#their anger fuels me and my sugar rush.

[brittle-doughie]

So this whole update reminded me of my Y/N Cookie and Burning Spice Cookie absolutely hating on one another, and yet I never thought about why. But now I have, and I'ma tell you about it.

I like to think that Burning Spice Cookie sees Sugar Globe Cookie as a complete and total LOSER. A scrawny, sniveling coward who never deserved the title of Primordial. This was likely amplified tenfold after the other Beasts got sealed while Sugar Globe was allowed to walk free, the otherwise mere annoyance turning into pure, genuine resentment and vitriol. While this has caused... tension between him and Eternal Sugar, Burning Spice still firmly believes that Sugar Globe is an absolute coward.

Likewise, Sugar Globe sees Burning Spice as nothing but an arrogant and vindictive bully, one that he had to constantly babysit in order to keep him in check. Like how his departure fueled Burning Spice's resentment, Sugar Globe's anger and frustration stemmed from the Beast falling for the same corruption, breaking his heart as he figured at least one or two of them could resist the temptation.

So just imagine Burning Spice pulling up on Golden Cheese for her Soul Jam only for Sugar Globe, the man he has very unfinished beef with to come rushing in like "YOU THOUGHT HER MAJESTY WORKED ALONE!?"

Oh God No, the unfinished beef is getting finished and it’s going to be well done.

[miaroseindreamland]

ONE MORE?

Pairing: Han Jisung x reader

Word Count: 1993

Genre: Open relationship/benefits/cute/drama/love

Warnings: fainting/language/suggestive

"You'll do Han's makeup," the coordinator instructed, to which you nodded, scanning the band nervously. "Jisung shi, can you come sit?" The man looked up and nodded.

As he settled into the chair, you prepared everything, feeling a bit uneasy. Han noticed your trembling hands, sensing your discomfort. Unbeknownst to the coordinator, Han was someone you occasionally got involved with, more often than you preferred. Recently, a rumor circulated among the staff about Han's involvement with a new intern from JYP. Initially skeptical, you stumbled upon incriminating messages on his phone after a night together, fueling your anger.

"What's on the agenda today?" Han inquired, but you remained silent, concealing your fury behind a false smile. "Y/n shi?"

Fuck you. You wanted to lash out, but instead, you replied with forced composure, "The usual."

Despite your seething anger and humiliation, you hadn't eaten all morning, consumed by the desire to confront him.

"Are you okay?" Han noticed the change in your demeanor, observing your shaking hands as you struggled to apply the makeup. "Y/n?"

You retreated, unable to control the trembling, prompting Han to call for help. Changbin rushed to your aid, assisting Han in preventing you from collapsing.

"Get some water!" Han instructed, while Changbin gently lowered you onto a nearby couch, awakening a drowsy Hyunjin.

After some seconds you gradually regain consciousness and Han guided you as you sipped it on a cup of water with sugar.

"What happened?" you murmured, bewildered, as you surveyed your surroundings.

"You fainted," Changbin explained softly.

Realizing you hadn't eaten, Han's concern grew more pronounced. "Did you not eat anything?"

"I..." you began, attempting to rise, but a manager intervened.

"Stay down. Rest. I'll fetch you some food," Han looked up to the manager and insisted, offering his card to cover the expense.

"No need. I have money," you protested weakly.

"You can pay me later. Just rest," Han insisted, his tone gentler than before.

--xxx--

As people left, you found yourself alone with Han, who seemed genuinely concerned as he watched you eat.

"I have to go to rehearsal. Are you feeling better?" he asked, and you nodded. He reached out to touch your face, but you pulled away. "We are alone." he assured.

"I just don't want to upset your girlfriend." You said.

"Eh?" he asked, looking confused yet cute.

"Oh, sorry. Your new girl." You roll your eyes.

"I seriously don't understand what you're talking about."

"Oh, cut the crap! At least be honest."

"Y/n, I—"

"Han, we're waiting for you," Chan appeared at the door, interrupting. Han pleaded for 5 more minutes before Chan nodded and closed the door.

"Y/n, I don't have anyone besides you. What did you hear?"

"I saw the messages, Jisung! I saw it. 'Oppa this, Oppa that!' They even saw you eating together and leaving the company together!"

"She's my cousin, Y/n!" Silence fell, and your face started to warm up. "I promised my aunt I would help her around."

"Oh... th-that explains a lot."

"You went through my phone?" You couldn't tell if he was mad or not.

"I did. It's just that everyone is talking about you having a girl."

"And I do. It's you." He caressed your hair. "I just wish you wouldn't look into my phone and would ask me directly. I don't like that."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put pressure on you... It's just that I was developing feelings for you, and—"

"You were? You're not anymore?"

"I mean, I—"

"Look, I have to go... we'll speak about this later." He moved to leave but then returned to kiss you. His hands moved to your cheeks as he pressed his lips against yours. You almost moaned into the kiss, and he smirked as he pulled away. You grabbed his shirt and pulled him down to steal another kiss as he lets you take it. You hear steps outside the door and both break the kiss.

"Wait for me tonight at your apartment," he said, and you nodded.

--xx--

Do you think I should continue?

[hypergamiss]

I feel so drained all the time bc I’m living in my toxic parents home. Thanks to the economy, and my binge eating issue, it’s been a struggle to save money. I get in arguments all the time with my mom, especially regarding how chill she is with my troublemaker younger siblings versus how my sister and I were raised. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m so full of rage on how unfair things are. I listened to her two years ago when I could’ve transferred colleges, but she (and dad by extent) guilt tripped me into staying home, and wasting my money on online classes that went nowhere. Due to depression I began binge eating, it’s the only thing that makes me feel better tbh. I’ve wasted sm money, and my teeth are messed up due to all the sugar.  /: I feel stuck. I know I should be trying to move forward but I feel so depressed, no $ for therapy tho of course. I know I’ll regret it but I can’t seem to move forward. The anger keeps me in place. Could go into detail about how I wasn’t allowed to do anything in hs or even make friends, even community college I went to a super small one w no opportunities. I had sm ambition, sm drive, all feels like it’s been argued out of me. I’m tired of my words being misconstrued, of always being seen as a selfish bad person. I’m just done with it all. I want to give up sometimes, just throw my hands up and say f it, and keep binging, keep wasting $, and not caring about anything. But a tiny part of me does want to improve which is why I’m messaging you. 

Toxic family dynamics mixed with a crappy economy is a recipe for burnout. But here's the thing: you're still here, and that tiny spark wanting to improve? That's your inner warrior, not ready to give up! Try looking at things through this lens:

Your Parents are NOT the Economy: Yes, things are tough, but focusing on how they guilt-tripped you won't open a savings account. Let's ditch the blame game (for now) and focus on what YOU can control.

Binge-Eating as Rebellion: I get it. When control is taken away, we sometimes find it in destructive ways. That sugar rush is a temporary middle finger to those unfair rules. But girl, your teeth and your temple(body) deserve better!

Channel the Rage: You want to give up? Fine! But instead of giving up on yourself, give up on caring what they think! Use that anger to fuel a job search, create a hustle, literally ANYTHING that screams, "Screw you, I'm taking my life back!"

Tiny Steps > No Steps: Therapy is out of reach for now, but there are free mental health resources online. Even just journaling out that rage is better than letting it consume you. You are much stronger than you think.

"Selfish" is the New Self-Care: Remember those ambitions? It's time to be ruthlessly selfish about reclaiming them. Not the kind that harms others, but the kind that says, "My dreams matter, and I refuse to let them die here."

It won't be easy, and there may be slip-ups. But even posting this shows you're not fully down for the count. Dust yourself off, get scrappy, and use that anger to prove everyone (including yourself) wrong. You deserve better, and sometimes, the only way out is through.

[not-all-dead]

angstpril day eighteen: children fight their parents wars

CW: death, murder, fire??, burns/burning, swearing

fic under the cut

“Unbelievable,” Lin muttered under her breath, fixing her gaze on the wooden table that the group was seated at.

She, alongside Kya, Tenzin, Bumi, and Su, had been trying to reason with Firelord Izumi for the past hour. This year was the year that marked a hundred and sixty years of war between the Fire Nation and the rest of the world. They all knew it wasn’t their war to fight, it wasn’t even their parents’, and yet Izumi seemed set on keeping up the needless destruction.

“Unbelievable? Well, I’m right here, and so are you, so I don’t see how any of this could be unbelievable,” Izumi smiled at Lin from across the table, folding her hands neatly in front of her.

Lin fought the urge to yell at her right then, instead pushing her chair out and leaving the room. She tended to get the most angry about the war out of their group, her father’s insolence fueling her further with every passing day. She still couldn’t believe he’d come back after all those years, trying to enlist her in the army her mother fought desperately against, simply because he heard that she could firebend.

She stormed down the hall, blood boiling as she walked. Her fists were clenched at her sides as she shoved through the courtyard doors, and she let out a shout of frustration as soon as she was outside. She punched her fist at the sky, a ball of bright white flame shooting upwards and dissipating mid-air. She watched as it streaked across the grey sky, huffing when it disappeared and looking down at the garden she stood in. It seemed too nice for a family so set on hurting people, which only made her angrier.

She wandered down the path lined with cherry blossoms trying to calm herself down. She hated Izumi for all the awful things she’d done to people all over the world, but particularly her family and friends in Gaoling when she’d taken the entire city as a labour camp, stripping titles and stealing everything from her grandparents and every other major family in the city.

Just as she was starting to diffuse her anger, she heard someone come up behind her.

“Your friends are looking for you, troublemaker,” Izumi said in an irritatingly smooth, calm voice.

Lin spun on her heel and glared at Izumi, barely stopping herself from spitting on her.

“You really are the angry one, aren’t you?” Izumi took a step forward and created a tiny flame on the end of her finger, twirling it in small circles.

Lin watched the flame for a second before twitching her finger and putting it out.

“I’m leaving,” She huffed, brushing past Izumi and marching towards the door to get back inside.

“Don’t go,” Izumi called, causing Lin to stop in her tracks.

“Don’t you want to have a little,” She paused and sent a small burst of fire past Lin’s ear.

“Fun?” She finished as Lin turned back to look at her, digging her nails into her palms.

“Are you challenging me to an Agni Kai?” She asked incredulously.

“Only if you think you’re up to it, sugar,” Izumi smiled wickedly at Lin, knowing a taunt like that would piss her off more than anything.

“You’re on,” Lin snarled.

“Wonderful,” Izumi’s smile widened and she sauntered towards Lin, reaching forwards to straighten Lin’s collar.

Lin narrowed her eyes and pulled away from Izumi, clearing the path to the door before following her inside. Izumi led her down several long hallways before they came to another outdoor space, this one with a stone floor and no plant life anywhere. Izumi walked across the empty space, twirling lightly when she was a reasonable distance from Lin. She cocked her head to the side, feigning innocence as Lin stalked a large circle around her.

“How could you,” Lin said in a low voice.

“How could you hurt all those people?!” She shouted, sending a bright flash of lightning at Izumi.

Izumi reached one arm forward and caught the lighting, redirecting it right back at Lin. Lin inhaled sharply and rolled to avoid the strike, swinging her leg out and bending a white flame at Izumi’s leg. Izumi stepped calmly out of the way, a wide grin on her face.

“You still sure you’re up for this?” She teased, dodging two balls of bright flame that Lin punched at her head.

“You hurt my family, my friends,” Lin shouted, continuing her barrage on the Firelord.

“You’ve forced so many people into military service, and countless others into labour camps,” She continued, high-kicking a flame at Izumi’s head.

Izumi ducked the blow and stepped closer to Lin, opening her palm just in front of Lin’s stomach. Lin yelped and jumped back, pressing a hand to her scorched shirt. She growled and launched herself at Izumi again, punching fireball after fireball at her with no relent. Izumi continued to duck and dodge her blows, weaving her way across the open ground and making their fight seem almost like a dance.

Lin was panting when she finally got Izumi with her back to a wall. Izumi put her hands up in mock defeat, smirking at Lin’s dishevelled appearance and heavy breathing.

“Take it easy there, troublemaker,” She hummed, pushing herself off the wall so that she stood mere centimetres from Lin’s face.

Lin let out a feral yell and brought large white flames to her hands, shoving Izumi back against the wall. She was just about ready to make Izumi regret ever challenging her, when she heard a voice from behind her.

“Lin, what are you doing?!” Kya shouted at the top of her lungs.

Lin turned to see Kya standing halfway across the field, her eyes wide in horror. The fire at Lin’s hands dulled, turning back to yellow, then orange. Izumi took her momentary distraction to slip away from the wall, positioning herself to Lin’s right.

“I’m sorry she has to watch this,” She said wickedly, barely giving Lin time to react before creating a fire at Lin’s feet, quickly growing it so there was no way for her to get out. Her screams were muffled by the roar of the fire, but dissolved after only a moment.

Kya let out a loud cry and Izumi looked in her direction, smiling darkly at the waterbender. Izumi stayed where she stood until she was sure there was nothing left of Lin, only then letting the raging fire die. Kya had been frozen in place until their other friends found them there, rushing towards her.

“Where’s Lin?” Izumi heard Bumi ask.

“She just- she-,” Kya stuttered before her shock turned to pure rage.

“That bitch just killed her,” Kya hissed before running full speed at Izumi.

She pulled the water from her waterskin and turned it into a hundred icy daggers, sending them all shooting at Izumi with a raw yell. Izumi created a wall of fire in front of her, melting the daggers before sending a spiral of orange heat towards Kya. Kya was knocked back by the blow, but her companions weren’t far behind her.

Tenzin sent a gust of wind at Izumi, causing her to lose her balance for a split second. It was enough that with Su shifting the ground below her just slightly, she fell backwards. Bumi stepped around a now standing Kya, drawing his sword and extending it towards Izumi, pressing the tip against her throat. Izumi drew in a sharp breath and glared up at the four.

“You’ll only make things worse,” She seethed.

“My father would never forgive you,” She put her hand on the blade, beginning to heat it with her bending.

“The war will never end,” The blade was starting to glow beneath her grasp when Bumi noticed.

He pulled it swiftly back towards him, cutting her hand badly in the process. She grit her teeth against the searing pain in her palm, closing her eyes for a moment.

“You killed her,” Kya said, shoving past her brother to stand over Izumi.

“You. Killed. My. Lin,” Kya stared intently at Izumi as she stretched her hands out in front of her.

Izumi let a cry escape her throat as Kya lifted her off the ground, suspending her in midair. A tear slipped from Kya’s eye as she twisted Izumi’s limbs grotesquely. She felt as it dripped from her chin and rushed through the air towards the cold stone below their feet. As soon as it hit the floor, she clenched her fists to stop Izumi’s heart.

[putseraphinaonthaphone]

Chromatic

Classical Pianist Katsuki Bakugou has a favorite coffee shop on the short walk from his studio back to his apartment. It's small, 24 hours, and has a stage that's always free for musicians to use. And it's run by you, a would be musician who's a better baker and coffee maker-that he can't stop coming back to see.

@nanamisbento & @hanji-is-life both made a world of difference in making me feel confident enough to write this as a full drabble, so thank y'all <3 y'all are sweethearts and I love this au so muchhhh

~light angst, slow burn, black!queer!reader, musician au~

"Cross my heart hope to die, I ain't got no love to give," you plucked at the guitar strings lazily your eyes focused on nothing but the strings and trying not to cry- and if felt like your alto voice was fighting through gravel. Huskier than normal, verging on tenor like you always dreamed about, and you were too fucking sad to enjoy it.

You missed your friend, you missed talking to him. Teasing him, making him laugh. And worse, you knew the home he went back to wasn't the healthiest. You knew all too well how a house could be so much worse than the stress of school.

"Baby boy so goddamn fine, swear you give me a peace of mind," and it was true. Just being near him, talking about poetry, anything, made you feel so calm. Fuck you missed him.

"Swear you make this young girl go crazy," If some tears fell onto your fretboard at least it was late enough that no one would come in until the morning rush.

"Now how could a man like you want somebody, so incredibly immature, insecure just like me?" Because he was just as insecure as you. It's why you two would talk on the phone for hours on end, about all your fears and worries, as much as your happiness. He was the friend you could talk about the lowest lows with because neither of you were afraid or unfamiliar with rock bottom- mentally, emotionally.

You slipped the strap of your electric guitar over your head and put it back on the rack (you left it out for musicians of all kinds to play when they felt inspired by your shop's vibes) and wiped your aching eyes. You didn't see or hear Bakugou slip back out the side door he'd came in through.

~

He'd first started coming in April, when the Washington rain was too torrential not to seek cover. He'd walked in soaking wet and spitting curses as he shut the door behind him. Ash blond hair and garnet eyes plus a jawline you'd cut yourself on meant you were half way infatuated before he even ordered.

"Black coffee with extra raw sugar, and whatever bread you have that's not sweet." It was a rumbling bass of a voice and damnit now you were officially in love- but then you noticed a case that you guessed carried an electric keyboard by the shape at his feet and in your excitement (that distracted you from his stunningly pretty face enough you could talk to him without tripping over your words like you were sure you were going to when you first came to take his order) you grinned at him so genuinely he forgot he was pissed.

"Sure thing, but just so you know- we have a permanent open mic set up here. You can play whatever instruments of mine you'd like to use, or you could set up your keyboard. It's great to see more musicians in here." You meant it, he could see in the way you seemed to light up like fireworks just talking about it.

"..Maybe next time." He tried to say hell no I'm never coming back to this tiny ass shop, do you know the size of the stages I usually play?!

But how could he regret his grumbled words when you clutched your small notepad to your chest and asked him in a rush (with a sparkle in your big doe brown eyes that didn't match your shaved head or heavy silver rings and earrings but was adorable nonetheless) "You mean it? You'd play here?"

It wasn't the same eagerness of ochestral directors prepared to embarrass themselves for a chance for The Katsuki Bakugou, classical pianist prodigy, to play with their ensembles. It was just a person who loved music and ran a tiny well cared for shop that was full of second hand furniture and mismatch cutlery and china, that was excited at the thought of music being played at all.

