared her. I think even my father did to a certain extent. She had endless patience with me.”

“So, that’s where you learned it. At her knee.”

He grinned. “I am not so certain of that.”

“Boromir, you are one of the most patient men I’ve ever known.” 

He sighed softly, and this time it was his turn to brush a loose tendril away from her face. “I had an excellent teacher in my mother. I think she found solace in me and my brother, for Minas Tirith itself wore her down, being the steward’s wife wore her down. She was not meant for that life, or really for a man such as my father. She loved him, but I often wonder now if he loved her in the same way. If he truly ever loved anyone. Somehow, I don't think so.”

“It’s difficult to know what passes between a couple,” she told him softly, tracing along the edge of his jaw.

“True. But, somehow, I don't think his heart beat faster when he saw her, the way mine does when I see you.”

That earned him a smile. “Am I to believe that?”

“Why wouldn’t you? It’s true, you know.”

“Perhaps it did, but he kept it to himself. Not every man wears his heart on his sleeve as you do, you know.”

“My heart on my sleeve? Is that how you see me?”

“At times, yes.”

“I should work on that then, I suppose. I wouldn’t want anyone to think me soft.”

“Perhaps he thought the same thing.”

He sighed softly, giving her a gentle squeeze. “It’s possible, I suppose. But I cannot recall him being affectionate with her. He was not one much for hugging or any sort of physical contact. He had no patience for it. Had little patience as it was for people, including me.” 

A heavy sadness filled him as he gazed down at Gabby, tucked so perfectly on his lap, against him. “No matter what he did, Faramir could never live up to my father’s expectations of him. He never measured up. Never made him proud. And no matter what I did, I could not get through to him that both of his sons were men he could indeed be proud of. Nothing changed. He found fault with everything and anything and was not shy about expressing it.”

“You won’t be like that, you know.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Of course I do,” she shifted slightly and he had to fight down a sigh at the sensation against him. She had no idea what she did to him, what she had always done to him, and here was not the place to let her know. At least, not now. In the dead of night, when no one was around, perhaps. But now?

“When the time comes, should we have children, you will not be like Denethor was. You are everything he is not, just as Faramir is. You are warm and loving, a leader who just knows how to lead and does not do so through force or coercion or might. You will be patient, and stern when you need to be, but I can see a little one come running down this carpet at full speed, wanting only to sit on his papa’s knee and I see you scooping him up and plunking him—or her—right where I sit now. And I will smile and shake my head and say, ‘You are spoiling him, Boromir,’ to which you will say, ‘A child who is unspoiled is a child who is unloved.’ And in time, you will both drive me mad.”

He smiled and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Think so, do you?”

“I know so.” Her fingers brushed along his temple once more. “You will be a good father, Boromir. I promise you that you will. And if I think you are acting like Denethor, I will say something.”

He chuckled. “I expect no less.”

“I just thought I should warn you.”

Boromir smiled as he leaned his head back against the stone. “I love you. I hope you know that.”

“Of course I do.”

“No,” he shook his head, bringing his hand up to curve against her soft cheek, “that’s not what I mean, Gabby. I mean, I love you. As I’ve never loved anyone.”

Her eyes softened and she leaned into his touch, murmuring, “And I love you the same, you know.”

She leaned, but before their lips met, Faramir called, “In the middle of the day, brother?”

A flush swept along Gabby’s cheekbones and she tucked her head against his neck as Boromir chuckled and said, “I’d hoped so, yes.”

“I suppose there are some advantages to being the steward, eh?” 

“What do you want?”

Faramir laughed as he drew near. “I needed to speak with you. I did not think I was going to interrupt anything.”

“Worry not,” Gabby said, slipping down from Boromir’s lap. “He was just telling me about your mother. I wish I’d had the chance to meet her.”

“As I wish you had as well,” Faramir replied. “I think she would have seen you as a miracle worker of sorts or completely mad for wanting to be with this joker.”

“Take care, little brother.” Boromir rose from the stone chair and came down the one step to meet his brother. “Lest I think you’re jealous.”

“Of course I am.” Faramir grinned and winked. “I’ve always thought it was unfair that you saw her first.”

“Oh, enough, both of you,” Gabby burst out laughing, her cheeks almost scarlet now, “before you give me a swelled head.”

“I’ll come find you later, love,” Boromir told her, bending to brush her lips with a quick kiss. 

“Very well.” She waved as she pulled away and made her way back toward the door. “Stay out of trouble, both of you.”

As she rounded the corner, Boromir turned to Faramir. “It’s good to see you up, you know.”

“It’s good to be up. And you know, I was but joking about Gabby. I mean, I do at times wish I’d seen her first, but the truth is, she is good for you and I’m happy the two of you finally found one another.”

“Thank you. And I wholeheartedly agree.” Boromir rubbed the back of his neck. “And I wanted to ask you, now that we know you’re going to live and save me the trouble of having to do this again, but, I’ve asked her to marry me and I’d be honored if you’d stand up with me at the wedding.”

Faramir’s eyes widened slightly. “Did you truly think I’d say no?”

“I never assume anything.”

Faramir embraced him warmly. “Wild horses couldn't keep me away, brother. Of course I will.” 

“Good.” Boromir pulled back and smiled down at his brother. Tomorrow would be a difficult day for them both, no doubt, but once they made it through the funeral and entombment, everything would slowly begin to right itself. 

Or so he hoped. 

[vifilms]

i have so many thoughts swarming in my mind at the moment. hopefully i can collect my bearings enough to make sense, even if it is just for a moment. first and foremost, i just want to say how wonderfully articulate this piece of absolutely wonderful fiction is. honest to god, from the very start, the message of it became crystal clear from the very beginning until the end. truthfully, it's something i'm so envious of as a writer but as a reader — it was so exciting to read. in the beginning of it, you did an insightful job of showing where sevika is and where she stands. it's quite wonderful to see how you built it in the beginning. for me, it's really this subtle build up in the introduction that really sells you on where the story is heading. a vision so clear, a canvas so clean, you can almost see your reflection in it. you paint such a lovely picture. still, i'm trying to wrap my head around it. like each stroke, with a flick of the brush, the full portrait comes into view as you try to unfold the meaning of it. it could be because i have a very personal and emotional attachment to the concept of this fic but goddamn did it just reel me in.

this was the first analogy which really stood out to me the most.

the dark chocolate she’s nibbling on is cheap and tastes identical to the plastic wrapper it came in, and the burn of the whiskey is only adding to the bitter taste. but at least it soothes her mind. she sighs, flicks off the television, and heads for the shower. the last thing she wants to be right now is even more wet, but the promising warmth of the water will at least soothe some of the pain in her shoulders.

in the beginning, there's a lot of extremely well done imagery but this really stand out the most to me. whether it's intentional (which it's you ofc it is, you and your brilliant mind i'm actually so very obsessed with it) but i love how you did this one moment. it's such a small detail, maybe even easy to dismiss, but i really enjoyed the pairing of the bitterness of the chocolate versus the burn of the whiskey. with the next sequence that follows, truthfully, it's so cinematic with how it falls in line with what happens next. the world building in the first passage is just something i don't think i have had the pleasure in reading in quite some time. personally, i've been on a book tear and this sliver of imagery is well and intentionally placed, it truly makes me feel inspired, more than these so called novels i've been reading. if anything, i'm just convinced i need an ennabear novel in my hands yesterday. the way you introduce and pace your storylines is truly remarkable. it always leave an everlasting impression on me. even changes the way i would normally think to write something and paints it in a new perspective. dear god, i think this reblog is going to be so astronomically long. hopefully, i'll be able to round out what i'm trying to say by the end of it. #raycore.

“it’s okay,” she coos. “would you like a lollipop?” the kid sniffles at this, but lifts her head up and nods at her. sevika digs into the small bag on her waist, pulling out a bright blue sucker for the little one that matches her hair. she takes it in her small hands and unwraps it, eyes sparkling at the sight of the blue raspberry favored sugar. sevika just hopes her parents don’t kill her. with the kid in her arms— who is now joyfully sucking on the lollipop instead of soaking her in tears and snot— she makes her way downstairs. sevika’s no stranger to lost children, and she’s fond of their company. it’s refreshing to hear them describe colors and patterns in the paintings instead of overanalyzing it and telling stupid facts about the artist. and she loves that she can finally give back to the world, bringing the kiddos comfort like she never received from her own parents.

this entire exchange just had me in a mountain of tears for several reasons. for one, act two of arcane, a reunion that winded me. even in this alternate universe, just one fated meeting, i am floored back into the ruins of act two. another thing i want to point out is how sevika's personality really shines through on the dialogue. she's very decisive when she chooses to speak, low-grunts, soft aggression, and sarcastic remarks laced with a tone of concern, and then when she finally drops everything and it's just her kind, beating heart. definition of could kill you but actually a teddy bear. from the get go, you encapsulate all of it so perfectly. this version of sevika is someone who has been burned but you still this softness to her. an act of kindness to someone who embodies the innocence that only adolescence comes with. but as a pure angst lover the last line stuck out to me the most, bringing the kiddos comfort like she never received from her own parents. it's a very subtle, but meaningful drop and if you blink, you nearly miss it. it's the small little details i fear i gravitate to so much but fuck is it wonderful.

“that she is!” the mother cheers. “god bless you, sevika, seriously. i’ll never be able to repay you.” she smiles proudly, not necessarily because she believes in a god, but she’s just glad to get the kid back and hopefully end the conversation soon. “thank you ma’am. it’s no problem, really. it’s my job.”

enna, you’re a fucking genius.

this is just. fucking hell let me collect my thoughts for a moment. alright. honest to god, no pun intended, the way you slithered the concept of religion in is the smoothest i’ve ever seen. it nearly melts into the pages, ink dispersing on the fine lines. each line melting into the other like butter on a pan. again, i’m such a whore for the details and this is such a huge one. this is fucking art. there’s really no other way to describe it. everything seems so well thought out, executed to perfection. i like that we get to know how she feels without her really even voicing it and from that point and moving forward, it sets the tone. again. world building and storytelling — it really is remarkable in the way you’ve managed to weave this web of craft that’s so honed in on.

as they approach the bottom of the stairs, she makes the tough decision to peek over the stretcher, eyes frantically searching around the spot she was only just standing in. and there she is. that little girl with her bright blue hair, now drenched in red. her lips are still blue from the lollipop, but she’s grown pale and cold. and gone. and sevika couldn’t protect her. before she closes her eyes, she takes in the scene one more time. piles of hair tangled together and skin melted into the floor. she’s seen some pretty outrageous things as a security guard, but never this. tears pour out of her eyes, the pain in her body making her wish she would’ve been taken out too. by what, she doesn’t know. she isn’t aware of where she is or what’s going on, all she knows is the pain in the left side of her body, and it’s all she’ll feel for the rest of her life.

the way you described this scene. please, just rip my heart out and put it through the shredder. it would be far less painful. you are so insane for this. and the tie in to the lollipop into dead, cold blue lips, AS IN A CORPSE. too fucking MUCH. my fucking goodness chat, it’s just too amazing i can’t really even be mad about it honestly. i wasn’t expected my heart to be be stomped on like this. poor baby isha. catching everything but a future. I CANT DO THIS. ITS TOO MUCH. but alas i will and i already have fully read this fic but goddamn. gotta respect the game, the angst is too cold, literally. also, i want to note the raw emotion sevika is exhibiting. truly, the way your write sevika is truly refreshing. i keep making canvas metaphors but it feels like you're painting her and as the depth of the story grows so does she, slowly coming out of the canvas until she comes to life. she becomes something really and tangible and it's through the emotinal lense you've chosen to write her in and it really is such a brilliant choice. your writing is shining so bright with this one. truly, i really admire it.