"Why not? I could play some of my own compositions for once instead of another goddamn Bach piece." You must have been imagining the blush on his cheeks because it was gone in seconds, and he was glaring at you with only the slightest of smiles taking the sting out of his words. "But am I going to get that coffee before I catch a cold from the fucking rain currently soaking my fucking clothes?"

Now it was your turn to feel heat burning in your cheeks as you sheepishly saluted "Right, coffee," and ran back to your bar to start his order. You found some fresh plain yeast rolls on the top shelf of your display case and an old towel in your supply closet. And if you didn't think about how much of a dork you made of yourself in front of your hottest customer to date your hands didn't shake when you put together his coffee in the largest cup you could find.

"Least sweet bread I have, black coffee with a fuck ton of raw sugar.." You winked to (hopefully) let the blond know you were kidding, "and a towel to make sure you'll survive long enough to play for me sometime."

He snorted and snatched the towel from your hands, starting to rub it vigorously over his hair with a blatant lack of fucks for how fluffy and wild it made it hair, but it seemed to you that there was humor in his voice as he sighed, "That depends on how good your shitty coffee is."

~

He started coming in on the regular after that. Sometimes dressed in a suit, that he was all but ripping off until he could roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt and unbutton the collar so he could breathe. (The first time you saw the bare column of his throat and the obvious strength of his chest meeting the delicate structure of his collar bones, you had to blame lifting heavy bags of coffee beans for your breathlessness.)

Sometimes he came from the opposite direction, dressed in jeans and old tshirts when it finally started warming up. He brought in his keyboard on those days and played a range of compositions you knew were his without him having to tell you. His left hand was more comfortable in the lower octaves of his keyboard when it was his own work, and there was more grief mixed in the bombastic anger that fueled the more staccato and forte phrases that had everyone in the small shop falling quiet to listen. Because it wasn't just hammering at the keys, it was complex harmonies of thirds and major sevenths that haunted the air even as he was moving on to the next phrase that was more of a murmur of echoing themes that passed back from hand to hand.

But your favorite times to see him was during your night shifts, when the shop was mostly deserted except for your quieter night owl regulars. Then he'd play pieces that were.. lullabies. Soft melodies and less minor chords than his daylight pieces. He'd take breaks in between pieces to come talk to you at the bar, ask your opinion on his playing- the genuine way he listened to your comments and compliments making your heart melt more than his good looks could have done alone.

And some nights, especially when it rains, he's telling you about the superficial nature of the classical music world and how sometimes he wishes he'd never gone into orchestral piano and just stayed in his old tiny but cozy apartment.

"Maybe we would've met anyway, and you'd still have this place and I'd come play for scraps on the weekends." And damn the wistfulness hits him hard, you can see it in the way his eyes soften for the first time in knowing him.

"I wouldn't let you play for scraps, it's tiny but it's my place. And your music would only add to the atmosphere. You'd get full employee wages and free coffee on the house." You're wistful too, and maybe it's the rain but you'd love for this dream to be real. Even for a moment.

~

You were sure you'd actually walk into being head over heels in love if he did one more sweet thing for you with his signature grumble and glare. But it was weird, ever since a few weeks back he'd stopped coming by as often. Looked at you strange when you teased him like you were both used to, and played pieces with more anger and sorrow than you'd ever heard from him before.

It was turning into the longest you hadn't seen him by the end of the week, so you were fucking furious when he strolled in one night.

Obviously coming from one of his bigger performances with the coattails and tuxedo tie, but no smile to show for it. Not even smugness in his eyes from a performance well done. He looked a little like shit actually, dark circles under his eyes and something indescribably sad in his garnet gaze that sought you out as soon as he walked in. It was the only thing that stopped you from completely ignoring his order when he came to the bar.

But you couldn't stop the obvious way your jaw was clenched while you worked, the hurt in your eyes when you set his coffee down in front of him.

He said your name, low and questioning, confusion growing on his perfect stupid face and that's when you couldn't take it anymore. He looked like shit, but you felt it. Losing one friend in a year was more than enough heart break for you. Having a friend, who you were already half in love with, start ghosting you on top of that? You weren't strong enough to take the highroad.

"Don't you fucking dare look at me like you don't understand. I don't understand why you decided our friendship doesn't mean shit to you anymore. If you were going to fucking ghost me I would've preferred if you'd done so before I started waiting for you to come by." You were glad no one was in the shop but the two of you when you realized somewhere along the line of yelling at him you started crying. Kat was looking at you with his mouth open in shock, and you didn't want to wait around to drag out your embarrassment.

But you were surprised when he came after. Calling your name again, moving quickly to get around the counter to follow you.

"Wait. Wait." His hand grabbed your wrist, the first time he touched you with no pretenses or excuses. The strength and gentleness of his hold only making it harder to stop your tears.

"I didn't mean to make you cry." You almost wished he'd go back to his more brash daylight self, you can't handle how quiet and gentle he gets in the early morning hours. Your heart was too soft on him already- even in your anger, you didn't resist when he pulled you close and cupped your cheeks. The pads of his thumbs wiping away your tears.

"You were crying that night too, when you were playing. I'd never heard you sing before." His fingers were on your lips, silencing you before you could even ask what the hell he was talking about. It was too much. Being unable to escape the way his eyes watched you, the way his voice got quiet- confessional.

"Let me finish. I heard you sing, and I saw you cry, and the thought of you crying for another man made me so angry I thought I'd die from how much I hated him. Whoever he was. So I stopped coming by as often. I didn't know that would hurt you.. I didn't think you would care if you were still heartbroken over some asshole." It was starting to make sense, starting to make you hope that maybe.. maybe he felt the same way you did.

"I get heartbroken over friends you know. Just friends." Your words are slightly muffled by his fingers, but its worth it to see the hope flare to life in his eyes.

How had you both missed it? All these months of longing.

"But the way you broke my heart by just not coming by? When I didn't even know what was wrong? That's worse than anything I've ever felt before-"

Your first kiss with Katsuki was salty from your tears, but it was okay.

He wanted your tears, your lips, you to be his and only his.

~

[mulderist]

Five Times Mulder Got Scully Coffee, And One Time He Didn’t

MSR || 2k words || @today-in-fic

A/N: I wrote this on the fly based on a post about types of intimacy including knowing your partner’s coffee order.

1 “we leave for the very plausible state of Oregon at 8 a.m.”

It was her first assignment with Spooky Mulder; a crisp Wednesday morning in September. From the backseat she checked her boarding pass once more while the taxi arrived at Dulles International. The red-orange sunrise broke through the distinct wing-like architecture of the main terminal building. The driver idled then popped the trunk and hoisted out her carry-on letting the wheels click to the pavement. She knew she over packed. She thanked him and adjusted the strap on her leather satchel as the cab pulled into the congested river of departure drop-offs. 

The sliding doors opened with a breeze of recirculated air and she paused to let a cluster of businessmen pass by. She scanned the corridor and saw Mulder hovering near the escalators, a duffle bag at his feet. He was wearing a smart light blue shirt with a striped tie. She grinned at the fact that his dark grey suit jacket didn’t fully match his lighter dress pants. On her approach she noticed a particular boyish charm to the curl of his hair. He caught her eye and gave a wave. She quickly smiled and shifted her shoulder bag once again while she pulled her carry-on behind her.

“Good morning sunshine,” he stated while balancing two cups in a flimsy caddy, “I hope you don’t mind but I grabbed some coffee.”

“Thank you, Mulder.” She was genuinely surprised. He set the caddy down on the lid of the square trash can and pulled out a cup, handing it to her.

“How do you take it?”

“Uh, just cream and sugar.” Mulder fished around in the middle of the caddy and found her accoutrements. She slowly removed the lid and doctored up her drink. 

“Not too early for you is it?” He asked after taking a sip from his cup.

“Reminds me of residency,” she said, shaking her head with a smile and pouring a splash of cream. “The line between late night and early morning was pretty hard to differentiate at times.”

“I find it’s when I’m my most productive. However the T.V. choices leave a lot to be desired,” he said with a shrug, reaching down for his well-travelled duffle bag. He unzipped it and pulled out a folder.

“Is this my debriefing?” Scully asked.

“A little light reading for the flight,” Mulder replied, watching her tuck the documents in the pocket of her shoulder bag. “C’mon, looks like we’re at the C gates.” She followed him down the corridor and to the entrance of the shuttles.    

2 “I’ve heard the truth, Mulder. Now what I want are the answers.”

He offered to drive her home. She was exhausted but insisted she was fine. He squeezed her hand when she left to go find her car in the hospital parking deck. 

Restlessness had set in when he arrived at home. Eyes darted to his cell phone on the desk, making sure he hadn’t missed a call. She’d call if she needed to. He shuffled through a stack of files he took from the office, looking for a particular case that matched a tip from Frohike. He flipped it open and returned to the computer keyboard, adding to the paragraph he was working on. The TV droned on in the background, coffee finished its brew cycle in the tiny kitchen. 

Three taps on the door. He turned down the TV and listened then heard three more. He walked across the room and peered into the peephole then quickly flipped the lock and opened the door 

“Hi,” she began, “I’m sorry I didn’t call.” She sucked her lower lip. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Come in,” he said stepping aside. She exhaled and slowly entered his apartment, brushing a wave of hair behind her ear. He quickly stacked his work and moved the pillows on the couch. She took a seat, fingers knitted tightly together in her lap. Her eyes closed as she climatized to his space. He gave her a minute and stepped into the kitchen. When returned she had pulled her hand away from her face, gracefully dabbing at her eye with her knuckle. He set two mugs down on the table and joined her. 

“If you want to talk..”

“I don’t,” she said curtly, not intending to sound that short with him. “Not..not yet.” Her anger was still fresh. She was a raw nerve. He pressed his lips together and was patient. He had all the time in the world for her. Another slow exhale to steady herself and she reached for a mug. Cream and sugar. Warmth from the ceramic radiated against her hand; she felt another wave ready to break. He saw the downturn and gently took the mug from her, placing it next to his. She fought so hard but reluctantly crumbled. He embraced her; a shelter from the storm.

3 “Oh I don’t know Mulder, some things are better left unexplained.”

“So tell me more about this talking doll you found,” Mulder stated. Scully swallowed her bite of food and blinked at him.

“I never said it was a talking doll, Mulder. And besides, that was weeks ago, why are you still hung up on it?” He tossed the brown end of a french fry back into the bag and licked the salt from his thumb. 

“Color me jealous.” 

She stuffed a napkin in the empty fry container and added it to the trash on the table.

“Please tell me this hasn’t kept you up at night.”

“Not more so than usual,” he said with a shrug collecting their fast food wrappers. They left the outdoor seating area and started to walk down E Street. The lunch dates were a little more frequent than before. Her remission and recovery brought them closer together. Scully didn’t want to assume he missed her when she took a well-deserved weekend to herself but Mulder was shit at hiding how clingy he could be. It was all part of the process. He tapped the back of her arm and pointed at a coffee shop window. She agreed and he held the door. The wonderful aroma of roasted beans and steamed milk hit her senses. She peeked at the bakery case as he went to place their order. Mulder soon presented her with a cafe au lait and a wink. Her lips pursed as she blew on it. His gaze shifted to the perfect “o” of her mouth complimented by a subtle glossy lip tint. He then proceeded to burn his tongue as he eagerly went to drink his Sumatra roast, snapping him back to reality.

4 “Get over here, Scully”

The lights in the office were dim. He had set-up the slideshow reel to provide visual aid to a fairly vague case detail. However the only detail he was concerned with at the moment was the taste of her lips. A hint of honey from her lip balm, the whisper of milky coffee. Their cups grew cold and lonely sitting on his desk while they turned up the heat hiding amongst the shadows. 

She was needy and pulled no punches. Hand rested firmly against his cheek as tongues danced and twisted. His stubble coarse against her fingertips. Last night at the ball field had ignited a spark. Remembering the feeling of his hands on her hips, cheek to cheek in the cool night air. His weight against her with each swing of the bat. He held her close once again; entwined together in a dark corner of the basement office.

“Remind me to bore you with slideshows more often,” he said, catching his breath. A warm smile crossed his face as he admired her. 

“Shut up, Mulder,” she said before kissing him once again.  

     5 “What if there was only one choice and all the other ones were wrong?”

Three weeks had passed. Scully discovered she was leaving small items behind; a toothbrush, a sweatshirt, a travel sized hairbrush. Evening was still the preferred time of day. Dinner, maybe a beer or a glass of wine followed by ignoring the T.V. Mulder knew just the right amount of pressure to put on the tired muscles of her neck. A rush of circulation flowed through her. She leaned back against his chest and his hands wandered followed by his lips. She loved how he tenderly nipped at her earlobe, He was hard against her lower back and she worked her advantage between his legs. Clothes were shed like new skin. He was swift to carry her from the couch into more comfortable surroundings. 

The linens held her scent, the walls held their cries. Deep and passionate. Primal. Two become one. He broke first and she was quick to chase him down. Chest heaving, muscles aching in the best way. They lay together as heart rates slowed. He traced her jawline, a thumb laid claim to her full lower lip. Lust-laden eyes blinked heavily. She decided to stay. Naked, satisfied, and loved.

Morning arrived with a deep yellow glow. She slowly shook off her slumber and reached beside her, feeling an empty bed. Her ear perked up listening for the shower but heard nothing. She slid to his side of the bed and glanced at the clock. Two hours before work. Her hand clutched the bedclothes to her chest and she heard keys hit the wood table in the other room. Mulder nudged the bedroom door open. Scully smiled and ran a hand through her hair, sitting upright. 

“Morning,” she said. He approached and kissed the top of her head. 

“I got us some coffee. Cream and sugar, of course.”

“You’re too good to me,” she said before realizing it. There was always so much unspoken between them. Affection was a given but rarely vocalized; arousal and desire usually won out. They operated well without words. She blushed and swung her legs over the edge of the bed tucking the sheet closer. 

“Hey. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said. 

6 “We will find him -- I have to.”

She needed an out. It was too much too fast and the fuel from her anger was on fumes. Scully dried her hands on the edge of her jacket and stormed down the corridor towards the elevator. That might have been the first time she actually threw a drink at someone. A bit dramatic but she would deal with that later, right now she needed to leave. 

   Her cell phone chirped and she promptly ignored it. The car shuddered as it idled in the parking deck, her head lay back against the headrest, a hand on her belly. She fought against an angry sob. The caller was persistent. She tried to collect herself. Another series of rings and she finally answered.

“Agent Scully? It’s Skinner.”

“Sir?”

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m on my way home. Is something the matter?” she questioned.

“You tell me,” Skinner replied with concern. She closed her eyes and slowly caressed her belly once again. He was the only one she could trust right now. He was trying to be a friend. She exhaled and asked if he could meet her in Georgetown.

Scully sat down at a familiar cafe with small outdoor tables nervously fidgeting with her phone. She didn’t want to deal with the questions, she just wanted to find him. She wanted to talk to him about what was going on and they could figure things out together. She needed to find him. Her attention shifted as a couple walked past with a friendly golden retriever. The animal bumped its nose into her leg then happily licked her hand before it’s owners chuckled and led him back down the sidewalk.

Skinner arrived and set down two cups of coffee along with a handful of sugar packets.

“I got you decaf.” he said sincerely as he took a seat, “hope that’s alright.”

“That’s fine. Thanks,” she said, reaching for the cup then removing the lid and adding half a sugar packet. Her heart ached and she was sure Skinner could see it. He was quiet, not wanting to overstep his boundaries.

“I uh, I just want you to know that I’m your ally in all of this. And if you need to talk…” he trailed off when he saw the change in her expression. She pressed her lips together.

“That means a lot, sir. Thank you.” She brushed away an errant tear and swallowed hard. They had much to discuss.

[claymorecut]

WE SHOULD STOP ARGUING LIKE THIS

Gintsu week // Day 2

PROMPT: FIRST TIME

××××××

The school hours were finally over for the day. The sun was already setting, painting the sky with red and orange hues as the students and staff members left the campus one after another. The corridors were now completely silent; with the doors locked and lights turned off, not a single speck of noise could be heard in the school.

Well, except for the faint voices coming from the one store room around the corner of the third floor which was apparently under maintenance.

They knew they were stuck inside. They knew he shouldn't have pulled the door close even the slightest because the lock was broken and it was a windy day and damnit, why wasn't this a sliding door!? The room was so small and packed with old documents and broken desks that there was hardly any space for two people to stand in a good distance. And the best part, the dim sunlight coming from the tiny window and the broken light switch was the cherry on top in this miserable situation.

"Now what?" Tsukuyo asked as she let go off the door knob in defeat once again.

"What do you want me to say?" Ginpachi replied calmly as he took a seat on a nearby desk. "I've already tried opening the door plenty of times and it's stuck."

"Ginpachi, It's almost six-thirty and we have been stuck here for almost half and hour now!" Tsukuyo spoke, her voice a little higher than before. "Nobody seems to be coming here either. Do you want to spend the night here!?"

Even in the dim light, Tsukuyo could see the teasing smirk growing on his face. "I don't have any problem with that."

She really wanted to punch him. Of all the times, he had to flirt with her right now but seriously, she was just not in the mood to listen to his nonchalant comments. "You do know it was your fault, right?"

Ginpachi knew he was the one who pulled the door slightly but not completely closed it because hey, that was a habit of his apparently and he had no idea that Tsukuyo was right behind the shelf and if he had any idea the wind was going to be a bitch today of all days and that it was going to lock them both inside by pushing the door with its stupid force, he would have never entered the store room in the first place!

"It was not my fault! It was the wind!"

"Sakamoto-san notified the whole school yesterday that this room is under maintenance and under any circumstances, no one is supposed to pull the door close even the slightest because accidents can happen anytime!"

"Woman, I was here to check on some documents! How'd I know that the wind was going to lock me inside and that too with you of all the people in this world. I have no intention of setting a camp here with you, what the hell do you take me for, huh!?"

Tsukuyo knew he didn't mean any of it and the whole situation was only irritating her even more. "I know." she replied quietly. "Where's your phone though? Mine can't get any signal here."

"....uh...my battery's dead."

Wow. No lights, no signal, they were really going to spend the night here.

"You know what? Nevermind. Why did I bother asking you anyway?" she couldn't help the scowl appearing on her face.

Taking note of her frowing face, Ginpachi couldn't help but speak in an irked voice. "Hey. You don't make such a disgusted face."

And this reply only poured fuel in the fire.

"So what do you want me to do? Smile!?"

"No!" Now Ginpachi was standing up from his seat. "But how about you try to be a little polite!?"

"And how about you start talking responsibility for your actions!?"

"Hey!" Ginpachi yelled as he stomped towards her angrily. "Do you think I'm enjoying my stay here with you? Because let me make this very clear to you. I. AM. NOT!"

"Oh thank you so much for the clarification, Ginpachi-sensei" the way she mockingly called his name only made his blood boil "The feeling's MUTUAL!" she spat right on his face.

"The last thing I wanted was to get stuck inside a store room with an unfunny woman like YOU!"

"Like I was dying to spend a night with a bastard like you!"

Ginpachi could just glare furiously as he inched his face close to her. "This is why men don't come near a BITCH like you!"

"Yeah sure!" she too moved her face close. "Like there's a huge crowd of women out there waiting for your LAZY ASS!"

"I pity the men who're out wasting their time on a brute like you!"

"And I pity the woman who're drooling over you!- oh sorry, there's literally no one drooling over you!"

Smart. "Aww. Well I'm not the twenty-seven year old chain smoking virgin here!"

"Well at least I'm not spending all my salary on jump magazines and parfaits like a certain dumb perm-head here!"

"You do know too much nicotine can speed aging. Ah that's why I see all the wrinkles around your face."

"And you do know that too much sugar can cause erectile dysfunction."

This was getting too much. "You know what woman? How 'bout you shut that little mouth of yours!?"

They knew they should stop. "Well how about you shut up by sucking on that stupid strawberry lollipop of yours!?"

Their faces were close, too close, their noses almost touching but no one was willing to back off anymore. There might not be a lot of light inside but they could clearly see the fire in each other's eyes. It was not like these two didn't respect each other. It's just that sometimes, they just couldn't stand each other and that's why they were called the bickering couple of the school. However, this argument was no longer their simple banter.

It was now a matter of pride.

"Listen here." Ginpachi's voice was so low and chilling it could make a grown man piss his pants. "If you don't shut up, I'll make you."

Tsukuyo could just chortle mockingly as she didn't budge an inch from her place. "I bet you can't."

He had a sly grin on his face now. "I'm warning you, Tsukuyo."

Tsukuyo matched his expression. "Like your threats can scare m-"

But before she could finish, Ginpachi already captured her lips with his. Tsukuyo's eyes widened with shock as she felt him take her breath away in that one short kiss. But before she could even react and shove him off, he quickly pulled away with a cheeky and breathy laugh.

"HA! I warned you!"

Tsukuyo couldn't process what just happened but his smug laughter only angered her more. Before she could think what she was doing, she found herself returning the favor by pulling him by his white lab coat and kissing him feverishly on his lips. And this time, it was Ginpachi's eyes which widened into large saucers.

Tsukuyo quickly pulled back, leaving both of them brrathless again. "Don't you dare act so smug with me!"

Both of them just stood there for a second, their minds trying to process what happened. They were just arguing, right? Telling how much they didn't enjoy each others company inside a locked storeroom?

Then how did this happen?

Was it the frustration of getting stuck with each other? Or was it solely the insults? Was it the packed room and the heat which messed up with their brain? Or was it the fact that they wanted to prove something to each other?

But whatever it was, why did they choose to kiss each other?

And why the hell did it feel so good?

Before their minds could answer these questions, the two coworkers found themselves lashing on each other.

Tsukuyo had always been a calm and level-headed person but never had she find more thrill in anything than pulling Ginpachi by his collar while pushing his oval specs up his head and kiss him with all she had got. Ginpachi, on the other hand, never let his control slip by in front of any woman. But this woman he was kissing right now only made him lose control and devour her with every kiss he gave her. Not in a million years had these two thought that they would be making out in a locked storeroom and that too after a long argument where they constantly insulted each other. And yet, kissing each other only made them realize how much they wanted this.

"What're we doing?" Tsukuyo asked gaspingly between kisses as she found Ginpachi cradling her face in his palms. His touch was firm yet gentle and she felt like turning into a mush.

"Just shut up and kiss me woman." Ginpachi almost growled as he now pulled her closer by her waist and planted his lips on her again.

Tsukuyo have never had such an experience in her life- this was her first kiss. With the energy and passion Ginpachi kissed her, she could feel her legs go limp as she found her arms wrapping around his neck to get some support. She shouldn't have provoked him. But damnit would she be lying if she said she wasn't enjoying this. Matching his lips, Tsukuyo copied his movements with the same intensity as she found his tongue battling hers. The way he sucked and bit her lower lip and then lightly kissed it- her mind was going completely dizzy. She then went for his red tie, tugging it loose as she let her hands roam on his well-built physic. He was just too much for her and even though the kiss felt too rushed and sloppy, she didn't mind any of her inexperience.

As for Ginpachi, he didn't seem to mind any of her inexperience as he continued to lick and taste her mouth with no shame. His hands were everywhere, her waist, her ass and then sliding up to her full clothed breaths and shit! how could no man not want her. She was just so intoxicating he could just eat her up in one go. Her curves, her voice, her beautifully scared face, the way she squirmed in his arms as she clutched on his lab coat for support- everything she did, she was always perfect. The smell of nicotine along with her lavender perfume and her small breathless moans only overwhelmed his senses as he no longer cared where they might end up later.

Never had Ginpachi wanted a woman as much as he desired her.

Never had Tsukuyo thought she would feel such security in his arms.

Sensing her wobbly legs, Ginpachi picked her up by her ass in one go as Tsukuyo found her legs now wrapped around his waist while he pressed her against the nearest wall for more support. Without leaving his lips from her, he found his hands now playing with one of her clothed breasts as he heard another muffled moan from her.

But alas they finally broke for air.

In the dim light of the evening, the two could see the string of salive that connected their tongues as both of them huffed for air. The way they looked now- their completely messed up hair, wrinkled clothes, Ginpachi's loose tie and Tsukuyo's unbuttoned shirt- never had they thought they would engage in such a reckless and intimate act together.

And yet, the way they panted and looked at looked at each other, as a small smile suddenly appeared on their faces, this didn't feel wrong to the them at all.

But before they could continue with their little session, the sudden turning of the door knob made them both jolt in shock as Tsukuyo jumped off Ginpachi's lap. Both of them looked at the opening door in horror as they found someone moving the flashlight right on their faces.

"I knew you guys were-" Ah shit, it was Zenzou. And the two of them were completely disheveled. "...You guys continue." And he switched off the flashlight and was again locking the door.

"OII WAIT, WAIT, WAIT!" It was Ginpachi who called out as he rushed towards the door. "The hell are you doing? We've been locked here this entire time!"

"Yeah?" Zenzou gave the unkept man a skeptical look and then looked at Tsukuyo behind who quickly turned her red face in shame. "Looks like you guys were having a good time and I was the one who disturbed you."

Ginpachi could feel his face flush in embarrassment as he glared at his colleague. "THAT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!"

On this, Zenzou gave him a are-you-serious-man look and Ginpachi only felt his face grew hotter.

Tsukuyo could feel the tension around as she rearranged her clothes a little and walked towards the two men. "Hattori-sensei," she spoke up, "this...was not what we...we were really locked inside!" she finally got the out, her face turning red once again. "...but things just happened.."

Zenzou looked at Tsukuyo and then at Ginpachi as he felt a small grin escape his lips at their embarrassed faces. "Don't worry." he spoke in his nonchalant voice. "The whole school already knew that there was something going on between you two."

Ginpachi and Tsukuyo looked in surprise as a quick "eh!?" left their mouths simultaneously.

"Well whatever. It's already late. Good thing I came here to check." he turned around to leave as the other two quickly tidy up their appearances a little.

"By the way tempa! Good job." he gave a thumbs up to Ginpachi and then picked his pace, leaving the two behind.

Ginpachi and Tsukuyo turned to look at each other as they again felt the tension increasing between them. It wasn't always when these two make out and well, this was a first for them and yet, both of them seemed to have no problem with it. They might have never accepted it on their own but they sure did enjoy their company together. And a lot more than they could have guessed.

"Uh...." both spoke up simultaneously. And both of them chuckled at this. But again, silence followed.

"Hey." It was Ginpachi who spoke first. "I don't know what happened but..."

"..yeah?"

"...wanna get some lunch together someday?"

Hearing his earnest request, Tsukuyo felt her heart flutter. "Sure." she replied with a smile. "I hope you won't regret it though."

Ginpachi could only give her his honest answer. "Of course I won't."

[fadedtemporarytattoos]

Divinity: A Savior Among Sinners

Warning: This oneshot contains obsessive behavior as well as mentions of physical, mental, and sexual abuse. There is also an instance with self harm. Viewer discretion is advised. 

Word count: 3.5k 

     She never expected that her only form of salvation would be in a spider-like stripper, but sometimes blessings come in the strangest of ways. She learned that he went by the name of Angeldust. He was impurity in its purest form, lust if it amalgamated itself into a humanoid shape. He was wild with desire, a creature with an insatiable appetite and insatiable habits. Well, at least, that’s what she thought at first.

     She saw him for the first time right before going on stage, he was twirling around the pole like his life depended on it, which probably wasn’t far off from the truth. A wicked smile adorned his face, but there was something off about his eyes. They held a certain amount of emptiness, a lack of hope that she recognized within herself. He was the epitome of sex appeal, and the sinners before him squirmed in their seats as he held eye contact. He ran his hands up and down his body, ghosting his fingertips across his inner thighs and trailing them up over the slope of his chest. All the while, his vacant eyes leered at her.  

      Shortly after, he gave her one last look before strutting off stage, directly past her. His heels clicked as he walked, and his footsteps resonated in her ears even after they were gone. She didn’t have much time to reflect before heading onstage herself. She gave one last over her shoulder before taking a deep breath and marching towards the pole in the center of the stage. 

     They got to know each other in dressing rooms and quiet restaurants. Their friendship blossomed within cups of questionable substances and the tying of corset strings. From complimentary smalltalk between strangers to something much realer, something more tangible. They sat together for late night conversations, sharing fears, hopes, and dreams. Secrets fell from soft lips like petals off a flower at the coming of autumn. All fronts were dropped when they were with one another. Hesitant words dripped from lips like honey out of a hive of understanding. They lived within shared glances, capturing moments and holding them hostage in the confines of their irises. They both experienced the wrath of Valentino firsthand, but the love they held for each other was much greater than their fear of him. 

      She found Angeldust after a particularly rough night. Apparently the show had not gone as great as Valentino wanted, and disciplinary action had to be taken. Y/n had agreed to hang out with Angeldust previously that week and was waiting at his apartment for him to arrive after his last show. He stumbled in three hours late with a bottle of tequila in one hand and a cigarette in the other. This, of course, sparked worry within Y/n. She immediately rushed forward and ripped the bottle out of his hand. He laughed at her, blinking owlishly while taking another drag. 

     “What did he do to you,” she asked quietly. 

     “Nothing that he hasn’t done before, Sugar,” he replied hollowly. 

      He then laughed a mighty laugh, one twinged with a soft contempt simmering beneath the surface. Y/n stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, placating him like a mother to a petulant child. He shrugged her off harshly. 

     “C’mon, darling,” he sneered. “Do we really need to do this? Do we really need to go around in circles? We both know what happened. We both know what he does to people like us. We both know his hands and their tendency to wander. His selective hearing. The way he blocks out the words, “No,” and, “Stop,” from his vocabulary at the most convenient times. He wouldn’t stop, Y/n, he never stops.” 

     He started mumbling harshly under his breath, sucking in air between his teeth before letting the words lingering on his tongue dwindle into nothingness. He ran a hand down his face, and he was no longer the same Angeldust she once knew. He was a young child, afraid of everything and nothing all at the same time. He suddenly looked microscopic in the finite vastness of his living room. He curled in on himself. The red hot anger that fueled him moments prior had dissipated as soon as it had appeared. Now, he was only left with flashbacks of fingertips ghosting over his collarbones and arms twisting around his torso like tree limbs. 

     He collapsed onto the floor, sobs ricocheting off of the paper doll walls. His body shuddered as he tried to gulp fresh air into his polluted lungs. Y/n rushed forward, cradling his head within her hands. 

     “Let it out,” she murmured, “let it all out.” 

     His sobs got increasingly louder, and she held him tightly, pulling him closer than before. She stroked the back of his head softly, making soft shushing noises. 

     “He’s never going to stop,” he muttered, “he’s gonna keep hurting me, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him. I don’t want this; I never wanted this. I can’t get him out of my head. He’s always there, even when I close my eyes. I can still feel his hands crawling all over me. I can still taste his breath on my lips. He wouldn’t let go. I told him to let go. I told him to stop. I said no. This isn’t okay. Nothing will ever be okay again.” 

     He grew quiet after that. The room swelled with the sound of their breathing and all of the words he left out in the open, all of the words he never had the guts to say before, the words he didn’t want to utter out loud. He feared that speaking them would make them much realer and, in a way, he was right. Now they were out in the open, and he had no way of taking them back. He could only sit and wait for the silence around him to swallow him up. Y/n shifted slightly, turning to look up at him. 

     “Things will be okay someday, even if that day is nowhere near,” she murmured. “Everything is temporary.”

     “That doesn’t change how I feel right now.” 

      “I know.” 

     They sat on the floor for hours, holding each other and listening to each other’s heartbeat. Y/n slowly shifted and began to stand up, dragging Angeldust with her. Neither of them spoke, they simply shuffled toward his bedroom door. Y/n softly turned the doorknob before ushering Angel into bed. The bright red numbers on his alarm clock read 3:00am. Angel sat on his bed, staring into space. He slowly fell back into the ocean of sheets, and felt himself drown once more. Y/n approached him cautiously, as if coming to the aid of an untamed animal. She gently grabbed his blanket and laid it out over his body. She kissed him softly on the forehead and smiled a delicate smile. 

     “I love you, Angel,” she said tenderly, “you are my best friend.” 

     She paused for a moment, as if she were unsure of how to continue. Her lips twitched before parting slightly. 

     “You’re scared, I can see it in your eyes. I can see it in the way he makes you flinch when he enters the room. You’re stronger than you think, I know you are. You are more than what he calls you. Don’t let him define you, you are so much more than anything he could ever dream to be. You are beautiful, Angel, and you are loved. You are so loved. Cry if you need to, and don’t feel bad about it. Never feel bad for feeling. Cry all you want, just know that I will always be here to pick up the pieces and put you back together. You will never be alone when I’m here. No matter what, we’re in this together. I will love you even when you can’t love yourself” 

     He looked up at her to see tears welled up in her eyes. She gave him a watery smile filled with so much affection and kindness, that it almost made him break down again. She turned to face the door and began taking small steps towards it, as they agreed that she’d sleep on the couch previously. She placed her dainty fingers on the doorknob and began twisting it when she heard a soft voice echoing behind her. 

     “Stay,” his voice cracked. “Please, just stay.” 

     “Of course I’ll stay,” she whispered, “I’ll stay as long as you need.” 

     She crawled into bed beside him, curling into him. He visibly relaxed and contorted closer to her. She grabbed his hand and pulled it up to her face. She kissed his knuckles before bringing his hand close and gripping it like a teddy bear. It wasn’t long before Angel’s breathing evened out and his body was still. Y/n fell asleep hours later after listening to the lullaby of his breath and feeling the blanketing warmth of his body. 

     They woke up with intertwined legs and morning breath. He woke up a few minutes before her, and really took in how beautiful she was. Her lips were pastel pink and her eyelashes tickled her rosy red cheeks. A small, faded bruise decorated her jawline but not even that could diminish her beauty. Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing her kind eyes. They sat for a while just basking in each other's presence. Y/n sat up abruptly and darted her eyes towards the alarm clock. 

    “I’m late,” she screeched. 

      She flung herself out of bed before rushing to the bedroom door and slamming it open. She sprinted around the apartment, grabbing her stuff as she saw it. Angeldust groggily sat up and watched her spring around like a jackrabbit. Once she had grabbed all of her belongings, she plopped down on the floor to put on her platform boots. Angel made his way towards her before sitting across from her. 

     “Can you come over tonight?” He said this softly, desperately. 

      “Of course I will, Angel,” she replied. 

      “Promise?” 

     “Promise.” 

     She left after that, briskly walking through the halls of his apartment building before sprinting down the bustling city streets. By the time she got to the club, her feet were sore and she was out of breath. 

     “Where were you?” Valentino said it conversationally, but she heard the sinister undertones that lurked under the surface. 

     “I was busy with something,” she said smoothly, “it won’t happen again.” 

     “That didn’t answer my question.” 

     He strode towards her before grabbing her jaw tightly and pulling her face close to his own. 

     “You know how I feel about you lying to me,” he hissed. 

     “I didn’t lie to you,” she spat. 

     “I’m feeling generous today, so I’ll give you one more chance,” he sneered. “Where were you?”

     “I was just at Angel’s house,” she admitted. “We were just hanging out, and I lost track of time.” 

     “Oh,” he muttered, “I see.” 

     His eyes narrowed behind his pink sunglasses. He began cackling softly before shoving her backwards by the jaw. She stumbled back into the wall behind her. 

     “You’re spending time with the likes of him now,” he commented, “you must be pretty desperate.” 

     “There’s nothing wrong with hanging out around Angel,” she muttered angrily. 

     “Now, that’s where you’re wrong sweetheart,” he growled, “everything about that is wrong.” 

     He loomed over her form. She was so small compared to him, or rather, he made her feel small. He trained his eyes on her, waiting to see if she’d move. 

     “He’s my friend,” she argued. 

     “I don’t care,” he responded, “I don’t want you to be around him anymore. I expect you to cut him off today.” 

     “No,” she spluttered, “I won’t, and you can’t make me.”

     “You’d be surprised at what I can make you do,” he snarled. “Do not mistake my kindness for weakness. I have been very lenient with you. Do not get on my bad side.” 

     “I’m not gonna cut him off or get rid of him,” she announced. “ I love him, he’s my best friend. You will not get your way this time because, no matter what you do, my love for him is stronger than my fear of you.” 

     “You’re gonna regret that,” he screeched. 