“sevika, don’t worry.” you assure her. “i’ll help you believe.” and the line goes quiet.

honorable mention, i just really enjoy the foreshadowing in this. i also think it's a really good representation of overzealous evangelicials even and how they recruit and almost the kind of desperation that goes with corruput intentions within religion. not that i directly has anything to do with this line, but it took my mind there. maybe it was just my trauma fucking kicking in and i'm getting flashbacks but the weight in this line is fucking destroying me personally.

no matter what you do, you can’t get this woman off of your mind. something about her makes you feel different than how other people make you feel, but you can’t tell what it is or why. you need a plan. you need to talk to her again. or at least some confidence would be handy. but instead of dwelling on it, you decide to go for a walk. the walk doesn’t really work though, it actually does the opposite of clearing your mind. you have nothing to focus on, no work to do, so you just think. your mind runs wild the whole time. you’re so intrigued, so excited yet nervous, you feel like it’s almost a craving. almost, because you’re not really sure what a craving is. not until you meet her, at least.

the gay awakenineneneningggggggg. it's fucking brewing! i don't know if i can even remember mine but this reallt reminds of just having a crush on a girl for the first time, it feel entirely different than anything has ever felt. as someone who figured it out later in life, THIS HITS FUCKING HARD. it's like your entire world is changing. your entire life you have looked through life in one lense but then someone comes along distorts your view. you really encapsulates that feeling, that expierence really well in the plants of doubt in this. truly, it's so beautiful.

huh. sevika at a liquor shop. not necessarily unusual for a person, but forbidden for you. you wonder if this is a ritual for her, if she’s gonna go home and get drunk or something, or maybe if she’s gonna split the bottle with some friends. does she even have friends? you turn around and head in the same direction she does, hoping your paths cross before her quick, long strides can leave you behind. and you eventually catch up to her, pretending you had no idea you’d run into her, you greet her with a “oh, sevika! hey, i didn’t expect to see you here.” except, you did expect to see her here. you already spied her storming out of the liquor store. ugh, you’re such a bad liar. “oh… hi.” she mumbles, a little disturbed by your sudden appearance, and already burnt out from the two people who’ve made small talk with her in the past hour. while you stand in front of her, she raises her eyebrow slightly as if to signal that she’s waiting for you to say something before she walks away.

the chasing!!!! the yearning!!!!! having a crush on a beautiful women and chasing her!!!!! yep, that's the fucking stuff. but also it shows the depravity and loneliness sevika is feeling and ptsd she’s feeling from the events. how her brain is processing the trauma she’s been through. i love that reader just sought sevika out, the pure curiosity hovering inside their head. god, this oc is really just perfect in the way you’ve crafted them.

when she told you, she couldn’t help but break down in heavy sobs. you could feel your heart shatter at this— the story and sevika’s reaction to it. you scrambled from your side of the booth to hers, scooting in next to her and wrapping her up in a hug as she cried. to your surprise, she hugged you back. she hooked her chin over your shoulder, grabbed you tightly in her strong arms, and just let herself go.

oh, this is everything. the raw emotion, the vulnerability, the trust — it’s so genuine it nearly has me crying. the first time you open up to someone, it’s a level of intimacy that can’t quite be matched. once the boundary is crossed, there really isn’t an option to come back from that. it’s a soft comfort, one that feels like a warm blanket you’ve been yearning for all your life. fuck, i love this so bad.

today you’re feeling particularly bold for some reason, you suspect it might be because of your friendship with sevika, but this feels different. well, you know how it feels, but you’re scared to admit it. although you’ll probably be fine, you’re hesitant to say it to yourself out of the fear that you’ll be thrown out of the church. yes, you like sevika, and sure, she is a beautiful woman. but you just can’t bring yourself to say it. to say that you have a real crush on her. to admit that you want her. so instead of saying anything, you use your actions instead. glancing over both of your shoulders, you make sure that nobody important is looking in your direction before you snake your hand forward and wrap your hand around sevika’s. this action is the farthest you’ve ever gone with anyone, and your cheeks are practically on fire with how hard you’re blushing. you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole building could hear your heartbeat right now. sevika adjusts her fingers so that she’s gripping your hand firmly, and you feel so… dirty, almost. you know that this is nothing, but you’re scared and ashamed of what other people might think. but although it initially feels wrong, you settle down when you realize that nobody’s looking— even more that nobody cares— and it feels so right. her hands are surprisingly warm and soft, they feel so welcoming and familiar against yours.

this section is literally making me so insane !!!!! in the best way possible. just another great example of how you’ve been able to really capture what it means to be a disciple of the faith but to feel wrong but it doesn’t. it was never wrong, it was always right. even if the church or your faith has told you to burn for it. anyone with religious trauma has felt this way and fuck, you literally just took my feelings out of my head and put them on paper. there’s nothing more remarkable than your ability make every emotion accessible in such a beautiful form. one that feels very real. i truly love it so much.

you looked up at her from your position on your knees, her torso looking impossibly longer than usual. something comes over you, something that warms up your stomach until you feel so dizzy you feel the need to reach for something to steady yourself. unaware of just how much trouble this would get you in, you end up grabbing for her upper thighs. they’re so thick that your hands are almost completely flat, but they’re sturdy. perfect for grabbing onto.

OKAYDJEDJEIFJCECFMJEUIF THIS FUCKING PART. THIS SHIT. THIS SHIT RIGHT HERE. ON YOUR KNEES LIKE SEVIKA IS YOUR ALTER. THIS IS TOO MUCH. TEWWWW MUCH. okay, let me calm down, just a little. but really. really, really, really — this itched my brain in such a lovely way. i will not be able to get over it ever. i'm pretty sure. the imagery, AGAIN. everything is so entirely connected. the flow of this fic is just insane. i'm seriously in awe. i've read this fic four times already. dw, it will be up to ten by the end of the week. #trust.

sevika studies your words in her mind, hoping that you’d still mean them if you could see the thoughts running wild in her mind right now. she inches closer to you and her nose almost brushes yours. the tension in the room makes her squirm, thighs pressing together in an attempt to soothe the ache between them. somehow, in some strange way, this feels better than sex. better than anything she’s ever smoked, any liquid she could get drunk on. you are her intoxicant. her stronger substance. her higher power. her breath of fresh air in this humid town. you are what she’s been searching for.

her higher power.

this line just fucking crushed me into pieces. i don't think you understand!!!!!! it's crossing the line of my religion vs her. discipleship vs love. it's a choice that no one should ever have to make. love is love. there's not a high power that should hold over the feelings we can't explain, it's just something we feel. something we can never be rid of. something we can't live without. i also love the parallel of reader being the greater vice than sevika's addiciton. you're more than the vices she's using to cope. you are more than just someone for her to get lost in. it's soft and gentle, and mesmirizing. it's inexplainable. it's love. it's truly such a beautiful perspective because it also undoes the idea, by the bigots, that we can choose who we love because we can't. it's not up to choice, reason, and it certainly doesn't offer us grace. love is ruthless, merciless, and often cruel but it can also be the best thing that's happened to us. okay i'm ranting so fucking bad but that line really shook me and i'm going to be thinking about it for the next five business years.

she shuffles under you as she slides her boxers off, and you almost drool at the sight of her bush. it’s just so… beautiful. and intimate. she pats your hips as a signal to scoot off of her, and she spreads her legs before manhandling you to sit your cunt on top of hers. as soon as you connect your cunt with hers, you swear you black out. it all feels so good. she keeps spreading her legs wider to help you get a better angle against her clit, and you can feel it throbbing against yours. you thought holding her hand was intimate, but this is so much more than you could’ve imagined. “fuck, sevika.” you moan, tears crashing over you again and dripping onto her cheeks now. “you’re so beautiful.”

okay. okay. okay. i’m going in sane with love for this. so fucking bad. it’s not even a joke anymore. loving and intimate sensual smut is always gonna fucking do it for me. literally. the beauty of being with a woman for the first time. not being able to control yourself on the uncontrollable wave. it will drown you if you’re not careful and it’s almost tragic. it’s haunting. it’s unexplainable. it’s love. leaving one belief to let yourself drown in what you’ve been told is a sin. it’s the foundation of finding faith in something tangible, something that offers and doesn’t take. god, this is really so fucking good. really perfect from top to bottom. the heartbeat of this story is so strong and i loved every moment of it. you never disappoint. banger, after banger, after banger.

this is truly one of the most introspective fics doing religious trauma and the fight between sexuality and faith so beautifully and respectfully. in the sly details, it really shows the inner battle between the consumption of addiction and how it can derail our lives, how through addiction we can never get through it alone, and also the guilt that comes with picking who we are over who we've been told to be. all of this is truly such a stunner and i don't think i 've read a piece of fiction laced with so much meaning in a while. it's so entirely refreshing. it has really reworked my brain in a way i haven't been able to explain. this is the second night i've been ranting in this outrageously long reblog, my goodness, can't writing anything short to save my life, but this deserved every ounce of love. truly exceptional, enna.

✞︎ ︎YOUR OWN PERSONAL JESUS.

SOMEONE TO HEAR YOUR PRAYERS. SOMEONE WHO CARES.

cw: religious!reader x sevika, inspo from personal jesus by depeche mode, dark themes [drinking addiction, religious crisis, trauma/ptsd, etc.], a mention of isha because i’m evil, as well as religious themes, nasty sloppy dirty sinful dyke sex [body worship + tribbing] 18+ 🧛🏿

word count: 14.1k

i. FEELING UNKNOWN AND YOU’RE ALL ALONE

sad, dull, gray, gloomy, what else could she use to describe it? constant rain, a chronic form of seasonal depression that lingered in the air no matter where she went. her therapist prescribed her some fresh air, but the air is never fresh here. it’s thick with fog, the humidity weighs down on your shoulders and makes it unbearable to trudge through. sure, the sun shines, but it never peeks out from behind the clouds, leaving the town in a dark, unsaturated gleam.

she crosses the threshold into her apartment, hair clinging to the back of her neck and the sides of her face due to a mix of humidity and sweat. her apartment might be more vapid than the outside world, it’s a small box that overlooks the parking lot and a few 24 hour diners across the street. the walls are all white, along with the ceiling and cabinets, and the carpet is scratchy and gray. she hardly has any furniture, a small couch with a tv propped up on a cardboard box facing it. no coffee table, chairs, or shelves, but she doesn’t spend much time out here anyways.

her ribs start to ache, and the growing hunger in her stomach only makes it worse. she scours her cupboards for a snack, and settles for half a bar of dark chocolate and a glass of whiskey. the couch is small and hard and it barely offers any comfort to her tired body. on the tv, the meteorologist blabbers away about the predicted weather for the week. she feels bad for him, the poor guy probably wanted a bigger and better job than this. foreseeing the same weather for 365 days straight. cold, cloudy, wet, maybe snow if we get lucky.

the dark chocolate she’s nibbling on is cheap and tastes identical to the plastic wrapper it came in, and the burn of the whiskey is only adding to the bitter taste. but at least it soothes her mind. she sighs, flicks off the television, and heads for the shower. the last thing she wants to be right now is even more wet, but the promising warmth of the water will at least soothe some of the pain in her shoulders.

a bone-chilling squeak rings out through the bathroom as she twists the faucet on, and the light flickers as if in response to the noise. sevika peels her clothes off, her sweatpants dropping to the floor and her shirt still trying to hang on to her body. her ribs are more prominent than they’ve ever been, and she can see her muscles slowly starting to wither away with how frequently she skips the gym.

steam fills the room, the foggy clouds of it wisp around her as she studies herself until she can’t see her reflection anymore. it’s all blurry— her reflection, the walls, her own hands in front of her face. her left arm has the deepest and darkest scars she’s ever seen, most of them are jagged from the way her stitches were inserted. she can hardly stand to look at herself anymore, so maybe it’s a good thing the mirror is fogged up.

in the shower she only washes herself for a quick second, rubbing a thin layer of soap all over her body and scrubbing her scalp with shampoo. she debates on adding conditioner, but she feels as if she’ll faint if she’s in the shower for another second. the hot water quickly runs out, and sevika only notices how scorching her water was when it switches over to room temperature.

as soon as she steps out of the shower, she wraps herself up in her towel, although there’s not really a point in that due to the holes and strings coming off of it. she makes a mental note to buy more towels, and just as she’s about to mope about another purchase to make, her phone blares an alarm warning her not to be late to her physical therapy appointment.

stumbling out of the bathroom, she trudges half nude to her liquor cabinet, aimlessly grabbing around for something strong. she pours herself a shot, and then another, and fuck, why not a third one? she doesn’t notice the burn as it goes down, her mind instead focusing on the ache in her left shoulder.

she pulls a shirt over her head and shoves her shoes on, finalizing her outfit with her black raincoat. she wears it nearly every day, partially because it’s always cold and rainy, and partially because it’s a good excuse to hide the thick scars that travel all the way up her body. her spine starts to ache as she walks to the clinic, but she doesn’t have money for a car, and she doesn’t know anybody in this town well enough to ask them for a ride.

the receptionist at the clinic doesn’t look up one single time as sevika checks in, and sevika wishes so badly that she could get paid to sit down and look at a computer all day. she takes a seat in the waiting room, slumping back and relaxing her muscles as she waits for her PT to invite her in. the clock on the wall ticks extremely loudly, she notices, but she decides to close her eyes and count the ticks until it’s finally her turn.

ii. FLESH AND BONE BY THE TELEPHONE

static muffles through her radio. she flicks the ashes of her cigarette out onto the pavement, watching as a pigeon across the street skitters around. another few crackles through her walkie talkie go ignored. it’s her break for fucks sake, and she’s only just starting to enjoy it.

“sevika?” her radio booms. she sighs, rolling her eyes and waiting for someone else to respond.

“sevika, we need you inside. your break is over.”

“my break is what? over.” she responds, giggling at her own smartass response.

“your break is over, god damn it. over.”

“roger.” she says, a hint of a smile still in her voice. “i’ll be inside in a second. over.”

she pulls her phone out of her pocket, double checking the new code for the security door. after punching it in, she swings the door open until it bolts shut behind her, and then makes her way to the lobby. the museum is huge, the lobby has floors that sparkle and shine no matter how many muddy shoes cross over them, and the rest of the stories are complete with floor to ceiling windows that are taller than she ever could’ve imagined.

as she crosses through a giant stone archway, her boss nods and waves her over. one of her coworkers is there too, both of them looking stern and serious. she steps into the small circle they’ve formed, lifting her eyebrows quizzically at the two of them. “well?” she asks. “what do you need?”

“what do i need? what i fuckin’ need from both of you is for you to do your fuckin’ jobs.” he spits, literally. droplets of his saliva collect in his beard as he digs into sevika and her coworker about ‘not doing their jobs.’

“what do you mean by that, sir?” her coworker asks.

“do you know how many people i’ve seen walk out of here with souvenirs stuffed into their pockets? that gift shop is gonna be desecrated by the end of the day.”

“respectfully, sir, we aren’t in charge of the gift shop. we only monitor the grounds of the museum, and you’re the one who hired us both to do that.” she says back.

“then go do ya fuckin’ job.” he growls, his thick boston accent shining through his attempt at a serious lecture.

she raises her eyebrows and turns around with her tongue in her cheek, heading up the large marble stairs. sevika can’t argue with that, and she loves her job. it’s easy— all she has to do is puff her chest to intimidate her guests, hand out lollipops to the little ones who are brave enough to wave at her, and occasionally answer a question about directions around the place. all of her coworkers love her, and she’s never felt more secure in her life before.

ascending the stairs, she eyes a beautiful young woman with blazing orange hair wandering into the gift shop and a smile on her face. that’s not the type of person who’d steal, she thinks, and she’s probably right. concealing her eyes are a pair of black sunglasses, and she’s finally thankful they’re part of her uniform now that she’s got direct sunlight hitting every corner of the second floor.

she inserts her earpiece into the side of her head, prepared although not excited to listen to her coworkers chat and complain for the rest of the day. she flicks around until she connects to the private channel, and then continues to stroll around the second floor.

people of all ages wander through the halls. kids being scolded by their parents, awkward adults grasping clammy hands on their first date, seniors leaning on their walkers and canes as they reminisce about famous painters. the community is so beautiful, so important to her, she’d do anything to protect it. this place is like her second home, and she’s made some of the best friends of her life here. not to mention the fact that it’s taken her years to memorize her way around the place, so now it’s even more special to her.

she steps toward the large windows, feeling the warm sun prickle her skin as it sparkles through the leaves of the trees. the muffled sound of laughing families combined with the sight of her people paints a smile on her face, and she closes her eyes and loses herself in this divine moment until she feels something tug on the bottom of her vest.

“yes?” she asks, turning around and smiling down at the kid. her bottom lip quivers and her eyes fill with tears, she makes a mental note that she can’t be any older than six years of age.

“i—” she starts, attempting to blink back tears and inevitably failing. “mmmph!!”

sevika crouches down and wipes the girl’s tears away with her thumbs, ruffling the kid’s fluffy blue hair. “don’t worry, kiddo.” she assures her, “what’s wrong? oh, lemme guess— lost your parents?” the kid nods and sobs some more, attempting to hide her face in her hands.

she scoops her up in her arms, letting her sob into her shoulder. “ughffff!!!!” she pouts, squirming in sevika’s hold. she takes a guess that the kid is either really shy or just mute.

“it’s okay,” she coos. “would you like a lollipop?” the kid sniffles at this, but lifts her head up and nods at her. sevika digs into the small bag on her waist, pulling out a bright blue sucker for the little one that matches her hair. she takes it in her small hands and unwraps it, eyes sparkling at the sight of the blue raspberry favored sugar. sevika just hopes her parents don’t kill her.

with the kid in her arms— who is now joyfully sucking on the lollipop instead of soaking her in tears and snot— she makes her way downstairs. sevika’s no stranger to lost children, and she’s fond of their company. it’s refreshing to hear them describe colors and patterns in the paintings instead of overanalyzing it and telling stupid facts about the artist. and she loves that she can finally give back to the world, bringing the kiddos comfort like she never received from her own parents.

“radio check.” her earpiece says, slightly catching her off guard.

“go ahead.” her teammates all say, mutually praying their boss isn’t about to go on another two hour long rant in their private channel.

“keep your eyes peeled for a little kid with a full head of bright blue hair,” her boss says into her earpiece. “apparently her names isha and she’s five. parents lost her on the second floor and they’re worried.”

sevika looks down at the kid, unnecessarily double checking that her head is painted with blue hair dye. “i’ve got her.” she says. “we’re making our way to the lobby. 10-20?”

“lobby, meet you there soon. over and out.”

“isha!!” her mother shrieks as soon as sevika lands on the bottom step. “oh my sweet ishabear! i thought we’d lost you forever.”

isha’s dad shoots sevika a look that seems to say ‘sorry about her’, but she smiles and hands the kid over. “what’s your name?” her mom asks frantically. just as she’s about to respond, her boss speaks up and whacks her on the back with a proud slap.

“this is sevika. best security in the whole building, ain’t she?” he says, reaching out to pinch her cheek. sevika tries her absolute best to hold back, but she can’t stop a harsh glare from forming on her face as her boss pokes and prods at her like she’s a doll. she clears her throat and shoves him off, but resumes a smile for the parents staring at her.

“that she is!” the mother cheers. “god bless you, sevika, seriously. i’ll never be able to repay you.”

she smiles proudly, not necessarily because she believes in a god, but she’s just glad to get the kid back and hopefully end the conversation soon. “thank you ma’am. it’s no problem, really. it’s my job.”

“it is your job!” her boss exclaims. “and she’s gonna get right back to it.”

before turning away, she gives isha a smile and an explosive fist bump, smiling at the adorable little cub and then parting. her boss is probably the only downside of her job. words can’t explain how much she hates that guy— even hate isn’t a strong enough word. but she ignores it, pushing her hatred to the back of her mind and attempting to continue with her good day.

until an ear piercing scream is let out at the front of the building, and she’s knocked out before she can turn around to investigate.

——

“shit, how many are still in the building?”

“i dunno, man! there are people fuckin’ everywhere.”

“sevika? can you hear me? … sevika, you need to get out of there now.”

groggily, she peels her heavy eyes open and looks around. the scent of pennies fills her nose, a metallic smell so strong it nearly knocks her out again. before she feels like she can hit the floor, her body jerks forward and she sucks in a gasp before she realizes she’s already laying on the marbled ground.

“sevika…?”

“leave it alone, for gods sake, we need to get people out of here!”

her left arm was laying oddly and uncomfortably behind her, and her whole body was absolutely aching. she leans forward and chokes out some blood before looking at the scene before her. windows shattered and glass glistening on the floor, reflecting the light that shines off of the mini fires lit all around. there are people everywhere— or at least the remains of them. shoes and purses and walkers left behind, the suffocating scent of blood and charred flesh, and the sound of sirens blaring all around her.

she tries to breathe, but it seems impossible. her lungs won’t fill with air no matter how many times she gasps, and that number is burgeoning with the way she’s hyperventilating. hot, salty tears prickle her eyes involuntarily, but she blinks them away, too shocked to feel any emotions yet. she groans into the floor as a sharp pain shoots through her body, and the thrashing caused by that pain only makes her feel worse.

deep red and sticky, her blood pools around her. it leaks out of her left arm, which takes her a while to recognize as hers because of the way her elbow is inverted. she recognizes cries of children and shrieks of pain, which is a harsh contrast of the peaceful atmosphere earlier. how much earlier? how long has she been knocked out? and why is she on the floor?

after an eternity, two men in heavy jackets lift her onto a stretcher. she’s facing up this time, and now she can get a good look at the walls around her. they’re crumbling and splattered with blood, world famous paintings that were once hanging from them are now completely destroyed. either torn up or burnt to a crisp.

as they approach the bottom of the stairs, she makes the tough decision to peek over the stretcher, eyes frantically searching around the spot she was only just standing in. and there she is. that little girl with her bright blue hair, now drenched in red. her lips are still blue from the lollipop, but she’s grown pale and cold. and gone. and sevika couldn’t protect her.

before she closes her eyes, she takes in the scene one more time. piles of hair tangled together and skin melted into the floor. she’s seen some pretty outrageous things as a security guard, but never this. tears pour out of her eyes, the pain in her body making her wish she would’ve been taken out too. by what, she doesn’t know. she isn’t aware of where she is or what’s going on, all she knows is the pain in the left side of her body, and it’s all she’ll feel for the rest of her life.

iii. LIFT UP THE RECEIVER, I’LL MAKE YOU A BELIEVER

“sevika…?”

she blinks awake with a gasp, eyes wide as she takes in her surroundings. children’s toys litter the floor, flyers and posters on the wall, bright white lights beaming down on her— and her physical therapist standing about 2 feet away from her. sevika grumbles in embarrassment, trying to shake off her sleepiness as quickly as possible.

her therapist offers a sympathetic smile before waving her back. sevika curses those waiting room chairs for being so comfortable, or maybe it’s just because she doesn’t get much shut eye at home. her back is so weak and achy that she feels as if she’ll snap under the weight of gravity, but she tries to play it cool in front of her poor doctor. she’s already embarrassed herself enough today, she won’t let herself collapse in pain on the floor of the office.

“nice to see you again, sevika.” her PT smiles, “how’ve you been?”

how has she been? what a long list she could go down. first of all, she’s in so much physical pain she can barely sit upright without passing out. next, she hasn’t been sleeping well due to her night terrors, and she’s waken up soaked in sweat and shivering more often than not. finally, if this list has to end anywhere, she feels jealous. of the happy families she sees every day, of the kids with friends, of the adults with well paying jobs.

“i’ve been… surviving.” she says, purposefully ignoring the plethora of problems she has. this is physical therapy, she reminds herself. not the damn loony bin. get ahold of yourself.

“well, surviving is a great start.” her therapist says with a faux smile. “how has the pain in your shoulders felt since i last saw you? better? worse?” and with that, her voice trails off into the distance with sevika zoning out.

her poor arm gets bent in every single direction you can think of, even ones it’s not supposed to. she bites back her screams of agony and replaces them with little pained growls and whimpers. every time her arm gets bent slightly behind her, a shock of pure pain shoots through her spine and leaves her a shivering mess. the pain within her feels electric, like she’s about to burst into flames or something. it’s the worst thing she’s ever felt.

the tears in her eyes threaten to spill more than ever, but by some miracle she manages to hold them back. until she gets back to her apartment, at least.

as soon as she steps through the front door, she makes a beeline for her bedroom. burying her face in her pillow, she lets it all out. her pained scream is barely muffled by the pillow, but she continues to scream until her throat feels like sandpaper and she realizes that she can’t breathe.

gasping for air, she flops over. her vision is spotted and blurry from a mix of tears, pain, and exhaustion. she stares at her ceiling and cries while she chokes on her own staggered breaths, and she barely registers that someone’s knocking on her door until she hears her name called through it.

“sevika? are you alright, hon?” is followed by another few pounds on her door. she doesn’t want her anyone to call the cops, so she slowly and reluctantly rises from bed, grabbing onto her door frame to steady herself.

it’s her neighbor. curse these walls for being too thin.

sevika groans and rolls her eyes before opening the door, trying her best to plant an indifferent look on her face although it looks more like a pout. the old woman smiles up at her, glad to see that she’s alive after that screaming, but sevika can’t return the smile.

“what’s wrong? did something happen?” her neighbor asks.

“nothing’s wrong.” sevika grumbles, lying through her teeth.

“i know that’s not true honeybun, your eyes are bright red and your cheeks are wet with tears.” her neighbor coos. sevika thinks it’s annoying. she doesn’t want anyone’s sympathy.

“i’m alright, thank you.” she says sternly, although her neighbor keeps pushing.

“may i come in?”

sevika doesn’t answer, instead watching as the old lady walks past her and plants herself on sevika’s couch. “come chat with me.” she invites with a warm, grandmotherly smile.

“i’m not in the mood for chatting.” sevika glares.

“oh, dear,” her neighbor chuckles to herself. “i’m afraid i’m too mature to have you groan at me like a teenager. come sit.”

sevika comes up with another response, but it’s not a very friendly one. the angel on her shoulder tells her not to say it, that the poor woman is just trying to help, that sevika’s already been so much of a bother that she should just shut her mouth. but the devil on her shoulder is fed up right now, and sevika always favors the devil.

“i’m afraid you’re not an ounce as mature as i am. you haven’t been through what i have, and you have no place to tell me what to do in my own fucking apartment.” but sevika does listen to the lady, because she takes a seat right next to her on the couch.

her neighbor ignores her emotional outburst and instead asks “are you hungry?”

“no.” sevika scowls.

“tired?”

“exhausted.”

“sad? lonely? you’d do good with a pet around here. or a few plants. i can grow you a—”

“no thanks. i don’t need a… plant. or an animal.” sevika spits.

“hmm. you live a sad life, don’t you. i wonder what you were like before you came here.” her neighbor sighed.

“i don’t owe you an explanation. that’s private.”

“sevika, you can talk to me if you need to. i’m only one door down the hall, retired, it’s just me and my cats. i’ll always be available if you need something.”

“i don’t need anything.” sevika rolls her eyes. “much less your pity.”

“okay, fine then. if you won’t let me help you, i’ll make someone else help you.”

she reaches into her pocket and digs through her wallet, pulling out a thin paper card and handing it over to sevika. “come with me tomorrow. it’d do you wonders.”

“to… church? no thanks, i’ll pa—”

“okay, great. i’ll see you tomorrow morning then.” her neighbor says, rising and making her way to the door.

“i didn’t say i’d come.”

“i’ll pick you up at eight. better set an alarm.”

“i didn’t agree to co—” and sevika gets cut off by the slam of her own door before she can finish her sentence. whatever, when tomorrow rolls around she’ll just ignore her neighbor, pretending to be asleep or something.

she leans back on her couch, staring at the ceiling and wishing she had a pillow to grip onto, to scream into. another thing to add to the list. she stares at the ceiling instead, balling her hands up into fists as rage turns into sadness and sadness turns back into exhaustion.

it takes everything in her not to crawl to bed, but she stands and walks herself eventually. her shoulders sag and her torso slumps forward as she takes one step at a time, her posture making her about 4 inches shorter than she really is. her bed cradles her weight though, and she sighs into her cold, wet pillow once the tension in her body is released. it’s the best feeling ever. and before she knows it, her eyes are shutting, mind going back to that deep, dark memory.

——

7:30am rolls around, and sevika curses herself for waking up this early. now she’ll have to pretend to be asleep in front of her neighbor, and she’s not a good actress. she rolls out of bed, dragging herself to the bathroom to get her day started. she tries to avoid the mirror, but it’s impossible.

she stares at herself for a while, the uncomfortable feeling of someone else looking back at her creeps up on her. she doesn’t look like herself, she doesn’t look like sevika. she looks sick, tired, hurt, starving. the thought of food makes her stomach twist, she hasn’t eaten anything real in over a full day. maybe she should go easy on her neighbor and ask for a home-cooked meal. maybe.

her hair is fluffy and frayed at the ends, and her roots feel eternally greasy. her depression is so bad, she either showers daily in an attempt to scrub the hallucinated blood off, or she won’t shower for weeks. it’s like she can never win the battle.

a knock at the door disrupts her thoughts. “sevika?”

a groan involuntarily escapes her as she silently opens the bathroom door and creeps out into the living room. “sevika, wake up, it’s almost eight.”

she freezes, praying that her movements on top of her creaky floorboards go unobserved.