     He lunged towards her, hands outstretched like broken tree branches. She quickly cowered down, throwing her hands up to protect herself. He pushed her against the wall harshly, and her head collided with the drywall. A loud thump echoed throughout the room and it felt as if all of the air in her lungs had been sucked out. He reached forward and took a fistfull of hair from the base of her head. He began dragging her by her hair out of the room. She began to kick and cry, begging him to stop. He ignored her and yanked harder, causing her cries to crescendo. At that moment, everything heightened. It was almost as if she could feel each individual strand of hair as they were ripped from her scalp. 

     She could feel the carpet drag against her face and back. The carpet burn forming across her body felt so infinitesimal compared to the agony bubbling across the surface of her head. She tried her best to move forward with him in hopes of easing the pain. Whenever she managed to get into a standing position, he’d kick her back down into submission. It was almost as if he thought her standing was a feeble attempt at insubordination. Eventually she gave up and let him drag her through the winding, cherry-red halls. 

     It took them about ten minutes to get to the brass door. Ten minutes of pure agony, but ten minutes nonetheless. He flung the door open with a loud bang and shoved her inside. The floor was cold, and she wondered what it was made out of. It was dark in the room and all she could hear was a distant clanging from whatever Valentino was doing. 

     It wasn’t long before he grabbed her by the arm tightly and dragged her through the dark room. He thrusted her forward after reaching a certain point. She stumbled before catching herself on something frigid. She jolted backwards in fear and all she heard was the sound of Valentino laughing. 

     The lights in the room suddenly turned on, flooding the space with light. She took a look around her before feeling her heart sink.  

     “It’s beautiful, isn’t it,” he asked. “I didn’t think I’d have to use it this soon, but it’s oddly fitting for this occasion.” 

     She was trapped in a large birdcage. It was a silver color. The front of it mimicked a regular birdcage with prison-like bars, but the back of it looked like a perfect recreation of the garden of Eden with the forbidden tree smack dab in the middle. The tree was adorned with golden apples, the only part of the cage that was a different color than the rest. The metal around her was cold, and she knew that it would only get worse if she sat down or leaned against it. 

     “It was expensive,” he cut through her train of thought, “but nothing is too expensive for my angel.” 

     “Let me out,” she roared. 

     “Tsk tsk tsk, that behavior simply won’t do,” he muttered. “No no no, this won’t do at all. In order to get out you have to show improvement. You have to learn from your mistakes.” 

     She began banging on the wall of the cage. 

     “Let me out, you psychopath!”

     “Well, I definitely won’t do that when you have that attitude,” he snickered. “I’m gonna give you time to reflect on your actions. Hopefully you’ll figure out where your loyalties lie.”

     “You can’t do this to me,” she howled. 

     “Watch me,” he stated calmly, opening the brass door behind him. 

     “No!” 

     He flicked the switch and closed the door behind him, plunging her into darkness once more. Y/n screamed at the top of her lungs, punching the metal around her until her knuckles bleed and her arms ached. She collapsed onto the floor, sobbing and shivering. She swore that she heard Valentino’s laughter from behind the door, but this just made her weep louder. 

     Meanwhile, Angeldust had been sitting in his living room for an hour, listening to water drip down from the leak in his ceiling. She was supposed to be here an hour ago. Where was she? Time passed quickly, and one hour turned into a day and a day turned into a week. He didn’t know where she was or what happened. She hadn’t responded to any of his calls or read any of his texts. He decided that calling again wouldn’t hurt, and he dialed her number. 

     “Hello?” Valentino’s voice bursted through his phone speaker. 

     “Is Y/n there,” Angel asked softly. 

     “Yes,” Valentino responded, “but she doesn’t want to talk to you.” 

     “Why do you have her phone?” 

     “She knew you’d call again, and she didn’t want to deal with it,” Valentino stated simply. 

     “Don’t lie to me,” Angel spat, “What did you do to her?” 

     “Why do you assume it was something I did and not what you did?” 

     “I didn’t do anything,” Angel whispered. 

     “She doesn’t want all of your emotional baggage,” Valentino barked, “You were too weak, and now she never wants to see you again.” 

     “That’s not true, it can’t be true,” he murmured, “You’re lying to me.” 

     “I guess you’ll just have to hear it from her directly,” he sighed. 

     Angel heard a soft crackling through the speaker as the phone was passed to someone else. 

     “Leave me alone, Angel.” 

     Her voice was soft, much like the night before, but it didn’t hold the same warmth. It was tense now, and held a coldness that he’s never heard before. 

     “Y/n, what are you talking about?” He said this calmly, but she heard the pain in every syllable. 

     “I don’t want to talk to you anymore, Angel,” she replied harshly. 

     “I don’t understand, last week you told me-” 

     “I lied.” 

     “That’s not true, did he do something to you?” His voice shook. 

     “He didn’t do anything to me, I just don’t want to talk to you,” she replied. 

     “I’m not going to give up on you, Y/n, you didn’t give up on me.” 

     “There isn’t anything to give up on, there was never anything between us,” she said thickly. 

     “You said you loved me,” Angel croaked out. 

     “Don’t be ridiculous,” she growled, “why would I ever love someone like you” 

     “Y/n,” his voice cracked. 

     “Don’t call me again, and don’t come near me.” 

     “Why are you doing this,” he pleaded, “what changed?” 

     “Nothing changed,” she said numbly, “you just weren’t strong enough.” 

     She hung up abruptly and left him alone with his thoughts. He slid down the wall behind him and screamed. He screamed so loud that the knick knacks on his shelfs shook and fell, showing his anguish in a much more tangible way. He fell apart, throwing empty alcohol bottles at the walls around him and punching holes in the wall. He wept for what was and what would never be again. For the friend he lost and the savior that never was.  

     She began wailing as soon as she hung up. In exchange for her freedom, she had to cut ties with the one person who gave a damn about her. A sob erupted from her throat. She raked her nails over her arms and across her face, leaving angry red lines across her body. She dug deeper and deeper until blood bubbled to the surface, red ink that spelled out the story of her betrayal. 

     “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry.” 

      Her legs gave out from under her, and she fell to the floor in a heap. She began to screech and scream. She screamed for what could have been and would never be. The tears in her eyes blinded her as she grappled around on the floor, looking for a lifeline. She was never his savior, he was hers. And now, all of her mistakes had been made painstakingly clear. She dragged herself up off of the floor and made her way to her dressing room mirror. She looked in and saw gaunt features and purple bruises, but, above all, she saw a monster cloaked in devine skin. 

     “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “You aren’t weak, Angel, you never were. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m so sorry I left. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t strong enough.” 

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Raincheck (Ethan x MC)

Summary: Set after chapter 8, Ethan and Naomi get a re-do on their dinner date.

Tags: @colourmeshy @fanmantrashcan @writinghereandthere @ao719 @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @theeccentricbibliophile 

Enjoy!

~v~

The first thing Naomi notices when she crosses the threshold to Ethan’s apartment is that it smells amazing. A delicious aroma wafts from the kitchen and she has to stop herself from drooling at the scent.

This is the second time this week that she’s been at his apartment, though this time Ethan promises that there will be no surprise interruptions. And this makes Naomi anxious, because the last time she was here, Ethan kissed her, multiple times, and promised that they’d talk. And with a little over a year of knowing the older attending under her belt, Naomi knows that Ethan Ramsey is a puzzle and he’s constantly pulling the rug out from under her feet. So her guard is up, despite wanting to be able to relax in his presence.

Ethan greets her at the door, out of his formal work clothes and now in a simple t-shirt and blue jeans.

“Naomi, hi.” His eyes sweep over her form, and he tries not to get fixated on the way her dark blue sweater hugs every curve on her body. “You look great.”

“Thank you.”

“It smells amazing in here.” Once she’s inside and her shoes are at the door, Naomi stands on her tiptoes, peering into the kitchen. She sees a huge skillet and a pot on the stove, but it gives her no answers. “Can I know what you’re cooking, or are you going for an element of surprise?”

“Chicken, sautéed in peppers, yellow rice and roasted asparagus. Do you have any objections about the menu?”

“It sounds delicious.” She stops at his kitchen island and takes a seat at one of the barstools. 

“Do you want something to drink? I have pretty much everything.”

“What’s the best wine in your collection?” Naomi asks. “I’d like a glass of that.”

Ethan turns around and goes to rummage in his pantry. “I have a very expensive bottle that a patient gifted Naveen a while back. Her rich “boyfriend” owns a vineyard in Napa, and after we solved her case, she had him send Naveen quite a few bottles. He gave me one.”

He rinses out two glasses and pours the expensive Chardonnay. 

“Air quotes around the word boyfriend leads me to assume he was her sugar daddy.”

“Her very married sugar daddy,” Ethan adds. “Splitting his time between Napa and New England.”

“Scandalous.”

“His vineyard makes excellent wine, though.”

Naomi takes a sip and instantly agrees with Ethan. The smooth liquid is delicious. “Mhmm, I can taste the vanilla.”

“You have excellent taste for a 27 year old.”

“It’s a cross I have to bear,” Naomi teases with a giggle. “Do you need any help with dinner?”

“No. You’re my guest, you just sit there and relax.”

She leans across the counter and watches as Ethan expertly chops up jalapeño peppers.

“I’m not used to being in a kitchen and not helping,” Naomi says with a sigh. “I used to practically study my mom and grandma growing up.”

“Oh, so you like to cook too?”

“I love it. I love food. Every Sunday after church, we’d go to my grandparents’ house for football and dinner.”

“What’s your favorite thing to cook?” Ethan asks. Naomi doesn’t talk much about her life before Edenbrook, and he’s curious.

“My grandma has a recipe for pot roast and garlic mashed potatoes that will make you cry.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the secret?”

“It’s for Valentine women only, mister. My mom didn’t get the recipe until she and my dad had been married for 10 years.”

“It’s that serious?”

Naomi nods. “Super serious. She’s really protective over her recipes, and she wants the rest of the family to be just as guarded. My uncle once suggested she write a cookbook, and she nearly tore him a new one.”

Ethan notes the sparkle in her eye as she talks about her family and he can’t help but to smile. “Okay, since you’re the expert, I’ll let you help me.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Yay! But first, I cannot cook in silence. We’re going to need some music.”

“In the living room, next to the window, I have a record player. Pick whatever you’d like.”

“A record player?” Naomi slides off the barstool and rushes to the living room. “You’re an old soul.”

“I like records. I think they’re cooler than CDs.”

Naomi browses through his selection of vinyls. He had a mixture of a lot of different artists and genres: Billie Holiday, Michael Jackson, Prince, David Bowie, Queen, James Brown, Nina Simone, The Beatles. There was even some classical music by Beethoven thrown into the collection.

She settles on Billie. “You have good taste, Doctor Ramsey.”

Soon she’s back in the kitchen, hands washed, sleeves rolled up, and hair pulled back. They settle into a comfortable routine. She minces garlic as Ethan gets the rice started.

Ethan enjoys her presence in his kitchen. There’s no tension in the air, the silence isn’t deafening, and Naomi moves around with ease and confidence, as if the space was made just for her. He chooses to ignore the way his pulse speeds up at the thought.

With two people helping, it doesn’t take long for dinner to be served. Ethan tops off their wine, fixes two plates, and moves them into his formal dining area.

“I had no idea this little dining area was tucked back here,” Naomi says, looking around. “Just how huge is this apartment? Does it have a second floor that I’m not aware of?”

Ethan rolls his eyes at her wide cracks. “No second floor. But it’s a 3 bedroom.”

“3? How did I not notice that?”

“Well the last time you were here we only stayed in the kitchen. And the time before that we–”

 He stops himself before he can finish the sentence. The time before the last, they barely stayed in the living room for a few minutes before Ethan was dragging her into his bedroom.

Naomi looks down, her face burning at the memory. Thinking about their previous...encounter wasn’t her intention in the slightest. She groans to herself. This is what she gets for trying to make dumb small talk.

She pivots, not allowing them any more time to ruminate over the hook up. “Well you’ll have to give me a tour.”

“Deal.”

Naomi grabs her fork and digs into her food, taking a bite of her chicken. A low heat coats her taste buds, followed by the buttery flavor of the meat. A soft sigh passes her lips. “Okay, I know you love being a doctor, and you’re great at it, but I think you’d be an amazing chef.”

“Of course I’d be an amazing chef, I’m good at everything,” Ethan quips with a smirk.

“Your ego is unmatched.”

“But seriously, the food is good?”

His voice takes on an uncharacteristically low and shy tone. Naomi looks up at him and they lock eyes. He’s...nervous, she quickly surmises.

“The food is great, Ethan. If it wasn’t, you’d know.”

He smiles at her, relief coursing through his veins. Sure he knows he’s a good cook, but something about her praise and validation makes him feel like a teenager again.

“Good.”

“I might have you cook for me more often,” Naomi adds, lifting her wine glass to her lips and takes a sip. “How many other people get to say the great Ethan Ramsey made them dinner?”

“It’s just you,” Ethan replies. “And of course, you’re welcome over any time.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time. I just might take you up on that offer.”

“Please do.”

The rest of their dinner goes by, the two of them embroiled in light conversation. Once dinner is done, Ethan instructs her to head to his living room while he puts the dishes in the sink. A few minutes later, he comes back with two slices of cake, and two more glasses of wine, red this time to complement the chocolate of their dessert.

“Ooh, I get dessert too? My, my, You’re really spoiling me tonight.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Ethan grumbles.

“Too late.” Naomi eagerly accepts her slice of cake. “Did you bake this?”

“Would you be impressed if I said yes?”

“I’d be very impressed.”

“But no, I can't take credit for this. There’s a bakery a few blocks away, and they make the best chocolate cake.”

“That’s a hefty endorsement coming from you.”

“Trust me, you’ll love it.”

Ethan sits down next to Naomi, leaving little room between the two of them, but just enough. At this distance, he can smell whatever sweet perfume she’s wearing, mixed with her shampoo—coconut scented, that much he knows for certain—it it’s effects on him are dizzy and intoxicating.

“How did your talk with your dad go the other day?” Naomi asks. Being questioned about his dad wasn’t what he was expecting, and it snaps him out of his daze.

“Huh?”

“How did your talk with Alan go?” 

Ethan stops to seriously consider the question. His talk with his dad brought up a lot of feelings, good and bad, about a lot of different things. “I think he and I understand each other more. Love is still a pretty foreign concept to me, so I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand the depth of what he feels towards my mother, but I’m going to try to be more compassionate about them.”

“And I told him that him continuing to hold a flame for my mother fueled a lot of my anger,” Ethan continues. “It used to feel like he was willing to forgive her for hurting me. No matter what she did, all would be okay as long as she came back. Of course, he didn’t realize my perspective, and he apologized. We both realized that our views of my mom were going to be inherently different. And he agreed to stop trying to get me to talk to her.”

Naomi is glad to hear he made some peace with his dad. Alan seems like a sweet guy. “Do you think you’ll ever want to see her?”

A stony expression mars his features. “No. I’m not in a space to hear whatever bullshit excuse she spits out, nor do I want to hear any apologies. I’ve survived 25 years without her, I’ll survive 25 more.”

The energy in the room has taken a sharp turn. Naomi puts her plate down on the coffee table and takes Ethan’s hand in hers, her thumb running across his knuckles in a soothing manner. The simple gesture catches him off guard, and he looks at the younger woman.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset with my line of questioning.”

“I’m not upset with you,” Ethan assures her. She’s the last person he’d be upset with considering she’s been his rock throughout this entire ordeal. “And I shouldn’t be burdening you with this.”

“You’re not being a burden, Ethan.”

“Regardless, I didn’t invite you over here to be bogged down by my family drama.”

Naomi looks down at their still joined hands, and she swallows thickly. “Okay, did you invite me over here to talk about our kiss?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up at the question. “I’ve always admired your boldness, Rookie. You get straight to the point no matter what.”

“No point in beating around the bush,” Naomi says with a shrug. Reluctantly, she pulls her hand out of his and turns her body so they’re facing each other. “Look Ethan, you said that we needed boundaries, and outside of our kiss at Donahue’s a few months back, I’ve been trying my absolute hardest to be respectful. But now you’re sending me mixed signals. First when we went to stake out your mom a few weeks back, you held my hand the entire way back to Boston. And then you kissed me the other day, a few times. Now I’m at your apartment again. I need to know what we’re doing, because you’re blurring the lines.”

Ethan sighs. He feels like a selfish asshole, jerking her around like this. “Look, Naomi, I thought our relationship was going to be that of a mentor and mentee–and it is, but it’s become so much more than that. You are one of the most important people in my life. You are the one person I want to turn to when things feel crazy, whether it’s about work or my personal life.”

“And…?”

“I’m getting there, Rookie,” Ethan chuckles softly, and her stomach flips at her old nickname. “Look, all my life, I’ve only ever viewed things in black and white, and it was easy for me. But you came barreling into my life, and not only can I see shades of grey, but I see the entire color spectrum. You push me, you challenge me, you drive me absolutely insane.” Naomi laughs. “But it’s becoming increasingly harder to respect my self-imposed boundaries when it comes to you.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I think it’s time I stop trying to hold myself back when it comes to you.”

Naomi’s too afraid to move. To breathe, even. What if this is some sort of dream? She’s going to wake up soon, in her own bedroom, alone, disappointed and full of self loathing. “So, what? Do you want to give us a try?”

“Yes, I want to give us a try. That is, if you still want to give me a chance. I know I probably don’t deserve one.”

Hearing those words is akin to a dam breaking inside of her. The air leaves her lungs all at once and her vision goes blurry with unshed tears.

Crying wasn’t the reaction he thought he was going to get from her. Ethan reaches out, gently swiping the pad of his thumb underneath her eye. “Naomi, what–”

She cuts him off, grabbing his face with both hands, crashing their lips together. He barely has time to toss his plate onto the table before she’s clamoring into his lap, straddling him.

This kiss feels so much like the one they shared a few nights ago. It’s frenzied, desperate, and filled with longing, but there’s an undercurrent of something else, something they haven’t felt before. Relief. Lightness.

Ethan’s tongue presses against her lips, silently asking for permission to deepen things. Naomi responds, opening her mouth to grant him entrance.

She clings to him, grabbing all that her hands can. His shoulders, his neck, his soft t-shirt. She needs some sort of permanence to ground her to the moment and let her know that this isn’t a dream. It’s real.

Ethan’s hands move from her hips, aiming higher until they’re under her sweater. His fingers burn, and he’s not sure if his brain is playing tricks on him because he’s consumed quite a few glasses of wine, or if the feel of her skin has that effect on him. Whatever the case, he welcomes the white-hot sensation, greedily searching for more surface area. Finally he settles on her back, his hands running around her spine, making her shudder.

They only pull apart because the need to breathe is much stronger than their desire to stay joined. But it doesn’t last long, as Naomi quickly kisses him again.

“I’ve missed you,” she confesses when she pulls away. Ethan notes the vulnerability in her eyes as she comes to rest her forehead against his. “I’ve missed this.”

“I’ve missed you too. You have no idea how much.”

She bites her lip in contemplation and Ethan swears it might be his favorite sight. “Please tell me this is real. Tell me you won’t wake up tomorrow and change your mind.”

Reluctantly, his hands drop from the small of her back. He uses one to tilt her chin up, forcing eye contact between the two. “I’m not going anywhere, Naomi.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

They kiss again, a softness filling them this time around. Her fingers pull at the hem of his shirt, tugging it, urging him to remove the piece of fabric.

��Naomi, stop,” Ethan orders gently. 

She breaks the kiss, confused. “What?”

“We need to stop,” Ethan pants heavily. His heart is beating erratically against his rib cage, and if she keeps kissing him like this, and touching him like this, he’s going to lose all of his will.

“What’s wrong?”

“If we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to stop myself from escalating this and taking you into my bedroom.”

Naomi shivers against him. “Is that a promise?”

“You have no idea. But I want us to take this slow. I want to do this right.”

“Oh yeah?” He can tell by the twinkle in her eye that she’s going to tease me. “Are you going to court me, old man?”

Ethan wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. She groans at the contact. “Call me old one more time, Rookie.”

Naomi is never one to back down from a challenge, but she doesn’t want to take things further knowing he wants to move slowly. “I think it’s sweet.”

“I just really don’t want to mess things up with you.”

“I don’t want to either.”

Naomi moves off of his lap, creating some distance. She smooths out her sweater, which is currently twisted around her midsection. 

She checks the time on her watch. “It’s getting late, I think I should go.”

“You don’t have to leave.”

“I know, but I think it’d be better for both of us if we ended things here. I don’t want to test your restraint any more.”

“Thank you. Do you need me to take you home?”

“I’ll call an Uber.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

Naomi quickly calls for a car using the app. They find their shoes, enjoying the comfort of each other’s presence. They hold hands the entire way down, sharing shy smiles and glances.

The air between the two of them feels so different now. Like a weight has been lifted off of both their shoulders, they revel in the newfound lightness and change in their relationship.

They stand in front of his apartment complex as they wait for her ride to arrive, their hands still joined together. It’s late at night, but the city is still lit up, and all of the lights reflect off of Naomi as she stares at her surroundings. Ethan clears his throat, gaining her attention.

“So I was thinking, how about we go out this weekend,” he suggests. “There’s a new exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts.”

“We agreed to date a few short minutes ago, and you already have a date planned.”

Ethan shrugs. “Well, I’ve had this evening planned out for the past 48 hours.”

Naomi smirks at him. “And you were just so sure I would say yes to you?”

“Call it a hunch.”

A car matching the description of Naomi’s rideshare pulls up along the curb. “This is my ride.”

Before she can open the car door, Ethan yanks her hand and spins her around. He kisses her again, his warm hand cupping her jaw. He pulls away quickly, leaving her breathless. “One more for the road. Call me when you get home, okay.”

“Of course.” Naomi smiles. “See you tomorrow, Ethan.”

“Goodnight, Naomi.”

She enters the car and Ethan watches as it drives off. He stands on the sidewalk for a long time after she’s gone, as if he’s still in a daze. The entire night feels surreal, and he almost can’t believe things worked out the way they did.

He knows one thing for sure: he’ll be forever grateful for his ability to cook.

[bibliocratic]

For @babtest, who asked for the prompt: Martin showing normal, genuine human anger.

Jon/Martin, set in a nebulous post-160 AU. Cws in the tags. 

“And if you want me to call – ”

“I know, I'll send a message.”

“And if you don't feel safe, or you want out of there, there doesn't have to be a reason – ”

“Jon.”

“I'll have the phone on me in case – ”

“Jon,” Martin snaps, and his voice is saw-toothed, edged with an irritation that serves as a defensive carapace to his nerves. “It's – it's fine, he's probably not going to be there anyway, this whole thing is going to be a waste, s-so would you please stop fussing, for – ” He releases a grunt of annoyance but tries to muster some calm, breathing with heavy huffing sounds. “I just need... this bloody Christ, this tie – ”

Martin's made a knot-eyed strangle-hold mess of it in his rush, and he tugs angrily at it, making it worse.

“Do you want me to – ?”

“No, I don't! Would you just let me do it! God forbid I be able to do it myself.”

Martin's voice raises to a shout that dips into a hollow of passive aggressive sniping. Jon stills, steps back from where he's been moving into Martin's space and crowding him, and tries not too feel too hurt, pushes down the knee-jerk cutting responses that will neither be helpful or deserved.

Martin tussles with the tie for a few more vicious seconds, his smart shirt having been tucked, untucked and re-tucked again and taking on a rumpled, disturbed pattern. He finally breathes out again, a heavy, weighted breath, closing his eyes. He takes a few calculated, noticeably deeper inhales and exhales that Jon recognises as the deep breathing his therapist taught him. Jon lets him tide through it.

“I'm sorry for snapping,” Martin says lowly, roughly. “I didn't mean – I'm not handling this very well. That's no reason to take it out on you.”

“Considering how many times I was short with you, you probably still have a surplus until we're even close to equal,” Jon replies, trying for levity. Martin wrings the abused tie miserably in his hands, and Jon wishes that this was easier, that this wasn't drawing out all of Martin's embedded poisons, his anxieties he's long laboured to conquer.

“Can you – Will you help? With the tie?” Martin says in a smaller voice, and Jon takes a step into Martin's unhappy orbit, and removes it gently from his hands.

“Of course,” he replies. “If you want to wear it. But you – Martin, you look good without it. And you hate ties.”

The last time he'd worn one was at his mum's funeral, Jon both knows and Knows. He hadn't been able to tie it then either.

“I want – ” Martin says, looking frustrated when the words don't come as easily as he desires. “It looks professional, yeah? Smart? I don't want to look – do I look like I'm, I dunno, trying too hard? It's – huh – it's only a cafe, right, not the bloody Ritz or something – will it, do you think it'll look too desperate?”

Jon touches Martin's arm with his hand. Martin's fidgeting with his shirt sleeves, the buttons at the cuffs, keeps tugging them down like he's worried they're not long enough. He twists and twists and twists his wedding ring and bleeds out nerves like a weather front stagnating in fog, and Jon selfishly wants him to cancel.

“You'll look fine,” he replies. “Smart, and put-together. And I'll think you look handsome, but that's by the by.” That coaxes Martin's lips to twitch. “But you don't... you don't have to wear it, if it's going to... if you're uncomfortable in it. Especially if you think not wearing it will make him disapprove or some nonsense.”

Martin huffs a sound that's the verbal equivalent of a long-suffering eye-roll.

“Spooky mind-reader strikes again, huh.”

“Fear my psychic powers,” Jon dead-pans, and Martin chuffs another one of those aborted half-laughs. Then, quieter, softer. “Want me to help with it?”

“I – I think I'll leave it,” Martin responds finally, with a nod to himself. “It's a Costa anyway, I'm just going to look like a hipster anyway in this shirt.”

“It's that and the beard,” Jon agrees, rubbing his hand at the thick scratchy weave of it until Martin bats his hand away with a 'get off you'. “Do you need your umbrella?”

“ 's only ten minutes down the road, should be alright.”

“You get caught in a downpour, it's your own fault.”

Martin's lips do actually quirk in a smile then, finding the grooves of their light-hearted bickering as a comforting oft-replayed melody.

“Your compassion  never ceases to astound me.”

“You didn't have to marry me.”

“Not like any one else was going to do the job.”

“How noble and public-spirited of you.”

Jon kisses Martin's lips briefly, raising himself up on socked tip-toes. Martin's hand slots into his, faintly trembling.

“Whatever you decide, I'll support your decision,” he says in the tight woven space of their bodies. “Even if this isn't what you want, or even if it is.”

Martin nods, and returns a dry, bristly kiss in return before he heads out.

It starts spitting with rain not a minute later.

-

Jon has not been blessed with an abundance of patience. Martin's meeting is at half two, but he checks his phone at obsessive intervals, watching the screen lighten and the clock on analogue mode work through the grinding seconds. In case Martin's changed his mind. In case he wants out, doesn't want to do this. In case he was stood up, or is sat alone because there was some problem with traffic, or, or, or.

Jon, half-heartedly, tries a great number of things to distract himself, and to avoid any instances of Knowing. After an hour, he's given channel-hopping a go – watching five minutes of a mid-afternoon western, and then ten minutes of a reality show about buying houses on the coast and renovating them. (Martin loves these types of programmes, and in the spirit of them is trying to doggedly renovate the front hall. Meaning that any time Jon wants to go to the front door, he has to pick his way over old blankets thrown down to protect the flooring from paint drips, Martin's small forest of tester pots and paint pots and drying brushes).

Martin's got a window seat – the window misted with condenseness, some child has imprinted a pudgy hand as a calling card – has ordered a mocha – over-sugared, tacky in his mouth, he regrets the choice immediately –

SHUT UP, Jon fumes at himself, and tries to read, manages a few pages before he's struck with the frisson of Martin's spiking anxiety every time the ding of the cafe door pipes up, and stomps into the kitchen to occupy his mind by making himself an unappetizing lunch that he doesn't even want to eat.

His phone remains silent. Jon fights the powerful urge to send a brief check-up message, a little everything going ok? but stops himself. Martin's going to have enough on his plate.

Jon frets and waits for him to come home.

–

There's the plaintive squeak of the front gate (Martin will need to oil it again), and Jon sits up from where he's been petting the cat and poorly playing one of Martin's hand-held console games. He's been on the same level for about an hour now, and stubbornness is preventing him from giving it up as a lost cause.

The pad of two footsteps.

“You've – the flowers are nice. That you've got growing.”

“Thanks. It's not really – it's more Jon than me.  He's pretty green-fingered.” The footsteps peter out. “So – er, well, this is me, heh. Close by.”

“Time really flew, huh.”

“Yeah. T-thanks for the, thanks for the coffee – ”

“Don't mention – ”

“ – and for the walk back – ”

“ – You can keep the umbrella, if you  – ”

“N-no, it's, it's fine.”

The conversation stalls and splutters like an engine with the wrong fuel. Jon's moved out into the hallway, the cat restless but demanding in his arms, and sees the blurred bulk of Martin's stiff shoulders in the frosted glass pane of their front door, set high like he's shoved his hands into his pockets.

Jon skirts around the paint pots to get nearer.

“So,” the other voice – and it's so similar, strikes the same gulleys and furrows, the stop-and-start of thoughts eking their way out into expression, and it wrong-foots Jon to hear it, the ill-matching echo of it. “I – I'll see you again? If you, that is – I really liked... It was good. To catch up, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, and he sounds wrung out, straining on some mental rack he's internalised. “It was. Yeah. It was good to see you.”

“You want to do coffee again, sometime?”

“I – er. Maybe. Maybe.”

The first fuzz of hurt creeps to moss over the over-eager nervousness of the other voice. “Oh. Er, yeah. S-sure. That's... it's not a problem. Why, why maybe?”

Martin's hackles go up defensively. “I'm not sure, alright?”

“Was everything ok?”

“I guess relatively?”

“What's that mean?”

“Relatively as in, it's been thirty years, there's a few things to iron out after all that. Hence the, y'know, the maybe.”

“Right,” comes the response. “I am – you know I am trying here.”

Martin's voice goes low and flat and judgemental.

“And how long until you lose interest this time?”

There's a punch of silence. The cat buts against Jon's chin. Through the vague blurring of the glass, Martin shifts in that way of his, when he says something he wishes he hasn't, but he makes no move to take it back.

Half beseeching, half reproachful: “That's not fair, Marty.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

“It's Martin,” Martin replies, blistering with something bubbling to the forefront. “It's Martin, not Marty. I'm not – I'm not a child any more, so you can just – just drop that.” He scoffs a breath, and it's hard and hurt and deliberate. “And no, it wasn't fair. But neither was you leaving. So guess we're equal.”

“I – I tried to explain,” the other man starts, a heat of his own starting to shade indignant.

“And it was bollocks – ”

“It's the truth!”

“It wasn't good enough!”

“Your mother, she was – ”

“She was ill! She was sick and you knew, you knew she was just going to get sicker, and so you cut your losses and you legged it.”

“It wasn't like that – ”

“I was eight!” Martin snarls, and there's no pausing in his words any more, no careful consideration, it's a scatter-gun of words he's had secured in his chest for a long time now. “What the fuck sort of parent leaves an eight year old in that sort of house, with that sort of responsibility? What the hell kind of a life did you think I'd have?!”

“She had – you had aunts and uncles! They were, nearby, they were always cluttering up the house, popping round. I thought – I thought if, when she got really bad, they'd take you in!”

“She cut everyone out! What a stupid – you knew her! She hated anything that felt like pity, she was proud and she didn't want anyone to see her as she got worse. You think she'd have accepted someone implying she couldn't care for her son? No.  And eventually it was – it was only us, and you know what, she hated me for it. Because I looked so much like you! Because everything I did, everything I ever did was just a reminder of how much she hated you for leaving.”

“I didn't – ” The response is regret-mired, apologetic, but Martin doesn't want to hear it. “I couldn't have known that...”

“No,” Martin replies, his voice all venom and hurt. “But it's not like you checked, did you? Pop in, see how I was doing.  A visit o-or a letter in the post, o-or something! Christ, you didn't even come to the bloody funeral!”

“I.. No one told me! I found out she'd... she'd passed about a month back. I swear, Marty – Martin, sorry. I swear, I didn't know.”

“And now here you are.”

“I wanted to – I wanted to make amends! To be a better, a better father to you.”

“I'm nearly forty, dad,” Martin snipes unkindly, his throat thick. “What makes you think I need you now?” He sniffs, his words damper than he'd like. “Thirty years is a long time to wait to try and play happy families again.”

“Martin, I. Look, I had a lot of problems. Back then. For a long time. I'm not saying them as an excuse – ”

“Then don't say them,” Martin cuts him off. “I don't – I don't want to hear them. I... just. Don't.”

The conversation dies abruptly. There's a horrible, terminal sort of quiet to it.

“I'm going to go,” Martin says, his tone sanded down to quiet exhaustion. “I've got – Jon'll be waiting and I – I can't do this any more.”

“Right,” Kenneth Blackwood replies with an equal tone. “I'm staying, I'm nearby if you want to – I hope to see you again, Martin.”

Martin doesn't reply. Jon has enough warning of the looming shadow in the door to skitter back as Martin uses his key to twist the lock open.

His face is ruddy, splotchy with patches of red. His eyes wet.

“Guess you heard some of that, yeah?” he bites out bitterly on seeing Jon, tugging off his coat.

“Some,” Jon admits honestly, and Martin shakes his head like he's trying to knock something loose, throws his coat over the banister head, pulling off his scarf and balling it up and chucking it in the corner by the door like it's wronged him.

“What a fucking – It was a mistake, I knew I knew it was a bad idea, me and my stupid bloody – playing the bleeding heart idiot again as per fucking usual.”

“Did it, did go badly?” Jon asks, putting the cat down and skirting the edges of Martin's return, watching him pull off his shoes unlaced and slam them into the shoe pile into the corner.

“Absolutely fabulous!” he responds with a false bitter cheer that tinges yellowed and sick. He's not calming down. His hand threading through his hair, his face continuing to redden with an angry heat, eyes welling up. “He's so bloody sincere and apologetic and what the – what am I supposed to do with that now? Where were all his sorries then, where was he when I wanted to hear them?”

Martin plows on, clearly not wanting answers.

“A-and he was so interested, wanted to see our wedding pictures, and kept asking so so many questions like it was a job interview or something – what are you doing? What do you like doing? What are your hobbies? How long have you and Jon been together? – a-and, like, I couldn't help thinking that it's none of his – he wasn't there, he doesn't get to be all friendly like he didn't just walk out. And! And then!” Martin's voice rises to a furious damp crest, throwing his hands about. “Then he wants to share! He had pictures on him and his new wife and new kids – a-and mum, she always, she always said he hadn't wanted a family, hadn't wanted to be a dad, didn't want the responsibility that'd fall on him when she got sick. But he was so happy! So I don't – what am I meant to think of that? I don't know, I mean, was it lies she told me, how much was the truth, and how much did she twist like she did everything else?”

 Martin sniffs loudly. “He got married a year after he left mum, and they're still together. His other kids are finishing uni or they've got cushy jobs in the financial district, and h-he was showing me and he sounded so... god, he was so proud of them.” Martin wipes at his eyes. “S-so that's, that's just great.”

“Martin...” Jon starts, despairing, listening to the croak in his voice, the way it keeps catching, the hitching jagged rise of his breathing.

“No. No, don't you get it, it's clear as fucking crystal. Because he wanted a family, yeah, he wanted kids he could dote on and take to the park and play football with. He just didn't want me, did he? And what the hell was s-so wrong with me?! I wasn't – I wasn't a bad kid, I was quiet and I kept out of trouble, and there's no, no reason he couldn't have taken me with him when he left. S-so what was so wrong with me?” Martin's shoulders are starting to shake. “Why – why wasn't I enough for him?”

Jon surges in as Martin bursts into angry bitter tears. Sobbing into Jon's jumper, fisting his hands into the hem of it, repeating snatches of recrimination and confusion over and over. Jon tries to tell him that he's enough, that he's always been enough, that he's so so loved, but Martin can't hear over his own hitching breaths, the sea swell of his grief.