“sevika, dear, i can hear you on the other side of the door. you’re not fooling anyone.”

fuck. she’s not getting out of this, is she.

with another groan, she opens the door and sighs. the old lady smiles up at her, dressed in some sort of church attire. “grab a coat,” she says. “it’s chilly out.”

what else does sevika have to do, other than follow the orders? she’s trapped now. following this sweet old woman to church on a sunday. something she never thought she’d do. but she yanks a jacket over her shoulders and shoves her shoes on, not bothering to lock the door behind her. she claims she has nothing to lose in there, but that’s just because she lost her own apartment key a while ago.

she almost smiles when her neighbor shoves her into her car. almost. but she’s not exactly capable of that anymore. it’s so luxurious. she has a heater and a radio and a seat. it’s almost like she’s in a spaceship, marveling at all of these features that would make her life so much easier.

her excitement reaches it’s end as they pull into the parking lot of the building, and that pit in her stomach returns as she climbs out of the small car. if her legs worked a fraction of how well they used to, she’d run so far away from this place.

everything about it is repelling her. the building is huge, bright, colorful, everything she’s seen in her recurring nightmares. it smells like dust and coffee, children’s art line the walls, along with some more formal paintings and portraits. the ceiling seems to be made of glass— the kind that shatters easily and can slice your hands up.

the windows are colored with stained glass that portray different scenes. people made of bright colors dance and pose and feast all around them, their dazzling figures being illuminated by the white sunlight shining through the windows. it’s the kind of beauty she was attracted to years ago, the kind that nearly got her killed.

“sevika, come sit with me.” her neighbor says, derailing her train of thought. she practically has to drag sevika over to the pews as she stares at the buildings interior, feelings of fear and comfort flooding through her veins and stunning her.

she’s too busy taking in her surroundings to realize that the service has started, and she’s quickly reminded of how much she hates places like this. a large, beautiful room full of people. a community. something bad could happen at any moment, and she’d be in no shape to help any of them.

small droplets of blood fill her mouth one at a time as she anxiously chews on her bottom lip. she knows it’s a bad habit, but it’s oddly comforting. the metallic taste is just a reminder that she’s still alive, that the blood is still inside of her body instead of splattered across the floor. gross, ugh, don’t think of that.

in an attempt to tune out the preacher’s sermon, she decides to study the people around her. it’s a harsh reminder of past events, she swears she can almost recognize the faces of the dead bodies in them. all ages, young and old. parents cradling their newborn babies, seniors admiring their lover’s white hair, kids swinging their feet out in front of them in an attempt to stay occupied.

she tries to push these morbid thoughts away from her brain, but it’s not easy. it’s her minds default, it’s why she hasn’t stepped foot in any sort of large building in years. by some miracle, she’s survived a bombing once, how on earth could she do it again?

but to her luck, the ceremony is over before she knows it, and she’s about to escape before her neighbor yanks her back by the collar of her jacket. she pouts, rolls her eyes, and turns around to face her.

“meet my neighbor, sevika. this is her first time joining us.”

“nice to meet you, sevika.” and the man sticks his arm out to sevika, awaiting a returned hand shake. she doesn’t return it though, and she doesn’t even look at him. instead she just stares at the floor and says “yeah… thanks…”

her neighbor nudges her shoulder for being rude, but she doesn’t owe anyone anything. she doesn’t know if the man who tried to shake her hand is same guy who’s been blabbering on this whole time, but if it is, she doesn’t want anything to do with him.

“sevika, what the hell was that? i didn’t bring you here to be rude, i brought you here to learn something.”

sevika scoffs with a fake laugh, “i don’t need you to parent me.”

“then stop acting like a kid, let’s go meet more people.”

how was she gonna get out of this? oh well, in only a few hours she’ll be home again, resting and recharging in bed under the covers. she follows behind her neighbor like a lost puppy, not even looking in front of her, just staring down and making sure that she’s following the correct pair of shoes.

you greet sevika’s neighbor warmly, she’s a familiar face you’re always glad to see. sevika’s figure almost startles you when you peek up, almost. but you get yourself under control, asking the sweet older woman “who’s this?”

“this is sevika, my neighbor. it’s her first time joining us today.”

“oh! nice to meet you, sevika.” you smile, keeping your hands to yourself. sevika doesn’t know what to think of you, you’re so… different from everyone else here. you’re not dressed like everyone else, you look more like sevika than you do the others. but she wouldn’t expect someone like you to work at a church, would she? god, how the world has changed.

“nice to meet you.” she says, not bothering to attempt a weak smile, but giving a cordial nod in your direction anyways.

“we hope to see you around here soon. if you need anything, you know where to find me. although, you look like you’re in good hands.” you offer, giving sevika’s neighbor a friendly pat on the shoulder. sevika watches you walk off, wishing she could dissect you a little more. but she doesn’t hesitate to exit the building when her neighbor declares that it’s time to leave.

“are you hungry?” her neighbor asks once they’re in the car.

sevika’s mouth speaks before she can stop herself, “yes. starving.”

“good, you’ll come over for brunch. that wasn’t a question, by the way.” she smiles.

sevika rolls her eyes and almost smiles back. almost. but the ache in her lower back is making it hard to be happy in this moment.

her neighbor’s apartment is quite grandmotherly, to put it nicely. she has two cats— a black ball of fluff named “fluffy” and a skinny, all white cat named “snowy”, both of which were named by her grandchildren. there are plants and paintings and handmade quilts littering her place, every one of them having a story behind it. it’s cute, sure, but a little bit too maximalist for sevika’s enjoyment. at least she has furniture. good quality furniture.

a steaming teacup is placed in front of her seat at the counter, and both of the cats jump up to check it out. in all honesty, sevika thinks it’s kinda gross to live with animals. she doesn’t know where the hell those cats paws have been, and if it were up to her they wouldn’t be on the kitchen counter.

the cats waddle over to sevika, getting too close to comfort in an attempt to investigate the strange woman sitting at their counter. once she’s deemed safe, they raise their backs and point their tails up as if to ask for pets, but sevika scowls and awkwardly scoots away from the strange animals.

“not a cat person?” her neighbor laughs.

“no… not an animal person in general, really.”

“they’re sweet. give ‘em a pet.”

“no thanks…”

“fine. but you better eat up before they eat it for you.” her neighbor says, shoving a tall stack of pancakes in front of sevika. it’s a heavenly sight, and she almost feels bad for eating it instead of staring at the masterpiece for a while longer.

but that hungry pit in her stomach only grows and shoves itself against her stomach, so she has no choice to dig in. not that she’s complaining, and they taste absolutely divine. she grows uncomfortable again, last time she felt divine was the worst day of her life. it’s almost like a curse— one that never lets her feel true enjoyment.

fluffy and snowy meow loudly at her neighbor for food too, so she grabs a small dish and starts plopping some wet food onto it. again, sevika can’t fathom why someone would do that. on the counter? where she’s eating? but it’s not her apartment, so she keeps her mouth full of pancakes to stop the complaints.

she can’t wait to get home. checking the time, she realizes that it’s now afternoon. this has been the most eventful day she’s lived through in a while, and that triggers her anxiety to tone everything down. she needs a drink and a nap, so she thanks her neighbor and heads one door up the hall to her own apartment.

her door is unlocked, just how she left it, and she realizes that the only valuable thing in her apartment might be her liquor cabinet. maybe she should get a lock after all. add that to the list.

she guzzles down some whiskey directly from the bottle before stopping to take a breath. with how much she’s been drinking lately, she barely gets drunk anymore. it’s not fair, she might just have to find something stronger. jesus christ, i’m gonna drink myself to death. before she has a chance to bury herself back in bed, her phone rings. how strange, she hasn’t gotten a call in years. but what choice does she have, other than to lift up the receiver?

“yes?” she groans.

“hello,” you greet, a bit disturbed that someone would answer the phone with just ‘yes?’ “is this sevika?”

“who are you?”

“i’m from the church, we met earlier.”

“oh… okay… so…?”

“so, i wanted to tell you that i meant it when i said i hope you join us again. it was nice to see you, we rarely get any newcomers in this small town but… i can tell that you’re different.”

“okay…” sevika says. there is no way she’s stepping foot in that building again. jesus christ himself could not drag her in there.

“so… you’ll come?”

“i still need to be convinced.”

“easy. but i’ll need you to show up for that.”

“maybe.” she says, and you feel like you can hear a hint of promise in her voice.

“okay, well, have a good rest of your day. i’ll see you soon. maybe.” you say, about to hang up.

“how did you get my number?” she questions.

“helen gave it to me.”

“…who?”

“your neighbor? helen?”

“oh… right.” how could she not know her own neighbor’s name?

“sevika, don’t worry.” you assure her. “i’ll help you believe.” and the line goes quiet.

iv. I WILL DELIVER, YOU KNOW I’M A FORGIVER

that day was the first time you saw sevika, and you wish you could live in that moment forever. she was so soft and so sharp at the same time, and it was surprisingly harmonious. her physical features were striking, she looked almost… scary. but that scariness was easily cancelled out by her gentleness.

her cheeks were thin and sunken, but her chin effortlessly faded into the smooth skin of her neck. her nose stuck straight out of her head, but there was a slight curve to it that made you wanna run a gentle fingertip over it. her eyes were bright and silver, but they were so big and so round. she was tall, sticking up higher than anyone else in the room, but her hips and thighs were so plush and thick, she took up just the right amount of space.

she was just plain gorgeous. usually you’d scold yourself for thinking about another woman this way, but you’d been slowly coming to terms with your sexuality. as long as you don’t act on it.

from the moment you laid eyes on her, you knew you had to guide her. it was like some sort of fate or destiny. here’s this immaculate woman showing up in front of you in desperate need of help, your help specifically. it was a perfect mission, you’d do anything in her power to earn her trust and to help her feel that faith.

by some miracle, she answered the phone when you rang. judging by her previous attitude, you almost expected her to storm back down to the church and smack you across the face. your conversation was unproductive, sure, but it was a good start. well, if she decides to show up, that is. you don’t doubt her, if anything you can just ask her neighbor to force her to tag along again.

the mental image of her floats around in your head all day. what are you gonna do when she does show up? give her some sort of speech? she’ll probably just tune you out like she does to the rest of the world. you wonder why she acts the way she does, there’s no way anybody with a normal life could act this guarded. you just hope she opens up eventually, you’d kill to get to know her.

sevika’s not amused. she doesn’t want anyone’s help, or to pretend to have faith in something that’s all just make believe. really, the only thing she wants is some peace and quiet, and for the pain in her shoulders to lessen. before returning to her den, she sluggishly trudges to the kitchen cupboards, yanking them open in search of some painkillers. to her luck, there are two small pills left, which she quickly downs. she chooses water over whiskey this time, shockingly, because she’s a little bit frightened by drinking herself to death. which is strange, and she wonders why she values her life so much.

no matter what you do, you can’t get this woman off of your mind. something about her makes you feel different than how other people make you feel, but you can’t tell what it is or why. you need a plan. you need to talk to her again. or at least some confidence would be handy. but instead of dwelling on it, you decide to go for a walk.

the walk doesn’t really work though, it actually does the opposite of clearing your mind. you have nothing to focus on, no work to do, so you just think. your mind runs wild the whole time. you’re so intrigued, so excited yet nervous, you feel like it’s almost a craving. almost, because you’re not really sure what a craving is. not until you meet her, at least.

after swallowing her pain meds, sevika crawls back into bed, the heavy feeling of anxiety that settled over her chest slowly but surely fades, and she’s eased into a light afternoon nap. the plain white walls of her room offer some familiar comfort, but the more she looks at them, the more she’s reminded of the hospital. fuck, maybe she should try to decorate the place. and she really does need to go shopping later.

——

she wakes up nearly three hours later feeling more exhausted than before she slept. at least she feels a bit more calm, but the looming feeling of her responsibilities made her groan. another reason why she doesn’t want pets: it’s another mouth to feed, to walk, clean up after, bathe, spend time with. she can barely do those things for herself, how on earth could she do it for something else?

rather than pouting about her responsibilities, she makes the tough decision to get out of bed and get started with her day. get started meaning that it’s almost 6:00pm and she’s only just now attempting to complete her to-do list. and so what? she lives on her own terms. she doesn’t bother brushing her messy hair after her nap, even less to keep it out of her face with a little half ponytail. it never works anyways, the wind whips it all around you until it sticks to the sides of your face with humidity.

so, that’s it then, and she shoves her shoes and her coat on and leaves. the door stays unlocked, of course, and she makes her way down the stairwell and out of the building. there’s a small grocery store on her block which is conveniently located next to a liquor store. if she has the funds after buying her necessities, she’ll stop in there for a treat. actually, she’ll probably stop in there anyways, but she likes to think that she still has some self control left when it comes to drinking.

does she remember what she needed to buy? no. and did she bother to write down her mental shopping list as it came to her? nope! but it’ll come to her. hopefully. she spends the whole walk there trying to focus on what she needs to spend her money on and what she wants to spend her money on. she needs more painkillers, more snacks, some sort of decoration for her place, and… was there something else?

she crosses into the store and she’s immediately greeted by the sound of loud pop music buzzing through the speakers. great, so she’s overstimulated already. she’ll make it quick, she decides, it’s not like she wanted to be here in the first place.

sauntering down the aisles, she picks up everything she needs. at least, everything she remembers that she needs. she grabs a large bottle of extra strength ibuprofen, more bread and butter, microwave meals, milk and eggs, and what else? before she can think of another thing to add, she decides to just leave. if she thinks of anything else, she can always just come back later.

her shoulders sag under the weight of her basket, full of stuff that’ll probably just rot in her fridge. as she approaches the register, she sighs as the man behind it attempts to strike up a conversation with her. she’s not interested, she never has been, and she has no clue why he insists on chatting with her every time she’s there.

she doesn’t respond to the man the entire time she’s there, just staring daggers past him. she doesn’t even muster out a “good evening” or “goodnight”. i mean jesus, even a “fuck you” might’ve been polite. it’s not like she cares.

but she does stop by the liquor store on the way home, as we knew she would. she decides to treat herself, picking up not only one, but two bottles off of the shelf. whiskey and vodka, not cheap but it does the job. the money will come back around anyways. the man behind the counter, this time stoned out of his mind, asks her what she’s gonna do with the alcohol.