Jon just holds him and waits for the tide to go out.

–

The doorbell rings around nine o'clock, and Jon Knows who's at the door.

Martin stirs under the twisted covers with a questioning noise, but Jon shushes him.

“It's the postman,” he lies. “I'll get it.”

Martin hums.

“Put the kettle on?” he asks sleepily, as though he won't be back snoring in a minute. Jon promises he will regardless, manoeuvring himself out of the heat-packed bed and Martin's loose grip, slipping on his slippers and a shirt.

He opens the door with his most imperious of gazes already set on his face.

Martin is there. Or, a man uncanny in resemblance. He shifts his weight from foot to foot like Martin does, has the same nervous twitch in the flutter of his hands. His skin is more weathered, maybe, has built up a collection of lines Martin hasn't sourced out just yet, a further progression to the receding hairline that's beginning to retreat back at Martin's temples.

“I – um, is Martin in?”

“Yes.”

“Can – would I be able to – ?”

“No,” Jon replies. “He's still asleep.”

It's taken for the denial it's meant to be. Kenneth Blackwood makes an 'oh, right' with the same ringing nervous cast to his movements that Martin had when he first came to the Archives.

“It's...” he starts tentatively, and politely does not have his gaze stray too long on the scars on his hand, his face, his throat.  “It's Jon, isn't it?”

“Jonathan Blackwood,” he responds, feeling the odd need to stake the territory here. “I'm Martin's husband.”

“Oh!” Kenneth replies, a little surprised “That's... that's good. I didn't know you took his name when you got.... That's... that's great.”

“It's a good name,” Jon responds, and his father gives a sad, crooked look.

“Not sure Martin would agree with you.”

“It's not my place to comment,” Jon counters, and Kenneth nods and replies with a: “Yeah. No, no, you're right.”

The cat has come up to the door out of curiosity and nudges at the back of his legs before deciding to stay indoors. Jon clears his throat, feeling the nip of early morning under the thin cotton of his nightwear.

“I wanted to – ” Kenneth Blackwood starts. “I wanted to apologise. I didn't keep a cool head yesterday, and he – he deserved my honesty, not my defensiveness.”

Jon gives nothing else, and Kenneth Blackwood continues, clearly grateful for the conversational opening.

“Look, I'm – I have to head back today. I live up near Preston these days. But I hoped – Can I leave my number? I know I shouldn't have pushed so hard. It was a lot to expect. He doesn't...” He makes a half-sigh. “Martin doesn't have to call. I won't contact him again, if that's what he wants. I just – I'm there. If he wants to give me the chance to get to know him again. But if he doesn't.... I understand.”

Jon takes the piece of card offered.

“I'll give it to him,” he says, firmly but not unkindly, and then gives a nod. “Drive back safe, Mr Blackwood.”

He takes it for the dismissal it is meant to be, and he returns the nod. Shoves his hands in his pockets to stave off the chill of the morning as he leaves.

Jon closes the front door with an unobtrusive click, pockets the card he was given. Pauses for a moment, listening to the lull of the house, the rumble of snoring upstairs. Then he makes his way past pots and paintbrushes into the kitchen to make Martin a cup of tea.

[katsukikitten]

Lol, can you write a Bakugou x anxious reader who has anxiety to the max and they have to go out into the snow and he gives his big winter coat and she feel fucking invincible. She has a cocoon of protection from worldly anxiety. A big warm weight that smells nice. And now he's straight up struggling to get it back after the school because now she won't take it off. (I really just called myself out with this request. My dad gave me his heavy coat and I feel so safe and calm and wow.)

I got you bb

You open the door to the dorms to be met with ankle deep snow. You freeze in your tracks, long enough that the rest of 1A begins to rush past you in a blur of light curses, chattering teeth and laughter. None look back as you shrink in on yourself, debating on skipping class as your blood roars in your ears.

It was too fucking cold and the cold did nothing to soothe your forever frayed nerves. Suddenly a heated weight is placed over your shoulders while the sweet smell of burning sugar floods your nostrils. You subconsciously breath deeply as the tension leaves your body, only to return when a gruff voice bites out.

"Oi, get your ass moving or we'll be late."

You trudge behind him walking in his foot steps all the way to school.

Once the two of you arrive you settle deeper into the oversized black canvas jacket, scarlet eyes debate over whether to take it back or not.

But the longer he stares as his jacket swallowing you up the cuter you become. He sucks his teeth deciding to allow you to have it for the day.

The hours stretch longer than the lectures before lunch is finally here.

You sigh thankful that Sensi did not call on you for any questions today, however his deft eyes didn't miss your straighter than normal posture.

The top to your bento comes off with a pop catching the attention of the snoozing Denki behind you. He notices the array of choices and the little hot dog octopus.

"Oh Y/LN, your bento looks amazing." He all but drools as she leans over your shoulder, "Maybe I should make you my s/o so you'll make me lunches like this."

He reaches over as if to take from your lunch. Normally this would send pricking needles through your veins fusing you to the spot all the while embarrassment would bloom beneath your skin in harsh tons of red.

But as if his attitude were contagious, you turn to Denki, popping off at the mouth with a surprising yell that attracts a bored hot head.

"The fuck are you doing?" A dark snarl as the weight of the jacket and the smell of sugar baits your anger, "Keep your grubby hands off my bento. Tch as if I would ever date someone as greedy as you."

The room is stunned into silence while the ash blonde smiles wickedly.

Class returns to normal, the demon asking what if fades to the back of your mind, hushed into silence from the weight of this impossibly warm jacket. Sensei asks a difficult question that you get right away.

You wait for Momo, Bakugou or even Izuku to answer, head turning on a swivel. And when no one pipes up you raise your hand confidently. Scarlet eyes widen.

"Ah." Aizawa smiles as he begins to connect the dots, finally realizing whose jacket you're donning, "Y/LN, if you please."

"347 or if you'd rather I not round Sensei 346.768 feet until he'd run out of fuel."

"Very good." He writes the answer on the board as your spine becomes stick straight.

The day fades into afternoon as the bell rings out freedom. Denki is careful to avoid you as he slips silently from the room.

The others threat one another for a snow ball fight, as you collect your things to be join the throng of the group for once. But as they near closer the exit the more your courageous acts catch up with you. You snuggle deeper and the thoughts become quieter. A smile forms on your lips until Kirishima speaks.

"Bakugo, you'll be on my team for the fight right?"

"Yea yea I fucking guess. I just gotta get something first. Start the snow ball making you idiot." He snarls back shoving his friend to get going.

Then the voice seems to scream. Lauging as it replays how it all could have gone wrong. The answer could have been off, you had done the calculation in your head or Denki could have shocked you for being so rude. All of the what ifs push to the forefront of your mind while the snow covered ground blurs. Tears slip past thick lashes as you think of Bakugou needing his jacket back.

"Oi. After the walk back to the dorms I'm gonna need..." The sentence dies in his throat as he watches untapped tears stream openly down your face. He pulls you with a grimace to a darkened hallway, pressing you against the wall to hide your tears from others.

"What's wrong?" The heat of his palms reach you through the thick fabric of his jacket.

Silence stretches between the two as he is patient for once in his life.

"I...lo...love this jacket." Angry fingers wipe at pointless tears.

Angry from crying in front of your crush. Angry over the false bravado this jacket brought you and angry for being so childish about not wanting to give the it back.

Scarlet eyes begin to match scarlet cheeks that feign in difference.

"You can borrow it for as long as you like." He begins to think better of that indifference leaning closer to you. Noses almost touching as his mesmerizing caramel smell envelops you in warmth.

Comfort.

He kisses you roughly, strong hand crushing into your rib to keep himself in check before he pulls away. Smirking devilishly at your small smile as you nuzzle deeper into the jacket with burning red cheeks.

"But you have to promise to be mine."

[fanfics-only-for-me]

Call of the Void (Part 1)

Word Count: 1704

This is gonna be hella boring chapter cause I really just wanted to set the scene  I’m half done the next chapter so expect that soon.  This is my first time actually writing anything so some advice will be great ngl <3 

How are the Titans going to handle the reluctant new stray Dick picked up and what exactly is she running from?  Rose doesn't exist and Jeremiah is dead. Everything in the show is the same up to when they find Rose on the telly. Imma just swap her with y/n cause I'm a narcissist. Y/N is 18 nearly 19.  Don't @ me cause i know this is hella shite. Readers bi but I’m not certain if she’s gonna be romantically involved with anyone yet.

Coffee Drops

Dick's been trying to get Rachel to come out of her shell for the past few months.  Knowing about Rachel's struggle fitting in with her peers at school and the recent events surrounding her family, both biological and adopted, Dick deemed a routine would be best.  It would be a way for Rachel to feel at ease, and comfortable.  When Dick was initially adopted by Bruce back when he was young and struggling with his own family stress so to speak, he found that once he fell into an established pattern of behaviour, his mind would settle too.  Thus a routine was swiftly established.

The day would begin with light training as a group and then a small rest, a bit more training and finally breakfast.  During this early morning rest period, Garfield would head off to his room and play whatever game he was currently obsessed with.  Lately, it was some platform based game, Dick even gave it a go once but never got invested, perhaps he was a bit too old for this sort of stuff, either way, gaming definitely wasn't for him.  It wasn't for Rachel either.  She tried playing with Garfield one morning but as soon as her character died; she left leaving Garfield and the console alone.  Dick didn't like having Rachel alone for too long but he didn't want it to seem obvious and push her away. 

God knows what Jason does during his downtime, and judging by what was found on the batcomputer, Dick doesn't want to know. 

Thus birthed their new routine: every morning they'd head off to get coffee together, changing shops every couple days due to Dick's paranoia-fueled habits, Rachel is still a missing person after all.  Dick began to enjoy these coffee trips with Rachel.  He doubted he would ever have kids of his own, especially after Dawn and himself ended.  He did enjoy this feeling though; being Rachel's confidant and support, her father-figure so to speak.  He felt the same towards Garfield but not as intense as with Rachel.  

It was on one of these coffee trips that he noticed something strange.  They were at a new coffee shop, the place had a retro yet Cool Kidz vibe to it, filled with guitars, records, and exclusively old looking wooden furniture abundant with those circle stains you only get if your coffee cup leaks a bit.  

"Got a triple venti mocha for Rochelle and a small coffee for Dirk" 

"Dick"

"Excuse me?"  

"Oh, uh... never mind."  Dick grabbed the two drinks from the counter feeling a fair bit uncomfortable with the barrister's annoyed gaze directed at him. 

"Here", Dick said handing the mocha to Rachel.

"Nice." laughed Rachel before heading towards the sugars with Dick following close behind.

"So have you put any thought into our name?" asked Rachel taking a sip of her drink

"What do you mean?"

"Ugh," Rachel grunted placing her drink on the small counter. 

"Well, you, Hawk, Dawn, and Donna were the Titans," she reasoned reaching for the sugar jar and tilting the sweet crystals into her drink, "So, what are we? The New Titans? Titans 2.0?"

"Titans: The Next Generation?" Dick jokingly offered.

"You're not helping" dismissed Rachel as she finally placed the sugar back down.

"Look, Rach, it doesn't matter what you're called.  It matter's what you do.  We're training for whatever's next." he reassured her.

"There's never a shortage of people out there who wanna screw things up for the rest of us." he continued, "You know what they say, 'All it takes for evil to succeed-"

"-is good men and women to do nothing." Rachel interrupted after licking the stir and throwing it in the bin.  She's heard the same speech from Dick countless times by now.  It seemed as though this little motivational speech of his was more so for himself than anyone else.  To convince himself that this wasn't for nothing; he wasn't chasing the shadow of his own past glory, but instead carving a new, brighter path for his current family.

"That's right."  said Dick turning to leave, "Good men and women not doing nothing."

"You could put that on a t-shirt, Dick," Rachel muttered following after him.

"Maybe I should," Dick scoffed, reaching the door and holding it open for her.

Dick got caught for a minute in the doorway as a few others took the opportunity to slip through the generously opened door.  After a few of those awkward smile things and some "you're welcomes" later, Dick finally got away from the door and headed towards Rachel.  The car was a few meters away from the shop's entrance, parked beside a ‘50′ speed limit sign.  Once Dick clicked the doors open Rachel immediately plonked herself down in the passenger's side spilling a bit of her mocha on the concrete below.  Dick's eyes glanced at the drops splattering on the ground before taking a step towards the driver's side door. 

It took a second for his mind to process what his eye's caught, but when it did, Dick looked back down towards the coffee drops.  Working as a detective for a number of years, Dick could easily pick out the small puddle of blood on the concrete.  Dick ran over last nights news in his head, no shoot-outs or other violence that could explain how it got here.  It definitely wasn't old, less than 12 hours judging by the still red pigment yet it wasn't fresh seeing as it wasn't disturbed by the early morning foot traffic meaning it had to of dried before rush hour.  It happened last night.  Looking around the area for anything that might help explain things, Dick noticed the blood on the signpost next to him.  It was quite low down, a few smudges of blood on the pole resting near his knee.  Bending down to have a closer look, Dick noticed the small groves; definitely a hand print.

"Dick?" called Rachel, leaning out of the now rolled down window.

"One minute, I'm just checking something."

Dick quickly gave a once over on the ground surrounding him, checking to see if there was some sort of trail hinting towards the injured person's route.  9 am on a weekday: the street was crowded.  He could barely see the ground but even so, Dick thought he should at least see something, the start of a trail at least.  They probably got into a car Dick concluded straightening up. 

'This is a busy enough street with a lot of businesses,' Dick reasoned with himself looking up towards the buildings CCTV cameras, 'a lot of them would have caught something.'

"Dick?" Rachel queried again.

"Coming," Dick said hopping into the car before pulling out onto the street.

"What were you looking at?" Rachel asked.

"I don't know yet, maybe nothing," Dick replied, "Maybe something, I'll double check when we get home."

Rachel rolled her eye's a bit at the "home" part but seemed satisfied nonetheless.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Once they got back to the Tower, Dick and Rachel walked together towards the training room.  Rachel was supposed to continue training with the others and Dick needed to pass by the training room to get to the computers.

"Fuck man!" shouted Jason. 

They're fighting again.

"You said don't hold back." defended Garfield.

"What were you fucking doing?  I was fucking blindfolded" continued Jason.

"You said, 'Don't hold back.'" Garfield quoted rather annoyed as Rachel and Dick came round the corner.  

"Should I get the hose?" joked Rachel prancing over towards Gar.

"What's going on?" Dick asked the two.

"We did what you said, the blindfold thing, and then he went nuts on me." complained Jason.  

"He said 'Don't hold back.'" Gar quoted for the third time that minute.

"Then why do we even learn to fight like this, man?" Jason complained again.

Dick knew that Jason wasn't settling into the tower like the other two but unlike Garfield and Rachel, Jason was here to train.  

Jason didn't like the Titans tower, he thought it would be more intense like with Rachel's father but this assumption was quickly cut down.  Training in some way or another every day and never actually going out and using what he learnt only caused his anger to boil with no escape for the steam except through his words.  Verbally fighting and arguing at the slightest irritation was his only outlet so he did it every chance he got.

"Hey, it's idiotic." continued Jason heading closer to Dick, "We have eyes."

"In battle, anything can be taken from you." Dick addressed the group stepping forward. 

"You're hands," Dick accentuated this by twisting the fake sword from Jason's hand.

"You're feet..," Dick stabbed the training mat between Gar's feet.

"And you're eyes." Dick was now looking down the dull edge of the wooden sword towards Rachel's face. 

"No matter what is taken, you must be able to keep fighting." Dick lowered the sword and turned towards the other two, "And win. All right get changed, I'll be busy for a few hours so no attack scenarios this morning.  Go have breakfast."

"Yo, look, it's been three months man," Jason said to Dick, "When do I get to go back to Gotham City?"

"Bruce doesn't think you're ready, and neither do I" Dick explained, "Look, man, you blew your privileges."

"What?"

"The Batmobile joyrides, the motorcycle on the staircase." Dick continued.

"I was practising my tactical manoeuvres." Jason tried to reason.

"And those websites you bookmarked?  You know that's not what the batcomputer's used for."

The two argued back and forth before Dick tried a different approach.

"Okay, look, here's the thing," Dick began, "I could actually use some help with the others.  They don't have the experience you have."

"Yeah. Yeah, for sure."

"Have you notice how they sort of look up to you?  Follow your lead?" Dick asked,"When you're on point, they're on point.  When you're not?"

"It's true" Jason smirked.

"They need your leadership, Jason... I'm not Robin anymore.  You are." Dick patted Jason Shoulder as he began heading off towards the tech room. 

"Hey wait," called Jason, "If I'm Robin...Who are you?"

"That's a good question."

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[good-doctor-imagine]

Scar » five

four // six

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Reader

Summary: Some shenanigans at the Loser’s sleepover leads to the discovery of your soulmate.

Word Count: 2400+

Warning(s): swearing, a sexual comment, not proofread

It was the weekend before school officially started, before you and Richie had to stop playing at the arcade continuously, before the losers had to stop everything in their lives to do homework or study. Taking this as their last opportunity to do something fun together, the losers decided to have a sleepover. You weren’t technically invited at first, which really didn’t bother you, but Beverly convinced the rest of the losers to let you go as well. The guys didn’t really mind, you were quickly becoming part of the group anyway. Plus, all of the other losers were convinced that there was something going on between you and Richie and thought this would be the perfect opportunity to expose you two.

Beverly’s plan was different. She knew that you had a scar on your hand but she swore that she wouldn’t look for your soulmate. Beverly would never break your promise, but a selfish part of her wanted to understand her own soulmate’s scar. When she noticed a couple of months ago that her own scar blended in with her soulmate’s, her heart stopped. She knew it was one of the losers because she obtained both of them on the same day. Beverly hoped that she could eliminate some possibilities through you finding out who your soulmate was. However, she wasn’t going to go against her word and deliberately seek out the scar that matched yours, she was hoping that it would come more naturally.