“what am i gonna do with it?” she repeats, obviously annoyed and confused. “what the fuck do you think?”

“mannnn, i bet you could make a hundred bottles of homemade mouthwash with this stuff. fucking awesome.”

sevika rolls her eyes and collects the large glass bottles, shoving them into her bag as gently as she can. she has no idea why everyone’s so interested in talking with her tonight, it’s like she’s wearing a glowing neon sign above her head that says “TALK TO ME!”

does she look approachable? happy? friendly? welcoming? no, obviously not. she must not be part of this inside joke the world is playing on her tonight.

so you’re surprised to see sevika when you’re out for your second walk of the night. pacing around in your own house wasn’t working, and all you wanted was some fresh air. well, maybe not fresh, but the temperature definitely did shock you. you almost walked right past her until you recognized her statuesque figure. she was across the parking lot, rolling her eyes and shoving the door to the liquor shop open as she stepped back outside.

huh. sevika at a liquor shop. not necessarily unusual for a person, but forbidden for you. you wonder if this is a ritual for her, if she’s gonna go home and get drunk or something, or maybe if she’s gonna split the bottle with some friends. does she even have friends?

you turn around and head in the same direction she does, hoping your paths cross before her quick, long strides can leave you behind. and you eventually catch up to her, pretending you had no idea you’d run into her, you greet her with a “oh, sevika! hey, i didn’t expect to see you here.” except, you did expect to see her here. you already spied her storming out of the liquor store. ugh, you’re such a bad liar.

“oh… hi.” she mumbles, a little disturbed by your sudden appearance, and already burnt out from the two people who’ve made small talk with her in the past hour. while you stand in front of her, she raises her eyebrow slightly as if to signal that she’s waiting for you to say something before she walks away.

“i’ll see you next week, yeah?” you remind her, not really sure of what to say. partly because the meeting is so sudden, and partly because this woman is breathtaking.

“yeah, maybe.” she agrees halfheartedly.

“i don’t want your ‘maybe’s sevika. i want you to say yes to me.” you challenge, huffing at her indecisiveness. “if you want me to help you, i need a yes.”

“help me with what?” she asks, pretending to be shocked and offended at your words. you stutter, staring up at her with a sorry look in your eyes.

“oh, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean—”

“i’m just fucking with you.” she says, chuckling to herself and offering a small smile. and as if her face couldn’t get any more perfect, you notice a small gap between two of her top teeth. she’s so beautiful you feel like you’re gonna melt, even in this chilly autumn weather.

before you think about what you’re saying next, you blurt out a “tomorrow? can i see you tomorrow?”

she raises her eyebrows at your bluntness, the suggestion seems to come out of nowhere. but what else does she have to do? and she already feels bad for fucking with you all of the time, shouldn’t she just give in and attend whatever stupid meeting you have planned for her?

“i— i guess, yeah.”

“you guess?” you tease. “or you will show up?”

“i will. i’ll see you tomorrow.” she admits with a huff.

“good, i’ll see you tomorrow too then.” you say, and you offer her a small wave before walking past her and continuing with your walk. after seeing her, your mind automatically feels so much clearer considering the fact that she was the one occupying all of your thoughts.

sevika stands frozen in place as you walk away, holding her bag in her hand as she reflects on what she just agreed to. why the fuck would she say yes to that? she doesn’t believe in any of your religious bullshit, and she doesn’t care to try. but it’s too late, she’ll just have to let you down easy when tomorrow comes.

but when tomorrow does come, she decides to go a little bit easier on herself. it’s not like you’re trying to annoy her with all of your beliefs and jargon and whatnot, and she can tell that this actually does mean a lot to you. plus, she’s in a good mood after remembering that she bought two new bottles of alcohol. she even ate a little bit last night and managed to keep it all down, which is a rare occurrence for her. so yeah, it might be a good day.

the sun peeks out just a tiny bit from behind the clouds as she walks herself back to the church, which offers a nice, although minuscule, bit of warmth. you’re already there by the time she arrives, and you greet her with a warm smile and invite her down the long hallway to your ‘office’. it’s not technically a real office since you don’t do too much work other than filing papers and planning events, you just begged them to give you a room that you could sit alone in sometimes.

you don’t have any sort of plan on how you’re gonna convert sevika, or how to at least help her fix up her life a little bit, but you do wanna get to know her. so you start with that. you ask her where she’s from and if she’s lived here her whole life, and you’re surprised to learn that she used to work in new york. all the way across the country.

she hesitates to tell you why she left though, saying she’d rather save it for a later session when she gets more comfortable. which she regrets almost instantly, because she just solidified herself another few meetings like these. she tells you more, like how she was always close with her mother until she passed when sevika was only ten. and how she definitelty inherited some anger from her dad, even though she never liked him.

her childhood was interesting. to you at least. she was just stable enough to keep herself afloat, but unstable enough for her to be left with some sort of trauma. she moved out as soon as she reached eighteen and never looked back. she scoured for jobs that would be good for someone like her, someone broken but strong. resilient, you call it.

the two of you chat for nearly three hours, you asking questions after question and her answering nearly all of them. but the one question that you’re too scared to ask is this: what happened that turned her into… this? she said it had something to do with her job, something that just completely broke her and left her unable to snap back. but what was it? how bad could it have been? what job did she have? was it her fault? but you did agree to letting her tell you on her own terms, so you’ll just have to wait until she’s ready.

eventually your time is up, and you walk sevika back out of the double doors of the small building. she flashes you a small smile, one that you’re already obsessed with, and she turns to leave.

“wait.” you call after her, although she’s only about six feet away from you. “you don’t have a car?”

“no.”

“how did you get here?”

“i… walked…” she says, waiting for you to get to your point.

“all this way?”

“it’s only about a block and a half.”

“but— well…” now you feel bad. you didn’t know that you were forcing her to exercise her exhausted joints and muscles in this weather. sure, maybe she doesn’t mind, but if you were her you’d probably throw a tantrum. “do you want me to drive you?” you ask.

“sure, if you really want to.”

“of course i want to.” you say, and you practically drag her off of the sidewalk and shove her into the passenger side of your car. the drive is short, her building really is just about a block and a half away.

“i’ll see you next week.” you say.

“yeah, see you then.” she responds, and for once it doesn’t feel forced or awkward.

“and tell helen i say hi if you see her. assuming you know who she is?” you giggle.

“yes, i know my own neighbor.” she says, rolling her eyes and chuckling.

“just making sure…” you tease.

sevika just laughs and waves you goodbye through your front window, disappearing into the building and up the stairs. you don’t even register it— to busy with staring at her back— but eventually it hits you that she laughed. this mysterious, guarded woman laughed at something you said. and she spent the last three hours opening up to you about her life. and for the first time in quite a while, you feel like you’re finally good at your job.

——

sevika’s been following through on her promise, meeting you for exactly four weeks now. twenty eight days. you started out with just seeing her twice a week, then every other day, and now you see each other daily. she opened up to you about how much she hates the church setting, how it activates her fight or flight response and brings up old memories, so you switched to taking her to a small local cafe instead.

it’s great. you get to have real coffee, not the burnt stuff from the coffee pot in the church’s kitchen. you’ve also been forcing sevika to eat after learning that it’s been a struggle for her. nothing big, but you make sure she always has at least a muffin or a croissant in her stomach. you pick her up and driving her there too, which is good for her because she can finally relax instead of being worn out from walking everywhere.

she’s taken a liking to you, every morning she’s glad she wakes up because she knows she can see you again. it’s such a strange feeling, but she enjoys it. opening up to you wasn’t as difficult as she thought it would be either. you listen so attentively, and you’re always careful to ask appropriate questions and give her a break without her even having to ask for one.

it’s never been easy for her to talk about what happened in her past, and she wishes she had the ability to forget about it completely. but it’s easier with you. every time her eyes grow wide and teary as she pictures the bodies, you change the topic and point at a cute dog outside of the window. or when she gets choked up, stumbling over her words because the brutality of the situation is just too much for her, you let her take her time.

the most memorable moment for her was when she told you about that kid with the blue hair. everything else, sevika managed to stay under control about. sure, the mangled body parts and the melted flesh was bad, but that fucking kid. her lips were still blue. she’d been so alive only moments earlier, smiling as sevika gave her a fist bump and held her in her arms, and she was gone just like that.

when she told you, she couldn’t help but break down in heavy sobs. you could feel your heart shatter at this— the story and sevika’s reaction to it. you scrambled from your side of the booth to hers, scooting in next to her and wrapping her up in a hug as she cried. to your surprise, she hugged you back. she hooked her chin over your shoulder, grabbed you tightly in her strong arms, and just let herself go.

it’s the most tranquility she’s ever felt, and it put all of her past therapists to shame. immediately after that day, the two of you were bonded. you’d do anything for her. be a shoulder to cry on, drive her to and from her various doctors appointments, and make sure she’s eating.

she’s started to trust you, and she agreed to going back to the church with you a few times a week. instead of taking your usual spot with the rest of the staff and speakers, you sit with her every time. sevika on your left, her neighbor on your right.

today you’re feeling particularly bold for some reason, you suspect it might be because of your friendship with sevika, but this feels different. well, you know how it feels, but you’re scared to admit it. although you’ll probably be fine, you’re hesitant to say it to yourself out of the fear that you’ll be thrown out of the church. yes, you like sevika, and sure, she is a beautiful woman. but you just can’t bring yourself to say it. to say that you have a real crush on her. to admit that you want her.

so instead of saying anything, you use your actions instead. glancing over both of your shoulders, you make sure that nobody important is looking in your direction before you snake your hand forward and wrap your hand around sevika’s. this action is the farthest you’ve ever gone with anyone, and your cheeks are practically on fire with how hard you’re blushing. you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole building could hear your heartbeat right now.

sevika adjusts her fingers so that she’s gripping your hand firmly, and you feel so… dirty, almost. you know that this is nothing, but you’re scared and ashamed of what other people might think. but although it initially feels wrong, you settle down when you realize that nobody’s looking— even more that nobody cares— and it feels so right. her hands are surprisingly warm and soft, they feel so welcoming and familiar against yours.

maybe, just maybe, you’ll hold her hand more often. but for now, this is just a one-time occurrence.

she notices the panicked look in your eyes as you stare straight ahead. she tries to nudge you gently, but you’re in such a deep stupor that you don’t notice it.

“hey.” she whispers, elbowing you a bit harder than last time. “you okay?”

you realize now that she’s trying to talk to you, so you just squeeze her hand and give her a small nod, blinking your eyes a few times and trying to snap back into reality. once the ceremony is over, you stand and walk sevika and her neighbor to the door quickly.

“are you sure you’re alright?” she asks again.

“yeah, it’s nothing.”

“you know that… this works both ways, right?” she says, gesturing between both of your bodies. “if you need someone to talk to, i can listen.”

“i know, thank you.” you start. “but it’s not like that. it’s nothing… bad. i think? but i’m fine. or— i will be fine.” you say, stumbling over your words incredibly hard.

“you don’t seem fine to me.” she retorts.

“i am, thank you though. get home safely.” you choke out, missing a crucial part to your signature goodbye’s.

“…see you tomorrow?” she asks.

“oh, yes! see you tomorrow, i knew i was forgetting something.”

sevika flicks you on the forehead, before turning to leave. “get some rest, then.”

“i will.” you laugh, although it’s forced.

as soon as her and her neighbor are out of sight, you turn around and make a beeline for your office at the end of the hall. your eyes are glued to the floor, purposefully ignoring anyone’s gaze in case they try to chat with you.

the door clicks locked behind you, and you slump down in our office chair. with your head in your hands, you start to cry. the anxiety in your chest is just too much to handle, and you’re so upset with yourself. you’re upset because it felt so good to be that close to her, and you let yourself indulge in something you know you’ll never get to have. you allowed yourself to catch feelings, but you know you can’t go any further. you’ll have to stick with just thinking she’s pretty and sweet and yours, and watch her fall in love with another woman.

worst of all, she’ll probably fall in love with a woman who’s the total opposite of you. someone who’s experienced and not awkward and cool. and not you. and this really hurts to realize.

what are you supposed to do now? now that you’ve admitted how you feel to yourself, what else is there to do? you can’t ask her out on a date, that would be against everything your community believes in. but are you really supposed to just sit here and play along? it’s not fair. your adrenaline is so high right now that all you really want to do is run.

and that's just what you do. you don't even bother to use the exit door down the hallway, you just peel your window open and hop out of it. tears prickle your eyes and the frosty air nips at your skin, but it helps even out your overheating temperature. you’ve walked this route a millions times already, it’s nothing different but the gentle scenery offers a nice place to think.

you think about all of the sweet moments you’ve shared together, specifically about how much it means to you. you’ve never really had a friend like this before. sure, you’re convivial, but having someone like this was so different. she was yours. and you’d gladly be hers if she asked you to, but would she ask you to? would she ever ask someone like you to be hers?

but you also think about how much your religion means to you. you’ve been part of this for so long, working harder to have a strong sense of faith every single day. if you get with sevika, they could cut you off in an instant, and it would’ve all been for nothing. your reputation would be ruined, and if you’d ever wanna start over with another church, you’d have to leave this small town. leave your home.

it’s just not fair. why did god make you this way? for everyone else, falling in love with a man is no problem. they were made the right way, or at least know how to ignore their true feeling really well. was there some sort of secret lesson that you missed? that everyone is in on besides you?

once you get dizzy and out of breath, you find a stump to sit on and reflect. your shoes kick at the dirt underneath you, brain fuzzy as you try to decide on what to do. little bugs crawl around on the ground beneath you, each one of them having a family and a home. i wish i could have a family, you think. you can hear rain pattering on the leaves of the trees above you, but you stay dry. well, as dry as you possibly can be living this close to the ocean.

you don’t even realize how long you’ve been sitting here lost in your thoughts before the sky turns a lovely light shade of orange, and you realize you’d better leave now if you wanna get back before dark. the only thing on your mind as always is sevika.

sevika has been thinking about you all night too, wondering if you’re okay after the way you acted. she won’t push, she wants to give you time to open up to her the same way you did, but she just worries. and she misses the warmth of your hand in hers, although she could tell you were nervous. in her opinion, it was cute. she admires how gentle you are, how you always make sure others are alright before making sure you are alright. but whatever it is, she doesn’t doubt that you’ll be fine.

leaving your window open was a stupid idea, now your entire office is cold and there’s a puddle of rainwater leaking down the bottom of the window and onto the floor. but you’ve made up your mind. you need to call her. you know that she’s infinitely more experienced with these feelings than you are, so she’ll be able to help you, even if those feelings are about her.

she’s about to go to bed early when her phone rings again. she knows it’s you before she even picks up— you’re the only one with her number.

“yes?”

“…sevika.” you sob out, the small whimper of her name followed by sniffles and cries.

“holy shit, are you okay?” she asks frantically, scared that maybe you’re hurt or something.

“well… physically yes. but i just… miss you. i need to talk to you in person.”

“okay, yeah. i’m on my way.” she says, and she practically flies out of her building and down the street to get to you. it’s not late, but the sky is already pitch black due to how early the sun sets. you meet her at the door again when she arrives, and the sight of her instantly calms your nerves. she looks so worried, it makes your heart twist. you’re so in love and it’s all her fault.

she doesn’t hesitate to wrap you up in her arms as you sob into her shoulder, and this gesture only makes you sob harder. because you’re so in love and you think you know which side you’re choosing. and it breaks your heart.

“what’s going on?” she asks, and you realize you’re still standing in the doorway.

“come inside, i’ll explain.”

“okay…” she whispers. “did something happen?”

“i have a question.”

“of course. ask me anything.”

“do you ever…” you trail off, trying to find the right words. “feel like… like you can’t live without someone? and you’d give up anything to be with them?”

“yeah, i guess i’ve felt that way before.” she admits quizzically.

“what’s it called?” you ask, although you already know the answer.

“love?” she guesses.

“sevika, can i tell you something?”

“yeah, go ahead.” she says, worried that maybe you’re about to admit to killing someone.

“i think…” you start, but you get interrupted by tears dripping past your eyes and down your cheeks.

“spit it out,” she prompts. “you can trust me.”

“i think i’m in love with you.” you blurt out, biting the bullet.

“oh…” she says, and she almost steps away from you before she realizes that you’re crying again. so she wraps you in another hug and rubs your back. you grip onto her so hard you can barely breathe, and you cry in her arms for so long that you’re brought to your knees. sevika holds you even after you fall the the floor, keeling before you as your knees give out.

she’s in love with you too, but she didn’t wanna say anything in case it made you uncomfortable. plus, she’s not really into corruption or anything, so she decided to just respect your boundaries. but eventually her joints grew sore of sitting on the floor, so she rose, holding your face in her hands and wiping up all of your tears as they fall.

v. REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH

every little thing about her attracted you. sevika was a lost soul, mysterious above all. a woman who needed help and direction but was so strong, you swore she could hold the whole world on her shoulders, no matter how much she’d whine about the pain. she complains about people— how there are too many of them and how they’re all stupid— but she’d give her life in a heartbeat to save them.

you couldn’t crack her, no matter how hard you tried.

she looked down at you with her silver eyes sparkling in the candlelight, her hair falling over her face in a silky curtain. you gasped as her thick hands took their place on either side of your head, each one cupping your cheeks so tenderly although they have a rough exterior. you always knew she was capable of being gentle.

you looked up at her from your position on your knees, her torso looking impossibly longer than usual. something comes over you, something that warms up your stomach until you feel so dizzy you feel the need to reach for something to steady yourself. unaware of just how much trouble this would get you in, you end up grabbing for her upper thighs. they’re so thick that your hands are almost completely flat, but they’re sturdy. perfect for grabbing onto.

she chuckles at your flushed state, huffing out an amused “it’s alright, you can touch me if you want. you won’t burst into flames.”

those two sentences make your cheeks heat up involuntarily. you know what she’s implying, and it makes you feel strangely electric. if you don’t burst into flames by this act of sinning, you’ll burst into flames due to how flustered you are. she does something to you that feels so enchanting, like some sort of spell she’s casted. you’ve been frozen in place for so long that you hardly register the soft caress of her thumbs against the apples of your cheeks. if she were medusa, you’d get turned to stone in an instant.

“sevika, what are you— we should—”

“what are you thinking about right now?” she asks, tauntingly putting an end to your stuttering mess of a sentence.

“uh— medusa. and you. you remind me of her.” you choke out, reaching up and gripping onto her biceps before hauling yourself up.

“how so?”

“i always feel like you put me under some kind of spell. like when i’m with you i’m frozen in place. in a good way.” you respond, your breath tickling her face as you gaze up at her from a closer distance this time.

most of your dizziness has relented, and now you sense something softer in the way sevika gazes at you. like she’s pleading for something she doesn’t know how to ask for. she stammers back, almost hitting the wall, and you grow concerned. the roles have shifted. little do you know, you’re in power now. she feels… weak. and needy. something tingly settles in her stomach, she can’t decipher whether it’s anxiety or horniness.

“sevika?” you ask with concern, slowly walking over to where she’s pressed against the wall. her chest heaves as she breathes deeply, and she shivers when you reach out to grab her hand. “are you feeling alright?”

“i don’t think i can do this anymore.” she confesses, her big, silver eyes growing glossy with tears. “i’m— i can’t do this to you.”

“what are you talking about?” you attempt to soothe, worried that maybe she’s suddenly gotten possessed or something.

“you belong here, sevika. you’re not doing anything wrong. if anything, it’s me who should back off right now.”

“it’s not about that.” she sighs, unable to meet your gaze, her eyes instead settling for your lips. a sight she’s seen many times before in her most erotic fantasies.

“what are you feeling right now?” you ask, your therapist persona settling over you in case she’s about to reveal more of her past trauma.

“i… i can’t say it.” she whispers, now solely focused on the curve of your lips and how they’re still shining from the last time your tongue trailed over them.

“you can trust me.” you whisper back. “always.”

sevika studies your words in her mind, hoping that you’d still mean them if you could see the thoughts running wild in her mind right now. she inches closer to you and her nose almost brushes yours. the tension in the room makes her squirm, thighs pressing together in an attempt to soothe the ache between them. somehow, in some strange way, this feels better than sex. better than anything she’s ever smoked, any liquid she could get drunk on.

you are her intoxicant. her stronger substance. her higher power. her breath of fresh air in this humid town. you are what she’s been searching for.

before she makes another move, she pauses. you’re looking at her with such concern, such love, her heart feels like it’s gonna burst. she theorizes that you’re aware of exactly what she’s thinking, but she has no way to know. sevika wonders how you’d react if she leaned forward and kissed you right now.

you have a sneaking suspicion that she’s thinking of something… lustful right now. it shows in her eyes. wide with pupils big and blown out, and the silver in them is practically glittering. she looks pretty, you think, and soft. and although it’s against almost everything you believe in, you probably wouldn’t mind if she leaned in right now and just—

her lips come crashing against yours, a beautiful harmony of carnal aggression and tender care. gravity suddenly feels about twenty times stronger, and you near collapse in sevika’s strong arms. instead of that, you regain your balance after stumbling and back her against the wall. her back hits it with a thud, and she whimpers into your mouth. she whimpers.

it’s as if everything you’ve ever believed in suddenly floods out of your mind. you don’t care which god sees you kissing another woman with such animal desire. somehow it doesn’t matter to you anymore. all that matters is sevika. her safety, her trust, her pleasure.

for once, you allow yourself to feel this way. although it feels wrong, it’s so freeing. you’re an adult for god’s sake, and you’ve missed out on so much due to the strict rules of the church. you want this, you deserve this. after all, it is technically your job to guide sevika, to make her feel good. how is this any different?

as her lips part, you take the chance to slide your tongue over hers. just a gentle brush, but the warm heat of her mouth drives you crazy. her hands claw at your hips, pulling you closer until there’s no gap between the pair of you. this level of closeness isn’t something you’re used to, but fuck, it feels so right.

you can feel the way her thighs tighten when she squirms and clenches them together, feel her own tits rub against yours through your clothes. the intimacy of the moment almost feels awkward, especially because it’s completely silent other than the sounds of your lips smacking together. but before you can dwell on the embarrassment crashing over you, sevika grounds you by moaning your name into your mouth.

as if you weren’t already turned on, this flips a switch and activates something in you that’s a hundred times stronger. both of you pant when you pull back, staring into the silver pools of sevika’s irises. you need her. now. in every way possible.

“take your clothes off.” you demand. sevika nods momentarily, but she hesitates.

“are you sure? we don’t need to— if you’re not comfortable with it that’s fi—”

“now, sevika.” you huff at her attempt to be gentlemanly, but you know she’s craving this as much as you are.

without another word, she strips herself of her shirt, leaving her in just a black sports bra and jeans. you halt your own undressing to stare at her. and god. she’s fucking perfect. her abdomen carries the remnants of what you assume used to be a thick six pack of abs. and although you can’t exactly see them yet, her tits are wide and heavy looking, her ribs poking out slightly under them.

something that you didn’t expect to turn you on is her happy trail. she’s got a thick line of dark, coarse hair running from her belly button all the way down to—

her pants drop to the floor as you continue to stare at her, and your eyes trail lower and lower until they reach the ground. her thighs look impossibly thicker, and you’re surprised about how much she complains about her body. she looks so strong, like nothing could ever hurt her. and as for being insecure? impossible for someone who looks as good as she does. you’d do anything to make her aware of just how beautiful she is.

as she stands almost naked before you, she peeps out a timid “your turn.”

before you think twice, you tackle her to the floor, crushing her lips under yours and shoving your tongue back into her mouth. she whimpers when she hits the ground, albeit mostly out of pain instead of pleasure. you slightly pull away with a gasp, concerned about potentially hurting her— the opposite of your intentions.

“fuck, sorry.” you groan against her lips. “did i hurt you?”

“it’s alright.” she responds. “worth it to have a pretty thing like you on top of me.”

with that, you’re kissing her even deeper, grabbing onto the back of her head to get a better angle with your tongue. she shuffles slightly under you, bucking her hips up as she unbuttons your own pants. shit, you think to yourself, i’ve never done this before.

your bottoms are quickly discarded, sevika throws them somewhere behind you the second they’re off. you’re dying to get your hands on her tits, but you don’t know how to ask. it’s a good think she can always tell what you’re thinking, because she reaches up to hook her thumbs under her bra and yank it off. and god, you were right. her tits are wide and heavy, they’re so smooth and round with the most perfect brown nipples sitting proudly in the center of each one.

you lean forward to give each one a kiss, just a gentle brush, but it doesn’t really satisfy your craving for her. you pout, you’re so horny that it hurts. no matter what article of clothing she removes, it’s not enough. you just wanna crawl inside of her and live there.

“what’s wrong?” she asks.

“i need you.”

“have you ever had sex before?”

“no. i have no idea what i’m doing.”

“guess it’s my turn to guide you.” she laughs, and although the joke was stupid, you giggle too. you didn’t know it could be this fun.

she shuffles under you as she slides her boxers off, and you almost drool at the sight of her bush. it’s just so… beautiful. and intimate. she pats your hips as a signal to scoot off of her, and she spreads her legs before manhandling you to sit your cunt on top of hers. as soon as you connect your cunt with hers, you swear you black out.

it all feels so good. she keeps spreading her legs wider to help you get a better angle against her clit, and you can feel it throbbing against yours. you thought holding her hand was intimate, but this is so much more than you could’ve imagined.

“fuck, sevika.” you moan, tears crashing over you again and dripping onto her cheeks now. “you’re so beautiful.”

she groans at this, tears washing over her too. she hasn’t felt beautiful in so long, and here you are completely undoing her insecurities. all of the scars on her face, cheeks, neck, arms, and torso get kissed. you trail your fingers along some, your tongue along others. you want her to feel loved. you want her to feel the exact same way that she makes you feel.