You, of course, were clueless about this. You were excited to spend the night with the losers but also a bit nervous given that you were only one of the two girls attending. You trusted the boys and knew that they would do anything to cross the line but you never spent more than an afternoon with all of them before. Just from those afternoons, you knew their dynamic was a bit… rambunctious. It could get very wild very quickly and you wondered if you’d ever get sleep that night. There were two people in the group that would intervene if it ever became too uncontrollable. Mike was the person who put most of the losers in place and sometimes Stanley would help too. However, two people trying to calm down five other people was not too promising in your eyes. Before you left your house, you waved your sleep goodnight and headed to Bill’s house, ready for an all-nighter with permanent markers and warm water.

When you arrived, everyone was there except for Eddie who strolled in shortly after you with red cheeks and a sweaty forehead. “Sorry guys, I had to do the dishes before I left.”

“Aww, mommy made you do the dishes?” Richie sang with a proud smirk on his face.

“Shut up Richie, at least I know how to do the dishes. You’d probably break ten plates before you would successfully clean one.”

Richie was going to bite back at Eddie but was interrupted by Bill who sat in the living room in front of his TV. “S-So,” He started, hands pulling out some VHS tapes from his TV stand, “W-What movie do w-w-we want t-t-to watch f-first?”

Beverly made her way over to Bill and crouched next to him, eyes drifting over the tapes that he pulled out.

“Really? I came here to have some fun, not watch some lame ass movies all night.” Richie whined.

Bill didn’t respond to Richie, instead, he seemed too focused on the girl next to him. His eyes were not moving from her, only moving slightly as Beverly comfortably sat on the floor.

“Okay,” Mike spoke up, “So what should we do instead?”

“Hide and seek?” Ben suggested, his eyes shifting between Bill and Beverly.

“No offense Ben but that game is for sissies,” Beverly smiled, “How about truth or dare?”

“Hell no!” Eddie hollered, “Richie would make me do something like lick the toilet seat or something. There is no way in hell we’re playing that game.”

“You could pick truth,” You responded, although no one seemed to hear you.

“Maybe we could play seven minutes in heaven?” Richie beamed, eyebrows wiggling as he looked at Bill almost like he knew something.

“Beep beep Richie,” Stanley interjected, closing his eyes as he let out a sigh of defeat.

“C’mon Stan, you’re just mad because you can’t get any-”

“OKAY!” Mike once again spoke up, being the mediator of the group. “How about we start with something easy, like a board game or something?”

“Board games?” Richie was quick to jump in, “What are we- eight?”

“You just say that because you know you can’t win a game,” You teased, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You’re going to regret that sugar,” Richie threatened before turning towards Bill, “Do you have Monopoly?”

“U-Uh, I th-think so,” Bill responded, head snapping from Beverly to Richie. In an almost robotic fashion, Bill stood up from his position next to Bev and traveled to his basement door, hand hesitation before he turned the doorknob to walk in.

It had been a few hours since you started the game, deciding to play with partners so everyone could participate. You were happy that you chose Mike as your partner. Not only did he calculate the decisions you made, but he would also calm you down whenever Richie would try to rile you up. He often made the smart decisions to use your money wisely rather than using it all at once like Richie tried to pressure you to. In the end, you and Mike were the ones that ended with the most money while Richie and Eddie found themselves in third, right behind Bill and Stanley.

“What the fuck?” Richie cursed when Eddie told him how much money he counted. “Are you bad at math or something? Let me see.” Even though Richie recounted the money that was on their side, they still ended up losing.

“Told you you’d be a sore loser,” You sent Richie a teasing smile while patting Mike on the shoulder.

Although Richie was normally quite playful, his response to you was fueled by his competitive nature and underlying humility. “It’s okay because you were riding Mike’s di-”

“I-I-I’m going t-to m-ma-make some popcorn,” Bill spoke before Richie could finish his comment, his face pink as he left the room.

“I’ll come help!” Beverly called after, rushing to go to the kitchen, not noticing Ben’s face fall when she left his side. Of course, Ben tried to cover it up before anyone noticed but you caught him.

“Are you okay, Ben?” Your voice was quiet so you wouldn’t attract the other’s attention.

Richie scoffed at you as he pushed his glasses further up his nose. Eddie rolled his eyes at his best friend, knowing that Richie was staring at you the entire time.

“Oh so now you care about people?” Richie complained, tilting his head roughly to the side making his glasses droop again.

“I only care for people who aren’t assholes like you,” You shot back, your mind completely shifting away from Ben. Ben felt a bit out of place, not sure whether to answer your question anymore.

“Bitch,” Richie shot back, successfully angering you.

“You want to fight?” You shot up, jokingly taking steps to Richie.

Mike put his arm in front of you to make distance between the two of you, once again calming down the situation. “How about we set up for a movie before the popcorn gets cold,” He stated, not even leaving room for comments.

You walked to Bill’s couch, trying not to pay attention to Richie as you walked around him. Plopping onto the furthest side of the couch, you let yourself sink in as you got comfortable. Richie whined again, stomping over to stand in front of you with the corners of his lips pulled down.

“That’s my spot.” Richie stood so close in front of you that you had to pull up your feet so that you wouldn’t touch him. Eddie shook his head and rolled his eyes before sitting next to you, crossing his legs in front of him.

“Really?” You feigned sympathy, leaning forward to look behind you. When you turned around, there was a proud look on your face. “I don’t see your name on it.”

“You can sit on the floor with me,” Ben offered, taking a seat on the carpet.

Instead of fighting, Richie grumbled and took a seat in front of Eddie, making it a point to glare at you.

Sometime in the middle of the movie, you began to notice Richie and Eddie conversing quietly next to you. Eddie was crouched over while Richie leaned up, whispering into his ear causing Eddie to start giggling. To mute himself, Eddie covered his mouth with his palm. When you made eye contact with Eddie your face was contorted in confusion, eyes squinted at him as if you were trying to decipher what they were talking about.

Richie, being the loudmouth asshole he is, sent you a glare and spoke despite the movie that was playing. “What are you looking at, sugar?”

“I could ask you the same question,” You quickly quipped, sending Richie your own nasty look.

“Will you just shut up?” Stanley’s voice boomed from the other side of the room. The glow from the TV allowed you to see part of his face when he rolled his eyes and begrudgingly looked back at the screen.

Although you wanted to say it wasn’t your fault, you just crossed your arms and leaned back into the couch, eyes avoiding Richie and Eddie at all costs. To your surprise, Richie didn’t respond either and turned his attention back to the movie.

Eddie and Richie didn’t try to talk to each other for the rest of the movie. Only after Bill turned the lights on and everyone else started talking about the plot of the movie did they continue their secret conversation. With Eddie and Richie being between you and the rest of the losers, you were bound to get annoyed and a bit suspicious of their whispering and giggling. You didn’t hold back from the hard looks you made sure to shoot at them as you tried to pay attention to everyone else but them.

All of that was thrown out of the window when Eddie just about pounced on you, making you paralyzed from the waist. As you tried to maneuver his body off of you, Richie lunges for your feet, fingers dancing across the bottoms causing you to jump and start to kick.

“W-What are you doing?” You rushed out, the rest of your air lost from your laughter. Richie was giggling as well, telling Eddie to keep his hold despite your protests. He was determined in getting payback for telling him off and what was a better way than making you laugh until you cry?

As you were flailing your limbs around, the heel of your right foot caught the ground and dragged against the floor, pulling your sock from your foot. Noticing this, Richie reaches out for it, knowing that it would be more sensitive than the other with no barrier in between. When he got close, however, he froze. Your movements didn’t stop, your foot swinging up and hitting him in the face, kicking him backward.

Feeling your foot connect with something, you instantly cursed and put all your force into pushing Eddie off of you and onto the cushion beside you.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry,” You apologized, clambering to the floor in front of Richie. His eyes were wide and unfocused and his face was pale.

Your hand reached towards his face, where there was a growing red mark from your foot colliding with it. Before you could touch it, Richie flinched away, shaking his head. You were surprised, Richie was never one to move away from you.

“Are you okay?” You asked with a more serious tone, afraid that the force of your hit was a bit more powerful than you realized.

Richie was in shock, his mind trying to replay what he just saw. He remembered the time back at the quarry when he swore he saw a line at the bottom of your foot but he convinced himself that it was just him imagining things. Now that he saw it again, he was having trouble denying it. There was no way that his brain could be tricking him again.

“What is that thing on the bottom of your foot?” Richie asked when he found enough courage.

“The bottom of my foot?” You shook your head, beginning to believe that you did hit his head too hard. You glanced at the sole of your foot before focusing your attention back on your injured friend. “Are you talking about my scar?”

Richie didn’t respond, his breath leaving him once again. Now he could confirm that it wasn’t just his mind playing tricks on him.

“W-Wait what?” Eddie peered at you. His face was a bit red from the roughhousing just a minute prior. He knew about Richie’s soulmate mark, as well as Stanley and Bill. They were the only people to know other than Richie’s parents.

“Uhh, I-I think we s-sh-should leave th-them alone,” Bill spoke up, leading most of the losers to the kitchen. Eddie didn’t listen to him so Bill just grabbed his arm and pulled him along.

Your mind was completely perplexed at the situation that was unfolding. You had no clue why Bill wanted you and Richie to be left alone, or why Richie was so quiet.

After a few more moments of silence, you decided to question Richie again. “Richie, what’s going on?”

The curly-haired brunette swallowed, his mouth feeling dry. “How did you get that scar on your foot?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and throw a tantrum. You just wanted to know what was going on, not talk about the scar you’ve had since you were little.

Begrudgingly, you decided to tell him anyway. “I was pretty energetic when I was two and didn’t listen to my parents when I stepped on some glass.” You were expecting for Richie to follow up after, but he just nodded his head, eyes wandering off and glazing over as if he was lost in his head. You started to get annoyed, starting to feel dumb from not understanding what was happening. “Richie, what the hell is going on?”

He, of course, did not answer your question. Instead, he avoided it by asking a question of his own. “Do you have any other scars?”

“Yeah, Richie,” You scoffed, letting yourself roll your eyes, “I have one on the palm of my hand. Now tell me what the fuck is happening.”

Once again, Richie failed to answer your question. His hands took a hold of your left, forcefully turning it around so your palm was facing the ceiling, revealing the scar that formed a few weeks earlier.

“Holy shit,” Richie swore under his breath, eyes not leaving your palm.

“What, Richie?” You snapped. Just as you were retracting your hand, Richie took his left hand and flipped it over, uncovering a scar that was identical to yours.

“Holy shit.”

six

Masterlist

[contreparry]

For DA Drunk Writing! Locked in a Room + Love Confessor (Character A confessing their love for Character B to Character C)  

Sure thing! Here’s some Cullen/Inquisitor, but Cullen’s confessing to Vivienne who has locked him in a room for reasons @dadrunkwriting! This got a lot longer than I thought it would, I am so, so sorry.

“So. You and Enchanter Trevelyan have been on friendlier terms of late,” First Enchanter Vivienne, Madame de Fer, remarked. She said it as if she were commenting on something as trivial as the weather, but Cullen heard the reproof in her voice. She said Enchanter Trevelyan, not Inquisitor, a reminder of who they were, their histories, their- he breathed in deeply and took a sip of coffee. He tried to take solace in the bitter drink, tried to fortify himself for the conversation to come.

“Yes, Madame. We have found some common ground,” Cullen said. Vivienne raised her delicately arched eyebrows and set her own cup and saucer on the table. The silence was more unnerving than a thunderclap. He could feel her judging him, dark brown eyes raking his face, his posture, every twitch and nervous tic until he was no longer a full grown man with years and years of experience on his shoulders. No, in First Enchanter Vivienne’s parlor Cullen Stanton Rutherford felt like, was, a fumbling new recruit going on his first patrol. In a word, he was nervous.

“Is that what we call it nowadays? Finding common ground?” she finally asked. Cullen repressed the urge to shrug and searched for the proper words to convey everything he felt without giving too much away. Blast, this was why he kept away from the Maker cursed Orlesian politics! The Great Game was a headache inducing nightmare!

“We are allies. Forming friendships is natural when we work in close quarters,” Cullen said quietly. “As it turns out, Inquisitor Trevelyan and I have much in common, once we sorted through our differences.” There was a sameness of soul between them, Cullen thought, a sort of dogged determination that saw them through the worst and dragged them into better times. There was a certain pleasure to be found in pitting his mind and stubborn nature against hers- it was always a battle, but the kind where they both ended up the victors. And Evelyn’s laugh- Maker help him, he loved to hear it, to make her cackle until she was holding her stomach and wheezing for air. It seemed as if she had little laughter in her past and in the present, but if he could give her some good cheer to hold on to during these dark days- well, it was something worthy and good. It felt right.

“A dalliance here and there is all well and good, and I am certain Lady Montilyet and Leliana can spin this rumor to our advantage,” Vivienne continued, and while her tone remained light there was a sharpness there, an icy undertone that marked every word as a warning.

“After all. Star crossed, doomed love is quite the rage nowadays. You’ll gain quite a lot of sympathy, especially combined with your past, your family, and your good looks. Star-crossed by every standard. Truly impressive,” she added. “Mage and Templar. Nobility and farm boy. Warrior and, once again, Mage. And with the two of you being anything but subtle all of Thedas will know about your ‘common ground’ within a fortnight!” She never raised her voice above a polite murmur, but every word felt like a blow. Mage. Templar. Noble. Farm boy. For a brief moment shame coursed through him like a fire. Idiot! He shouldn’t have- it wasn’t proper, and Evelyn was a Mage and a noble and he was both everything she feared and not even close to her equal, and Vivienne was only pointing out the obvious- but no. No, Evelyn didn’t care about rank, and they were open and honest with each other (which was difficult, yes, but it was worth the effort), and if Evelyn were here she would stand up and walk out. And then work in the garden pulling weeds or something equally destructive.

“If we are done here I will take my leave, Madame de Fer,” he said abruptly, rising to his feet.

“You won’t. I locked the door,” Vivienne replied. “Unless you wish to risk the window? The ivy growing up may hold your weight if you were out of your armor. Sit down. Have a tea cake. Or a biscuit. Your coffee is getting cold.”

Cullen sat and glowered at her, but Vivienne seemed completely unaware of it. No, not unaware, but unaffected, which was somehow more irritating. He stared down at the three tiered plate holding delicate pastries and sandwiches, selected a lemon-cake dusted with sugar, and set it down on his saucer next to the now cool coffee.

“What is it you want, Madame?” he asked, and if his question was blunt and impudent Vivienne didn’t comment on it.

“Your intentions. Enchanter Trevelyan is not without friends here, Commander. And she has allies, even among those who disagree with her,” Vivienne said slowly. “She has no family who will speak for her. And so it is up to me.”

“To you?”

“I thought I would leave the matter to one of the others. Perhaps Leliana. She has a way with words. And knives. But in the end I took matters into my own hands. After all, I knew Evelyn when she was a mere apprentice,” Vivienne explained, and Cullen thought he heard fondness in her voice.

“She has a good heart, and was always looking for the best in people. And that remains, even after all this,” Vivenne waved her hand out towards the balcony, “this mess. For some reason she is determined to see the best in you, and I am equally determined to see that her heart remains intact when this is over and done with.”

“Excuse me?” It was no longer shame that burned in his gut, but anger. Rutherfords had tempers, as Mia always reminded him. Slow to come to anger, but the rage burned hot and strong when properly stoked. And Madame de Fer was only setting more fuel onto that fire. This business? Like he was just some head of cattle or sheaf of wheat? Like Evelyn was some bag of wool or bushel of apples to be bickered over at market? Like their whatever-it-was was some sort of temporary transaction? That sort of business?

“What. Are. Your. Intentions?” Vivienne asked. “You must have some, Commander. You aren’t one to go about without a battle plan.”

“I. Those are words for her ears. Not yours. Madame,” Cullen retorted. Vivienne only smiled, the corners of her mouth tight and her eyes narrow. They were at an impasse: Cullen would not speak, and Vivienne would not let him leave. Unless he leapt through the window and took his chances with the ivy.

“But if it eases your mind, I-” Cullen breathed in and wished, for one brief moment, that he had something to do with his hands. It felt foolish to let them dangle uselessly at his sides, and holding onto the coffee cup and tea cake seemed a dangerous proposition at the moment. He was angry enough that the tea cake would be crushed into crumbs in his hand, and the delicate porcelain wouldn’t fair much better.

“I care. I care a great deal, she’s-” he sighed, letting his breath out in a rush. “Words were never my strong suite, Madame. But I admire Evelyn greatly, and I want- I hope- that our time together gives her some comfort. Stability.”

“Like a chair,” Vivienne remarked, and Cullen laughed.

“If that is what you called it, in your day, then yes,” he replied, and he took the cup of coffee into his hands. “Exactly like a chair.”

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Love, Maybe? {40}

Chris Evans X Reader OFC Vixen Giovanni

Warning: Cursing, Heavy Angst

Word Count: 2.3K

Summary: After a night of drunkenness you wake up next to warm, hot as hell body, a migraine and no memory of the night before. When you come to realize that the hot body belongs to none other than Hollywood’s golden boy Chris Evans you freak out. As events unfold you become even more panicked to find out you got married in your drunken haze. What else is there to do but get it annulled, right? Before walking away, you share one more night of molten kisses and passion. Three years later you are still living with the repercussions of your brash decisions, but the surprises don’t stop there. The past has a way of coming back and have you questioning is this fate that you’ve been running from, hell could it have been love, maybe?

NOTE: **Italic texts is an inner Vixen thought. Bold Italic texts is an inner Chris thought. 

**Loosley Edited/Proofread**

**Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊❤❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 40: The Show Must Go On

-Vixen-

 “You may get knocked down fifty times but you better get up fifty-one, sugar.”

 Your grandmother’s words were the fuel for you that morning. You woke up before the sun rose and jogged five miles. Thankfully where you were staying was still private probably thanks to it being a gated community. You ran like your life depended on it, ran like someone was chasing you, ran like your very existence was threatened. When you were tired you pushed yourself, when you wanted to stop you forced yourself to keep going. On this run it was then you vowed to not let this new setback keep you down. You hadn’t gotten where you were today by letting punches keep you down.

 By the time you returned to shower the sun was up as was Ella. Your mother was in the kitchen preparing her breakfast. When you walked in she watched you, assessing if it was safe for her to begin.

 “Good morning mom.”

 “Good morning. Up early I see.”