“you’re beautiful too.” she admits sheepishly. “i can’t believe i haven’t fucked you sooner.”

this flusters you. it’s hard for you to believe that anyone can just be this confident saying things like that, especially because you’re not used to it. but it feels so good to be desired. to have the woman of your dreams using you to get off.

you’re both so sensitive that it doesn’t take long for either of you to cum. sevika’s catches her first after you tell her how beautiful her scars are, even though she used to believe they were the ugliest things known to mankind. she gasps as she cums, her thick cream leaking out of her cunt and down her ass.

you eventually follow after her when she readjusts, moving one of her hands down from your neck onto your hip. she grinds up into you, and your clit meets hers at such an angle that you cum with a scream. it’s dizzying. you gasp and moan and writhe as your orgasm crashes down over you. considering that it’s your first, you weren’t expecting it to be so enveloping. you were taught that sex was unholy, gross, sinful, and a plethora of other negative adjectives.

but it’s not.

you imagine that this is what heaven feels like, a shock of pleasure that runs through your body and leaves you panting and reeling. and it’s fun. as soon as you come down, sevika’s congratulating you on a good job and holding you close. you cry again, but this time not out of fear, out of certainty. you have it all figured out. you’ve just felt the best sensation of your life and here’s the love of your life smiling up from under you.

and so sevika holds you for another few minutes. yeah, you’re both naked in the middle of church, and yeah you’d be burned at the stake if anyone ever found out. but you wouldn’t mind that, as long as you have sevika with you.

“sevika?” you ask after a long while of silent kisses and tickling breaths.

“yeah?”

“i think we need to get out of here.”

“alright. where to?”

“i dunno. let’s leave the country.”

sevika laughs at this, and it’s a sound prettier than anything you’ve ever heard. something you’ll never get sick of. “fuck, i love you so much.”

but before convincing her to leave the country with you, you drive her to a small 24 hour diner down the street and have dinner together. it’s a real date, although all of those coffee shop meeting have gotta count for something too. you hold her hand across the table, this time not afraid, and share a milkshake just like they do in the movies.

so yeah, maybe things didn’t work out for you with this certain group of people, and maybe it does still take a while for you to get over your fear of societal rejection, but sevika is there for you every step of the way. as your girlfriend. officially.

OK HAIII if you made it all the way through my the treacherous jungle of my yap and you’re reading this, thank you so much!!!! i poured my entire heart and soul (and pussy) into this so i hope u enjoyed hehehe :P special thanks to pluto, rayray, eren, and lyss for allowing me to yap about this fic to them, i couldn’t have done it without you guys 🥹 my favorite people in the world right here, MWAH here’s a kiss from ennabear <3 and another thanks to the rest of my mutuals for putting up with the empty promises of “coming soon” at least it’s actually finished now!! i love all of you, let me know what you thought of this one!!! comments and reblogs are very highly appreciated 🤎🤎

[afreakingdork]

Crush Too Much - Part 4

RotTMNT Donatello x GN!Reader

Warnings: Light Angst, Fluff, Embarrassment, Overbearing Siblings, Aged-up Turtles

Synopsis:  So you met a customer three times at work and that made a pretty big impression on you? That’s nothing to necessarily get worked up over, but when you’re all prepared to ask for his number the next time you see  him and his brother gets involved instead, you might be in for something  more than you bargained for.

FIRST 💜 PREVIOUS

“So….” Was the melodic tone of his voice when he was joking grating or was it just the fact that Leo had insufferably been avoiding said topic of your meeting with Donnie while heavily implying he was going to ask about it at any given moment. Either way, after the first 7 fake-outs, you were no longer holding your breath.

“Mhm?” The response was automatic at this point. Using his tiny plate as a useless middleman, you watched as 5 tiny sandwich triangles disappeared into Leo’s mouth.

“I sort of liked the huge piece that takes up a whole section over on the left.” He pointed towards the said piece and the two of your wound around the packed gallery to get closer to it.

“Is it because it’s blue?” It wasn’t that you weren’t enjoying the event or even his company, but you wished he would just rip the bandage off already.

He looked at your with genuine offense. “I will not be reduced to a  mere shade. I can’t believe you would think moi to be so one-note.” He placed a dramatic hand to his chest which absolutely did not help his point. When you’d first arrived at the venue, he gushed over the same brand new trademark blue crushed velvet dinner jacket he now happened to be emphasizing. One of his eyes popped open to find you unamused by the layers of nonsense he was spouting so he straightened up as if properly inspecting the art. “I was going to say I like how you can’t see the brush strokes from far away, but you can up close.”

For the first time that whole evening, he’d had an actual astute observation. The change of pace was like a breath of fresh air. This particular topic was also something you’d heard your friend mention. “I think it has something to do with relationship between color and form.” You turned to look up at the piece. The muddled shades of blue reminded you of the good parts of the evening thus far. It felt like the two of you had successfully conned your way into what was very much a public event. You'd both snatched away a good portion of the free food and no one seemed to think you were freeloaders because of Leo’s outrageous ability to fit in amongst the art crowd by just saying the most the most ridiculous things you had ever heard. Different factions of critics ate up his nonsense and you were only alerted to the deception because every time it worked out, Leo would shoot you an obnoxious wink.

“’Color and texture are ends in themselves.’”

That one sounded like a quote, but you weren’t sure. Maybe he wasn’t all mouth and had been picking up on the cacophony of conversations that drifted amongst the high ceilings. You took a sip of a sparkling cider that you had been nursing since eating a few too many deli meats. “So what kind of feeling do you get from it?” You tilted your head to one side wondering yourself. Blue was usually synonymous with sadness, but that didn’t seem right.

“Curiosity over what happened when you kept my darling brother out for several hours last week.”

You sputtered into another sip and tried not to let your choking fit disturb the other patrons. Leo patted you on the back and after you were able to force oxygen into your lungs once again, you looked up to find him gazing down at you with an self-satisfied grin spread wickedly across his face.  You wanted nothing more than to smack it right off. He'd dangled the bait in front of you all evening and you'd been able to resist. You were so mad at yourself there was little room to be mad at him. Further frustrated by your brain's lack of response, you did the next most petty thing and walked away. You dress shoes pinched your feet from their otherwise disuse.

“Aw, Y/N, come on!” He called after you and you stubbornly inserted yourself amongst a crowd of people surrounding a oozing statue of liberty sculpture. You could feel Leo catch-up, but your humility had yet to do the same. “Don’t be like that. You knew it was coming! It can be difficulty when you’re going up against a number 1 player like myself, but I’m sure by tomorrow you will deeply appreciate how hilarious that was.”

A warped reflection of the blue trickster shrugged in your glass. “But right now…?”

“You are mad, yes I got that.” The crowd dispersed to the next piece and Leo stepped up beside you.

“I thought you made the boundary lines pretty clear about Donnie the last time we talked.” You cradled the glass across your chest to telegraph that you were still closed off.

“Donnie, hm?” You weren’t looking at him, but you could just tell his eye brows were waggling.

You were just annoyed enough that you were able to mentally stomp out any flames of blush that the comment may have otherwise sparked. You had been able to strike up a few, albeit short, text conversation with Donnie since your bao meeting. The purple-themed man had even gone so far as to text you that same night about his family’s response to the food. Needless to say you lost more than a few hours of sleep just trying to get your heart to stop beating uncontrollably out of your chest.

Even though you were now only silent out of contemplation, Leo still took it as a cue to drop that particular part of the subject and return to the matter as a whole. “Fine, D is his own person! Yes, you got me! I said that, but that doesn’t mean I’m not super curious about the little impromptu date you went on!”

“It wasn’t-!”

He held up a hand to stop you. “Phrasing, don’t get to tied up in it.” He waved the hand off as if the stop signal he’d given was too serious. “I’m not saying he’s as pure as freshly fallen snow, but people don’t catch his fancy as much as things and nerd stuff do.” Leo shrugged his shoulders as if it was a silly uncontrollable fact of the universe. “So what if we don’t focus on him or the content, but maybe what you did?”

“I didn’t do anything…” You finally offered him a side glance out of how absurd the question was. He was acting like you had duped his brother somehow.

“Come on!” You hadn’t realized you were wearing Leo’s nerves thin until he actively starting to unravel. His knees buckled and his shoulders slumped down until his hands almost touched the floor. “You have to give me something. I thought you were just going to ask for his number!?”

His youthful dramatics were cute so far as it brought out the kid side of him that was far more manageable. “I asked him to go eat first is all.”

“Donnie isn’t really the one of us you can bait with food…” Still crumpled over, Leo narrowed his eyes at you.

“I don’t know what else to tell you.” It was your turn to mimic his earlier cosmically unhelpful shrug. “It’s the truth.”

Leo was uncharacteristically quiet for awhile. You lowered your drink barrier and turned to look at him. He was staring at some black and white photographs. His brow had the slightest crease in it. Just as you were about to ask, you saw his lips part instead.

“So crush, infatuation, or something else?” He was slow to turn to you for your response.

The significance of the question created a mental blowback so strong your whole frame shifted. He turned to stare and his gaze was so intense that you dropped yours to the floor. Your dress shoes shone back at you. You knocked them together at the toes ever so slightly.

“I’m still not sure.”

“Take you time…” You could hear a movement of Leo’s jacket as he presumably turned away from you. “But don’t take too long. Donnie is smart, but he’s also just as dumb as the rest of us in a lot of ways. Don’t even think about hurting him.”

“I would never!” Your gaze snapped up to meet Leo’s back. “Not intentionally… at least…”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

Your hands fisted at your sides, but Leo did his characteristic mental 180 and bounded back into his bubbly self as a carter came out with a new tray of canapés.

-

Stumbling out onto the street, the darkened sky disoriented you. Hadn’t the clock rolled over to morning. You took a few weary steps before leaning against a wrought iron fence. You used the brick they were built off of to sit your backpack down. It took some fishing, but you unearthed your phone from between your textbooks and notepads to find the time around 5am; just long enough from sunrise where the sky hadn’t reflected the oncoming dawn. Both yours and your phone’s batteries where lethally low. You sighed and packed your things back up, wrapping your coat tightly around you. Your late night cram session turned video game night had run so far over that you had no hope of getting back to your apartment for any sleep before you’d need to be on your way to your morning class. You made it several steps down the sidewalk as the loaming burden of today’s test seemed as dark as the ocean above. You needed to reorient.

The street was empty so you led a leisurely pace and closed your eyes to check your most pressing needs based on importance. The omnipresent sleep was out of the questions so you shoved that top notification to the side. In its place a new item appeared in the form of caffeine. Opening your eyes and seeing you’d made it a good way down the road without running into anything meant your luck was faring well. An energy drink this early was not something your stomach would tolerate so that meant sustenance was on the menu also. At this hour and on your current budget, you could hit a cheap coffee shop. Some of your facilities returned to you as a streetlight glowed overhead. It would also be a great place to charge your phone. Walking with more purpose now that you had a plan, the next hurdle appeared instantly: without your phone you couldn’t look up the closest or cheapest shop.

You paused, doing a minor heel turn to look up and down the street. This wasn’t an area you were really familiar with. The study group had been hosted by a classmate you’d only met this semester. After brains were thoroughly stuffed with knowledge, the video games had come out. The others, weaker to sleep, had filed out on by one until only you and the host were left. They’d ushered you out, bleary eyed, and were presumably already unconscious which meant so going back for directions was out of the question. Another breathy sigh and you resumed your trudging. You’d have to find somewhere the old fashioned way. You let instinct lead you, turning corners whenever you felt like it. On one particular street, there seemed to be a two or three people mingling down the block. You carved your path outward toward the street and saw there was some sort of break between building rows. It was the most promising lead you’d had so far. If nothing else, you could try to ask the people for directions.

Reaching the break you slowed as everything took on a dream-like quality. Lights were strung all around a plaza bathing it in a golden hue. Cute café table sets were tucked into one side and two open mini food trucks were operating out of the opposite end. The brick inlay of the space shifted outwards from a center point into a mesmerizing swirled pattern.  You stepped along a row watching the way your shoes followed the lines. It brought a smile to your face which was made all the brighter when you realized one of the trucks was serving coffees, teas, and pastries. You resisted the urge to run, but only succeeding in instead speed walking your way over.

There was a man hunched over with his back turned to you in the truck. It gave you time to nervously check their hand drawn chalkboard. You were pleasantly surprised to find the prices were reasonable the limited menu seemed tasty.

“Can I help you?”

You turned to him and started off your order with a warm drink. He commiserated on the ever approaching winter. When you ordered your pastry next he offered to warm it up and that could not have sounded any better. You thanked him and paid before remembering something else needed a pick-me-up also.

“This probably sounds ridiculous because we’re literally outside, but do you have a place where I could charge my phone?”

The man chuckled between grinding coffee beans. “You’d think we wouldn’t, but we actually have one outdoor outlet.” He wiped his hands on a cloth before pointing to the café tables. “Though it looks like someone’s using it so you’ll have to share.”

Following his finger and throwing a gratitude over your shoulder, you felt time slow. The only person in the seating area looked ethereal under the twinkling lights. His head was tipped down, but his purple hoodie was unmistakable. One of your hands moved up to your face and you pinched your cheek hard, wincing at the sharp sting. You couldn’t believe it was real. You crossed the bricked space and approached Donatello.

“Mind if I use the charger too?” It felt like an out of body experience.

“Knock yourself out, I’m only using one plug.”

He hadn’t noticed yet, that was somehow even better. You slowly set your bag on the table to fish out both your phone and charger. It took a little longer than it should have because your eyes were glued to him. He was hunched over and oddly enough, not on his phone for once. He was a bit too shaded to see, but it almost seemed like he his eyes were closed. Leaning over the table to where the socket was, you plugged your phone in.

“Wait… Y/N?” You wondered what had finally tipped him off.

“Hey, Donnie.” You smiled at him, straightening up.

“This is…” He straightened his posture and looked at you with a cocked neck. “How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t.” You smiled, zipping your bag up.

“I need to work out the exact calculations, but I can assure you that the odds of us running into each other outside of our respective neighborhoods in a city with a population of a little over 9 million is extremely high. There must be some kind of outside interference.” He tugged on the edges of his hoodie to cover the exposed parts of his legs.

“Trust me, I thought I dreamed you for a second.” You shook your head and took your bag from off the table.

“Does that mean you dream of me often? Your psyche better be doing me justice.” His monotone delivery didn’t read flirt, but the contents of the sentence had you swooning.