 “Yep, early bird gets the worm, plus I have things to do,” you informed.

 “Here, have some oatmeal.” She put a bowl on the counter and waited for you to sit. Deciding it was smarter to appease then object you sat and plopped Ella beside you.

“Thank you.”

 You took a few bites and moaned. Ella joined in as well. Silence filled the kitchen, but you could hear the unspoken questions. You knew it was a matter of time.

“Vixen. How are you?” Her inquisitive tone held a deeper question, you could hear it.

 “I’m good.” It was a bold face lie and you knew she knew it. She didn’t acknowledge it though.

 “Vixen. How are you?” Flaring your nose you looked at her with a blank expression then smiled.

 “I’m good, mom.” You held her gaze and kept the smile on your face. She hummed then walked away. The clink of her heels on the floor stopped momentarily.

 “One day you’re going to have to stop lying to yourself. One day you will have to face your feelings. That day is nearing my precious girl.”

 She continued to walk, and you felt like she’d just uttered a curse on you. Shaking it off you focused on breakfast with Ella.

 After cleaning up the mess she’d made and given her a quick bath you checked messages that only had to do with work. you set up a meet with Kassius motivated to get back on track. You were not going to let this thing take over. You found the best outfit that screamed taking control and made your move to leave. As you were getting into your car Nex ran out to you with a tight hug.

 “What is this for?”

 “I’m here for you Vix, no matter what, no matter when. I am here. Just remembered that sometimes our strengths are also our weaknesses.” She placed a sweet kiss on your cheek and walked back inside. You glared at her back, that was not what you needed to hear right now. It was the last thing.

Sitting in front of Kassius forty minutes later neither of you spoke for several long minutes. He scrolled through his tablet with a pensive look on his face. A look that you couldn’t decipher. You couldn’t tell if he were angry, regretting his decision to bank on you, wishing he could nix the contract or what. Your leg began bouncing up and down as you flexed your finger bending it back and forth letting your joint pop in and out, these were your nervous ticks, ticks that you’d learned to control over the years but they flared up every now and then.

 Kassius sighed and flipped the cover of his tablet shut before he looked at you.

 “Eventful few days huh.”

 You busted out laughing. You shouldn’t have laughed; this was no laughing matter but laugh you did. A full minute passed where you heartily laughed. You felt like it had been weeks since you had when in fact it had been just a day or two. When you finally stopped Kassius still sat there with a small smirk on his face, but he looked like he wasn’t shocked.

 “I’m sorry. I have no idea why I laughed. This is not funny.”

 “It’s okay. I get it. The body’s response to stress can be humor. Perfectly normal, don’t worry about it.”

 You slowly breathed out and nodded.

 “How are you holding up? If I know anything about paparazzi they are relentless.”

 “You have no fucking idea.”

 “I’m fine, thank you.”

 “Are you really? From everything I’ve seen this is a big deal. This isn’t just some actor; this is Chris Evans,” he reiterated.

 You took in a shuddered breath and slowly let it out.

 “I would understand if you weren’t fine. I would understand if you were far from it.”

 “I’m--.”

 “Fine,” Kassius finished. He sighed and leaned closer on his desk.

 “Vixen, at this point we’re in this together. I need to know every surprise, everything to expect. This is your business I get it. I just don’t want any more surprises.”

 “I know. Kassius I didn’t know about this. It was just a shock to me as it was to you. I didn’t know we were still married. We met in Vegas got married drunk and the rest is everywhere,” you confessed.

 Kassius nodded and circled his thumbs.

 “I see. So our predicament is how do we move forward. Theoretically, they say no press is bad press so--.”

 “No, we’re not doing that. I see where you’re going and I’m gonna stop you there. I don’t want to use anything about him or this during this promo for the restaurant. We’re staying clear away from this.”

 Kassius studied you for a few moments then nodded and leaned back in his chair. “Okay. You have my word we won’t use this.”

 You nodded and breathed a sigh of relief.

 “We won’t use it but because it is already everywhere there is no way around it. they know who you are, they know what is happening. They will be around. We won’t play it up but that doesn’t mean there won’t be any association.”

 You understood. He meant that the paparazzi would use it and not necessarily be kind or gentle.

 “In light of things it wouldn’t hurt if you took a few days to lay low and work through this,” Kassius suggested.

 “No. That’s not necessary. I don’t need to take any time. We should keep moving forward. We’re close to the goal, let’s get there.”

 Again, Kassius studied you. he looked concerned but also slightly impressed.

 “Okay. Full force ahead.”

 The next hour went by where he went over the plan for the remaining weeks of construction, renovation, and promotion. He also gave you great news that Food Network sent over a preliminary contract for partnership with them. Turns out the video of your shoot slash impromptu cooking session was posted to YouTube and it got their attention. They loved it. So now you had the restaurant to look forward to and a Food Network show. You couldn’t believe how the tides of your life had changed.

 By midday, you pulled up to your restaurant to find a sea of paparazzo camped outside. Your jaw dropped as you surveilled any way to get inside without being seen. There was none, even the service entry was in plain sight. You sat there having a minor freak out moment as you realized you had to face this now. After almost ten minutes you got out of the car and walked toward the restaurant. Halfway across the street one of them saw you and approached shouting his question.

 “Vixen, Vixen anything to say to the world as Mrs. Evans? Anything to say to those who have said you’re a gold digger?”

 You clenched your jaw and focused on pushing through them. The sea of them was strong, like an ocean current.

 “Anything to say to rumors that you intentionally trapped Chris with this baby?”

 “Excuse me! Move!”

 Finally, you pushed through to the door and rushed inside locking it behind you before you did you caught one last question.

“Vixen, would you say you’re his black woman fetish he has to play through?” 

You stood there and watched them snap pictures and shout outside the glass. The shock of the question enveloped you. This was a nightmare, an insane nightmare you thought. Your anger was the only fuel you needed for the rest of the day. You busied yourself any way you could. You worked with the design team that was already there and completed the rest of your to-do list for the day. Your phone continuously dinged to inform you that you had a new message and all you did was ignore it. You didn’t have the time or patience for anything that began with C and ended with S or anyone who wanted to bring him up.

 By eleven, most of the installation was completed as were the concrete plans for the design. You were the last one there. Standing in the middle of the dining area you slowly spun around. You could envision what it would look like when it was all said and done. You were so close you could see the finish line. So close and then you could go back to San Francisco. Another sigh left you when the realization that San Francisco may be getting further and further away especially now with Food Network in the mix. Your thirst for success may be the double-edged sword that forever connected you to this place—the land of the fake.

 A knock at the door signaled the arrival of your security. Things were so insane you now needed security to get from your business to your car. This felt like some alternate universe. Once you stepped out onto the sidewalk the flash of the camera bulbs was more prominent and blinding. The two burly men surrounded you from both sides and guided you through the swarm of vermin.

 From your normal life in San Fran when you looked through tabloid magazines you didn’t think about how it really was for those who were hounded. It was an afterthought that it must have been tough and such an invasion of privacy but now that you’d experienced it, you didn’t know how any of them did it. After an agonizing minute, you were in your car stepping hard on the gas and getting the hell out of there.

  -Chris-

 “Fuck!”

 He nearly threw his phone across the room. He’d been calling for days and you never answered. He left messages, you never returned them. He texted, no response. Now when he called it went straight to voicemail, he suspected you’d blocked his number. You were distancing yourself and refused to hear him out.

 “Woah, woah, put the phone down and back away,” Mackie said from across the room. He rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood.

 “I’m not in the mood, man. See yourself back out.”

 “Wow, that was a dick thing to say.”

 “Mackie.”

 It was a warning, a warning he was almost certain Anthony wouldn’t heed. He didn’t wait around to see though. He walked to the kitchen and to the bar he had. His alcohol supply was dwindling. Forgoing a glass, he took up the bottle of rum and put it to his head. The burn was a wake-up call. Rum was not his preferred drink but desperate times.

 “Sounds like you’re still going through your dick phase. Only dicks keep a secret from their wives that could implode right in their faces. What the hell man!?”

 He didn’t respond. He stared at the bottle of amber-colored liquid.

 “Come on man. You had to know that it was a bad idea lying about it. You had to know that she would have found out and every day you didn’t tell her would make it that much worse.”

 “I know. Fuck I know! I fucked up. I tried to tell her, so many times. I just—I didn’t know how. Then the closer we got, the more time we spent together I started—I didn’t want to lose her. I thought I just needed time to show her I’m not the same asshole from Vegas, that I was different,” he blurted out before he took another swig of Rum.

 “That is the worst plan I’ve ever heard. Man, you white people always coming up with these elaborate schemes that you swear are genius ideas but are really great piles of horseshit.”

 He kissed his teeth and walked out of the kitchen. He didn’t want to hear this right now.

 “You may not want to hear it bruh, but you need to. You fucked this up. You should have just told her and let the chips fall where they may.”

 He knew everything he was saying was true. He knew it. Part of him said he should have done just that, but the other part won out.

 “I know,” he admitted.

 “So, what are you gonna do to fix this? Nexus is pissed man. She’s not one hundred percent pissed because she knew about the married thing but she’s pissed about not knowing you were still married. Pissed that you lied. Pissed that she liked you and was rooting for you. Should I continue?”

 “You can stop.”

 “So?”

 He thought about it for a minute before he spoke. “I don’t know man, I call her, she doesn’t answer. She is pissed,” he explained.

 “Rightfully so. So what are you gonna do about it?”

 “You say it like it’s easy. Like I have so many options.”

 “You do. You’re Chris fucking Evans, mega rich, so many things at your disposal.”

 “I can’t money my way out of this. She’s not like that and you know it.”

 “Good answer. Thank god that dick persona knows where not to go. That was a test. You passed.”

 “I don’t want to lose her Anthony; I don’t want to lose my family. I had some sort of epiphany in Boston, some sort of vision of what really mattered, what I really wanted, and I only want her and Ella, this fame shit—keep it. I want her, over everything.”

 Antony stared at him, assessing his body language and face, then he nodded.

 “Then go get em’, man.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[flowesona]

Autocracy - Yandere! Namjoon x reader

Medieval AU

The scent of sweat and incense hung thick in the air. It was always a slightly uncomfortable atmosphere but (Y/N) had learned to swallow her pride. For the sake of her life, seeing as she was sure any kind of objection would result in a cruel punishment at the hands of her king.

It was the same man who could easily have her killed that slept contentedly next to her, eyes closed in blissful sleep. His blonde hair was stuck to his forehead, lips parted slightly. The tyrant who kept the strictest reigns on those around him, yet had the softest smile.

There was a quiet knock at the door. (Y/N) called out for the person to enter, covering herself to the best of her ability. A mature looking woman entered, her forehead creased with worry.

“There’s some business his highness needs to attend to.” The Queen said, eyes downcast. It was no doubt a painful sight for her. To see in plain sight how her husband was with a mistress, when her looks had aged badly from stress. To be replaced by (Y/N), picked out especially by Namjoon. It has to hurt to be told to her face that she wasn’t deserving to provide the king his pleasure, and (Y/N) felt the pain just as much.

“He’s not awake, your majesty. Is it urgent?” (Y/N) answered.

“I suppose not. Tell him when he wakes up he is to see the council immediately.” With that Namjoon’s wife left, not slamming the door as one would expect from a cucked wife but shutting it with a soft click as to not wake him.

“She’s such an insolent wench.” His deep voice startled (Y/N), as she jerked away from him slightly. His eyes were still half-lidded, but he was very much awake.

“Your majesty, it’s best that you-” Namjoon reached up and tapped a finger on her lips, silencing her instantly.

“How many times have I told you to call me Namjoon?” (Y/N) shook slightly but nodded.

“Namjoon, it’s best that you go to the council immediately.” She repeated.

“It’s not urgent, is it?” He asked rhetorically, hooking an arm around her waist.

“It’s important that you don’t abandon your duties, Namjoon.” The mistress said as firmly as she could, but he ignored her.

“You’re so much better company than that awful queen, (Y/N).” He groaned, the harshness of his words causing her to freeze up slightly.

“She’s your wife. It’s important that you should respect and love her for the sake of the nation.”

“And what if I don’t want to love her?” Namjoon snapped. “I do so much for the sake of my people. I deserve the best things in life in return, and your affection is one of the things I demand.”

(Y/N) looked away but Namjoon sat up and grasped her chin, directing her to look him in the eyes.

“Say that you love me, (Y/N). I want you to love me.”

(Y/N) parroted those words perfectly, and a smile spread across his handsome features.

“Now, there’s an important matter to attend to, right? Come with me.” His command was clean and precise.

“That’s a matter for your wi-” (Y/N)’s objection was cut off when he grasped few twines of her well-kept hair and tugged to elicit pain.

“You will attend to it with me.”

                          »»———————►

(Y/N) couldn’t bear to meet the queen’s eyes. Not with how her husband’s arm was fixed around (Y/N)’s waist, leaning into her as if it were ordinary to take a whore to a council meeting. But no one had the guts to object to him, and that was exactly why he chose to do it.

“Trade in sugar has decreased by 35%, and we’re in dangerously low supply. What do you suggest we do to alleviate this issue, Your highness?”

“Some people have been hiding their supplies. I want them to have their fraudulent practices exposed, and their produce to be seized instantly.” Namjoon replied, fingers digging slightly into (Y/N)’s side.

“My darling (Y/N), this meeting’s only going to be another hour at most. Could you get ready for me?” He muttered into her ear, pressing a kiss on her neck. (Y/N) nodded, and he gave her a pleased smile before she left, his eyes following her until she was out of sight.

“What could make you possibly think that that was appropriate?” Namjoon’s eyes dragged themselves over to look at his wife, who was seething with anger. “Listen, I understand that you have your needs, and I’m fine with you bedding her in private. But what kind of King are you if you’re holding that whore so closely during official business?”

Namjoon’s eyebrow twitched.

“Leave us.” He commanded, with most of the people present scurrying out the second those words left his life. One man remained behind, intensely eyeing the situation in worry.

“That includes you, Jin. This is a private matter. We can speak later.” The advisor had no choice but to leave, casting the queen a warning glance before exiting the room and shutting the door firmly behind him.

Namjoon turned his attention back towards his wife.

“You knew when I married you I didn’t love you. It was for the sake of our nation.” He started, standing up to approach her. “You have no power in our marriage. You have no right to say what I do, when I do it or how I do it. You’re barely worth my presence.”

He towered over the still seated monarch.

“My relationship with (Y/N) is what fuels me to thrive. I can’t say the same about you. You’re pathetic, boring, ugly. You can’t possibly compare to (Y/N), not a million years.” His hands crept towards her neck, applying pressure to her windpipe. “So to challenge her position? That is simply unacceptable.”

With that she understood why he’d asked for them to be left alone. So he could kill her.

“I-if you kill me now, there will be mass outrage. Everyone will know what you did, and it’d be only a matter of time before it’s leaked to the press.” She gasped, reaching up to pry his fingers away from her throat. Namjoon just gave her an apathetic glance. “(Y/N) would hate you for it. You’d be a disgusting monster.”

“I suppose that’s true.” He let go of her, leaving her to gulp large, greedy breaths of air. “I’ve got a much better solution to this.”

He strode out of the room, the slam of the door sending shivers down the queen’s spine as it told her of his wrath.

                              »»———————►

The bed was cold when (Y/N) woke up. It was late evening and she hadn’t eaten, but all hunger had disappeared when she heard a loud knock on the door.

“What is the matter?” She asked the knight the second she answered it.

“His highness has requested your presence.” He replied. She didn’t question him beyond that, deciding she would ask Namjoon himself as to why their usual evening schedule was disturbed.

The only thing that she could concentrate on was the rhythmic beat of the knight’s feet against the cold stone floor, the sound lulling her back into a sleep like state.

It was when she arrived and saw Namjoon that she finally shook off her drowsiness. His hair was plastered to his forehead and there was a serious edge to his face, but something about him was off. 

“Is something wrong, Your highness?” At the sound of her voice his head snapped up, eyes widening slightly at the sight of his mistress.

“Leave us, Hoseok.” His simple and crisp command was heeded to immediately by the knight. (Y/N) could barely hear the sound of him leaving with the blood rushing through her ears.

“Catherine’s to be executed for treason.” 

(Y/N)’s tension was well founded.

“What? Whatever for? That’s awful!” The words rushed out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“She committed adultery. That’s the highest disrespect she could show to the king. To me.” Namjoon cleared his throat, eyes narrowed.

“Catherine…” As tense as their relationship was, (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Rejected by her husband and sentenced to death by a hypocritical law.

Namjoon was not pleased by her reaction. He abandoned the goblet of mead he’d been given to ‘nurse his woes’ by a faithful worker in favour of approaching (Y/N). She jumped slightly when he wrapped his arms around her.

“Don’t let me hear that criminal’s name ever leave those beautiful lips of yours ever again.” (Y/N) wasn’t used to hearing Namjoons velvety voice being used for threats instead of moans and declarations of love. She nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him.

“Tell me that you won’t ever speak of her again.”

A smirk adorned his face as she complied. He felt truly relieved, released from the chains of convention and not needing to pretend that he was upset over some forged claim of adultery when he was around (Y/N). She loved him. It was her duty, after all.

                              »»———————►

“(Y/N)?” 

(Y/N) drew her attention away from the window to see Hoseok standing behind her. He passed her a cream piece of paper, giving her a nod and smile before leaving the room. They were cautious to not become too close to arouse suspicion in the wary monarch, yet Hoseok’s presence could provide comfort on days when she felt particularly on edge from Namjoon’s roughness the previous night.

The woman allowed her attention to fall onto the piece of paper lying on her lap. With a sigh she picked up the glass of gin from the windowsill and took it with her. She placed it down upon the smooth ash surface of her desk before seating herself, unfurling the letter.

‘My darling (Y/N),

The days that I have been deprived of your presence feel like months. I am endlessly longing to see you again and for you to love me in every way that you can. Yet I have been weighed down with pointless negotiations.

This ‘lady’ is nothing compared to you, darling. You’re the only queen in my eyes, yet these people are insisting on pushing such a vile human to marry me for the sake of peace. But do not fear. I will never let a woman get between us ever again.

I faithfully await your loving response.

Kim Namjoon x’