“Hm, maybe someday you can read my dream journal.” You muttered, looking back to the coffee stand.

“Ah, so you also keep a log of your dreams? There’s no exact science to it yet, but I feel as though sometime in the near future we can learn a great deal about how long-term memory is utilized in the dreamscape.” He held out a hand of glory. “Someday the future generation will look back on the data of Donatello Hamato as the greatest scholar of his time. Also, I will definitely be remembered for the presumable number of Nobel prizes I’ve been awarded.” Creating an L-shape between his thumb and first finger, he brought it to his chin as he devilishly imagined his illustrious future.

You had meant the journal bit as a joke, but you adored that he took it seriously. It didn’t keep you from being sarcastic about the rest. “Speaking of dreams…”

“I consider myself a scientist foremost and a realist after that. I've simply stated a given!”

“Ah to be young!” You crooned, shouldering you bag like it was far too heavy.

“Another unknown, I might be older than you.” He pointed out both literally and figuratively. You both shared your respective birthdays and he cackled. “I’ve got you beat!”

“Fine, but only someone with youth on their side would be out dressed like that in this weather.” You pointed down to the green branching out from between purple coverage.

The look on his face soured instantly and you debated retracting your statement. Instead he clicked his tongue and gestured for you to take a seat. You took the one across from him and could feel some sort of story coming on. “So the lair lost power and I was given not a second of peace while I alone was tasked with the repair. Unable to take the constant barrage of 'when will it be done, Donnie?' and 'what happened to the backup generator, Donnie?' nonsense any longer, I told them I needed some air. I was just going to take a walk and start anew, preferably with some music to drown them out, but my precious phone was about to die.” He groaned and wiped a hand down his face. He then reached for a drink cup that had been otherwise left forgotten. The moment he lifted it a pathetic whine struggled it's way up his throat. In an act of pure frustration, he crushed the apparently empty cup in hand. “Great! Just great!!”

“Order up!”

You gripped the table, torn between getting your much needed drink and leaving an obviously distraught Donnie behind.

“Just-" He didn’t have the energy for further words and waved you off.

“I’ll be right back!” You pressed before heading over to pick up your breakfast. Your backpack thumped against your back as you gave a meager jog to the counter. You slowed on approach, passing the chalkboard sign which gave you an idea. “Uh, can I do a last minute addition?”

“Sure! What’ll it be?” The man anchored an arm to the counter, ready. You leaned in as if it were a secret and placed the order with a hushed tone. Thankfully the barista was game and leaned into the demonstration himself. When you were done, he glanced across the plaza and pointed at Donatello. “For him?”

“Yes.” You bobbed your head.

A laugh bubbled up in the man, but he seemed to remember the classified nature of the order and cleared his throat. “That’s perfect. I love it.” You paid and he gave you a beaming smile. “Wait right there and I’ll whip it right up.”

You did as you were told with only a few nervous glances back at Donnie. The man was in a purple heap and thankfully didn’t seem to be going anywhere. You were glad you’d forgotten to take your backpack off when you had sat down.

“Here we go!” Instead of the to-go cup that both your drink and Donnie’s previous had been in, the man handed you a tall glass with a matching stirring spoon. You gawked at it in amazement. “Hurry and get it over to him before it mixes. Oh, and I’m sure you will, but be careful with the glass. We’re not actually supposed to give those out to the customers, but I figured this was a special occasion.” He punctuated his sentence with a wink and you felt almost weepy at the kindness this man bestowed upon you.

Juggling your order and the delicate cup, you brought it back over to the table. Donnie’s head was down and folded into his arms. Ypu struggled with a tinge of guilt over the fact that you were grateful for it. Hoping the reveal would at least make up for it, you steeled yourself. “Donnie…” You urged, carefully setting the glass down in front of him.

“Hrm?” He grumbled from underneath his layers. “It’s best if you just leave me. I might as well try again tomorrow.”

“Then I have bad news for you about the time.” You couldn’t keep the airy tone out of your voice. His dramatizations were too much.

“Don’t tell me it’s sunrise already!?” He raised his head and froze. His eyes widened at the concoction in front of him. In the glass was a steaming, cascading mix of rich golden coffee and purple cream. “What…?”

“It’s an ube latte.” You smiled and carefully took a seat. Setting your bag aside, you palmed your cup to warm your hands and watched as Donnie uncurled out of his ball. He gave the drink a stir with stick and you took your first delicious sip of your caffeinated beverage.

“It is my color…” He remarked with a sense of fondness. You nodded and resisted the urge to scarf down your whole pastry. The mix of food, drink, and Donnie’s rising spirits warmed your body.

He grasped the glass and took a sip. “Hmmm.” He then acted as if he were a sommelier, twirling the liquid and sniffing it between small tastings. “It’s a bit sweet for my tastes, but the nuttiness pairs really well with the espresso.”

“As long as you don’t hate it, that’s a win for me!” You nodded, just finishing off the last flaky bite.

“It’s not your responsibility to cheer me up.” Cradling the cup in a similar way for warmth, he continued to sip the beverage.

“Is that what I did? I was just thinking purple goes with purple.” You gave him a catlike grin and took a long luxurious swig of your ever emptying drink.

“I would like to reinstate the line of questioning about this being a set-up.” He pointed at you and there was an air of playfulness to the otherwise staunch delivery that was not lost on you.

“Damn, I knew the barista wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut.” You snapped your finger in frustration and both of you chuckled.

Several moments of silence passed before Donnie gave a long winded sigh. “I believe I left off when I was about to lose my phone?” His brows hung heavy with effort.

“That’s right, but you don’t have to get into it if you don’t want to.”

He shook his head. “I like to finish what I start.” He leaned back in his chair and took the latte with him. “So I change course for the nearest cafe and catch a glimpse of orange which means I was definitely followed!”

In rapt attention it occurred to you that must mean his other siblings were also color coded. It seemed like it should be obvious seeing as how the only one you knew was too, but it somehow wasn’t.

“I catch up to Mikey and he says he was just worried about me, but he’s a terrible liar.” Donnie rolled his eyes. “His phone goes off and after a short grapple for the device, I find that the others are using him as a gauge to see when I had ‘calmed down’ and to give an ‘eta when the power would be back on.’” You were impressed that he was able to inject so much anger into air quotes. “Like that’s all I’m good for! They act like my emotions are just a hindrance when they pop up because I usually don’t have them!”    

Your eyes widened. That was a particularly loaded sentence. You wanted to interject to reassure him that it had never crossed your mind that he didn’t have emotions, but interrupting him didn’t seem right either.

“Cue a long winded chase where Raph and Leo came topside in pursuit and…” Donnie rolled a wrist in demonstration before flattening out for the finale. “Needless to say I lost them since it’s been… Oh.” He smacked the hand to his forehead. “I had asked about the time?”

Waking your phone up, your read off the number. “It’s almost 6am.”

“I lost them about two and a half hours ago, so I would rate it as a pretty successful escape.” He took a long swig of his drink, almost finishing it off. “Since I ran out, I didn’t have time to throw on pants as I would have if I had known I was going to be stuck out in the cold for so long.” The weight of the story lightened into his characteristic dry tone.

Finishing off your drink, you ruminated over the tale as Donnie continued to recuperate. The words ‘lair’ and ‘topside’ were jumping out to you as particularly strange. Were they a family of super villains? They didn’t seem like it, but it was such a strange word choice. You really wished you knew what they did for a living. As you came out of your thoughts, you watched Donnie chug the rest of his latte and give a long breathy exhale that seemed to blow out his concerns.

“I did not yet thank you for this.” He set the glass down with the stirrer tinkling from the movement. “Still too sweet overall, but I suppose one could say it was ‘just what I needed.’” He put on a different voice for the quote and you wondered who he was mimicking. “Though to be more accurate there were many factors that improved my current mood.” He paused, his lip pursed before eyeing you. “If you did track me, you picked a very good time to reveal your location. To reiterate: thank you.”

Oh how you wished you had any liquid left in your cup to justify hiding behind it. “Any time!” You were torn between upholding the gesture and playing your skipping heart beat off with a joke. “My sensors are specifically tuned for when Donnie is in distress.” Your mouth jumped ahead of both your brain and heart. You wanted to bang your head against the table.

Donnie, on the other hand, smiled softly. “That might be something I should consider adding to my repertoire.” He tapped his device and made a quick note with nimble fingers especially considering how many he had.

“Are you saying you track your brothers?” You wondered through a laugh. This meeting might have charged you up just as much as your breakfast had.

“Nooo…” He drew out the word and looked left to right with narrowed suspicion. "I definitely do no such thing."

That was not convincing in the slightest, but also seemed to absurd to be a real thing. It wouldn't keep you from teasing him for it though. “And you said Mikey…?” You really hoped you had gotten that name right. “Was the a bad liar?”  

“Yes, Mikey, but otherwise, I don’t care to know what you mean!” He retorted, folding his arms. Pale hues started to color the sky. You saw them as you craned back, enjoying the moment.

“I have a mid-term in just over an hour.” You told the single streaked cloud above.

“I’m sorry, what?!” Donnie banged the table with a sudden jolt and the glass cup tipped violently. Slow motion horror spread across your face as your brought uour gaze back down only to see the cup suddenly right itself before your eyes.

“Wh-“ You muttered in disbelief, raising a hand to feebly point at the action.

“No!” He ordered, pointing his own finger in a more accusatory manner. “We’ve been focused on me this whole time when I should have been questioning you! Why are you up so early? You look like you haven’t slept at all! You’re going to take a test in this state? Where’s your academic honor!? Did you even study?!”  

You stared back at him weakly. The ever growing light overhead was certainly not helping the bags under your eyes, but all you could think about was how much he must value education. That and he apparently had the reflexes of a ninja.

“If you aren’t going to answer me then get up. Up!” He flung his arms in time with the command, picking up his glass and standing himself.

You scrambled to follow suit while gathering your trash. “In my defense, I was up all night studying.” You would just leave out the gaming part out for the time being. It was something you could consider texting him as a fun teasing surprise after your class.

“An all-nighter?” He seemed utterly revolted as he strode over to the drink truck where a line was starting to form.

After watching him deposit the glass, you pouted and turned your head away as he approached. “I’m hearing a lot of lecture from the guy who is also awake… What did you say you were doing? Electrician work?”

His inhale was so sharp he almost whistled. “How dare you!? Tradespersons have honorable professions, but my arsenal includes so much more that comparing what I do to a single line of work is utterly disgraceful!” You walked out of the plaza together, but the indignity was too much for him. He rounded you and pressed a finger right to your forehead. “Apologize to me while I’ll still accept it!”

The best you could do was crinkle your overjoyed smile.

“And stop smiling! Why are you even smiling?!”

If only he knew how lucky you counted yourself.

💜 NEXT 💜

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Back In Time

"Who's that?" A firelight, Lila, asked. She was your friend.

You were working on the memorial, a piece to remind you of why you fight for what you believe in.

You paused, your paint brush covered in blue stilled across the empty cement.

"She was my friend. A long time ago." You answered, resuming your strokes.

You were working on your dear friend Powder's hair.

The hair you would braid and decorate with pins when young.

In the den.

When everything was okay.

When you still had her. When you still had Vi, Mylo, Claggor and Vander.

"...What happened to her?" Lila finally asked, it was a memorial wall.

To remember who you had lost. So it was inevitable the question would come up.

You could feel your breath grow heavy. You never talked about it.

About her.

But you wanted to. You couldn't with Ekko.

"Powder, she always wanted to help. But, it went bad." You answered, dipping your paint brush in the water.

You mixed colors together, never being quite right till you got it right.

You began painting Powder's smile. The one you remembered.

The one she gave when she woke you up, or when she pranked Mylo.

"She's beautiful." Lila smiled, it was true. Only if she could have seen Powder for herself.

"The painting doesn't capture it. But, yeah, she was." You finally laughed.

It hurts to talk. It felt suffocating. But you wanted to talk.

"Do you ever, y'know, go over it?" Lila asked as you turned to her.

"Go over it?'

"Like, if you would trade your place for theirs. Like she would be you now." Lila explained.

You turned back to the painting, the truth was you would within a heartbeat.

"I would. Because, Powder deserved better than what happened." You started, wiping your nose and eyes.

"Maybe, if it had been me, maybe she would have been happy." You shrugged, feeling the never ending tears grow.

"But…" Lila trailed off, hesitating to ask.

"Isn't Powder…Jinx?" 

You stopped your painting once again, feeling frozen and cold at the question.

"I've seen how you've looked at her. And, how she talks to you." Lila quickly explained.

"She once said she missed you. So, what changed?" Lila asked as she heard you sniffle.

"Powder and Jinx are two different people." You finally answered.

"Powder died. I saw her die that night." You stated, finally feeling a year fall from your cheek.

You watched as it landed into the paint, the paint that you used for Powder's eyes.

"Powder is gone. I know that Jinx isn't her. It's not fair to think she is when she's not."

Lila nodded, her gaze fixated on the portrait you spend days on.

"I remember Powder for who she was. Not Jinx. Her laugh, her smile and the weird things she would do."

Lila giggled at that as you chuckled alongside her.

"I miss her. Ekko does too. But, Jinx isn't her. Jinx is…Jinx." You nodded, smiling sadly as Lila returned it.

"So yeah, I would go and change things for Powder." You answered.

"Powder would have loved being a firelight. I wanna fight for her and keep her alive." You sniffled as Lila rubbed your shoulder.

"But, you would be gone too if you did." Lina reminded you, watching you wipe your tears.

She was surprised to see you smile so calmly and pick the brush back up 

"I know. But I would, because I loved Powder." You finally admitted after years.

"Even if I was gone, I'd do it just to have her back…even if I couldn't be there to see her, one last time."