#there is room enough for everyone to fall in love

[edenesth]

5 Steps to Losing to You

Pairing: student council president!Yunho x vice president!fem!reader

AU: high school au (enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: The student council president of KQ High had five simple steps to surviving his vice president: outshine you, outsmart you, outlast you, annoy you, and — definitely — never fall for you. Too bad every step brought him closer to late-night arguments, unexpected truths, and one unforgettable confession under the fireworks. Somewhere between enemies and uneasy allies, Yunho took five steps too far — and ended up losing (his heart) to you.

Genre: romance (duh), comedy

A/N: Thank you, @itstheghostofmypast, for giving me the urge to write another high school AU. This one's heavily inspired by one of my favourite animes of all time, Kaguya-sama: Love Is War.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Do you ever meet someone for the very first time, and somehow, without a single word exchanged, you just know — from the very core of your being — that you can't stand them? No logical reason. No past history. Just pure, gut-level irritation.

That was exactly how Jung Yunho felt the second you stepped into the student council room, your posture straight, your expression unreadable, exuding the kind of effortless confidence that set his teeth on edge.

You were the new transfer student — the one the teachers haven't been able to stop raving about, the one who somehow landed the coveted vice president title before even learning the school layout. And now, here you were, standing beside him, the council's golden boy, as if you belonged there.

"Dude, that's her? Oh, they weren't lying when they said she'd be eye candy," Wooyoung, the council treasurer, whispered with a smirk, elbowing Yunho's side. Yunho didn't even glance at you. He just scoffed, nudging Wooyoung back hard enough to make him stumble. "Yeah? Well, too bad a pretty face isn't enough to survive my council. I give her two weeks before she runs back to wherever she came from."

He said it loud enough for you to hear — on purpose — just to see if you'd flinch. But you didn't. You only lifted your chin slightly, eyes flicking toward him for a single, scathing second. And in that moment, you hated him just as much as he hated you.

Because from the moment you locked eyes, you knew exactly who he was — the adored, untouchable president who had everyone wrapped around his finger. The boy who carried himself like the school was his kingdom, and every student his subject. And now you were supposed to serve under him?

Absolutely not.

You hadn't transferred here to play second to anyone — least of all some arrogant, overhyped, self-proclaimed king. Back at your old school, you were always at the top: top grades, top leadership positions, top of every ranking that mattered. You weren't just a vice president — you were a future president in the making.

If Yunho thought you were here to play a supporting role in his perfect little reign, he was dead wrong.

You weren't here to make friends.

You were here to take his crown.

────

Yunho leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he watched you skim through the thick binder of council documents that Seulgi, the council secretary, had just handed over. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying you like you were some kind of unwelcome intruder trespassing on his territory.

"Hope you're not too overwhelmed," Yunho said, voice dripping with fake concern. "Student council here isn't exactly… beginner-friendly."

You didn't bother looking up, flipping another page instead. "Don't worry, President," you replied, tone sweet but sharp. "I've dealt with more organised councils before. This is nothing I can't fix."

The room went still for half a second — just enough for Seulgi to glance between you both like she was watching a fuse being lit.

Yunho's smile sharpened. "Fix? That's a bold word for someone who hasn't even seen our term plan yet."

You finally met his gaze, leaning forward just slightly over the table. "Oh, I've seen it. Last year's records were so charming, especially the part where half the events went over budget and the spring festival had a typo on the banner. Spring Festivel, was it?"

The muscle in his jaw twitched, but his grin didn't falter. "Funny. You talk big for someone who just transferred here. But I get it — new girl syndrome. All ambition, no clue how things actually work."

You rested your chin in your hand, elbow propped on the table. "And you talk big for someone who's clearly too comfortable sitting on his throne. Guess we'll see who adjusts faster — me to this school, or you to having actual competition."

The president's smile froze in place. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was being challenged — especially not by someone who hadn't even been here a full week.

Seulgi cleared her throat awkwardly. "So! Uh, why don't we go over this semester's goals together? You know… as a team?"

You and Yunho didn't break eye contact. Neither of you smiled.

"Can't wait," you said.

"Neither can I," he replied.

And like that, the war had officially begun.

────

To the outside world — to teachers, students, and anyone not trapped in this cursed room — Yunho and you were the dream team, the picture-perfect president and vice president duo. Smiling side by side during assemblies, coordinating in perfect sync during meetings, and even exchanging polite nods in the hallway.

But inside these four walls, away from the prying eyes of your adoring audience, it was an entirely different story.

It started small. The first time Yunho reached for the meeting agenda, it was mysteriously missing from his file. "Alright, let's get started with today's agenda—" he paused, flipping through his folder, only to find the neatly printed schedule gone. His eyes snapped up, narrowing instantly at you.

You sat across from him, filing your nails with deliberate slowness, not even trying to hide your smug smile when he had to wing the entire meeting from memory. "Looking for something, President?" you asked sweetly.

Wooyoung watched the exchange from the corner, whispering to Seulgi, "That's the second time this week. If this keeps up, he's gonna staple the agenda to his forehead."

The secretary sighed, already immune to the madness. "At least they're creative."

Then there was the presentation. Monthly council update in front of all the teachers, a perfect opportunity for the president to shine — until Yunho confidently clicked to the next slide… and instead of student council statistics, the screen flashed an embarrassingly tragic childhood photo of him mid-sneeze, teeth crooked, hair tragic.

Gasps filled the room. His eye twitched. From beside him, you covered your mouth, the picture of shocked concern, while under the table, your finger rested innocently on the laptop's trackpad.

"Oops," you whispered sweetly.

"You're dead," Yunho mouthed back.

The teachers would later praise your teamwork for handling the "technical difficulty" so gracefully.

The coffee war escalated next. Yunho, ever the gentleman, brought you coffee before morning meetings — extra bitter because he knew you hated it with a passion. You retaliated the next day, handing him a cup that smelled amazing but was actually salted beyond salvation.

Wooyoung took a cautious sip from his own drink, eyeing both of you. "This is why I only drink from the vending machine now."

"Smart," Seulgi muttered.

When it came time to make festival posters, the battle turned artistic. The school festival posters were a joint project — one half handled by you, the other by the president. What should have been a cohesive design turned into visual warfare.

Yunho's side was classic and professional, clean fonts and crisp colours. Your side? Bold, flashy, practically neon — and just slightly crooked, making his side look off-balance.

"It's like watching a couple divorce through graphic design," Wooyoung whispered.

"Except they were never married," Seulgi muttered. "Thank god."

The final straw — at least for that week — came during the morning announcements, when the president confidently read out the list of upcoming events — only to realise someone had swapped his script. Instead of the council's official calendar, he was now announcing a fake bake sale where Yunho himself would supposedly be dressing as a bunny mascot to promote sales.

His death glare found you through the broadcast window. You waved back cheerfully.

The students roared with excitement. "Bunnyho!" they chanted.

Seulgi buried her face in her hands. Wooyoung filmed everything.

And yet, the moment those council doors swung open, you both snapped back into your roles like pros. Smiling in sync at the cameras, cutting ribbons together with practised grace, even finishing each other's sentences when teachers asked about the upcoming festival. It was a performance so convincing that even Wooyoung — who knew the truth — found himself applauding.

"It's terrifying," the treasurer started, watching the two of you gracefully cut the ribbon at a new club opening ceremony. "They look like they actually… get along," he whispered, equal parts horrified and impressed.

"Tell me about it. They're scarily good at this," Seulgi agreed, clapping along with the crowd. "It's like they're starring in a romcom where only they missed the memo."

If only they knew.

If only the rest of the school knew.

If only anyone knew that beneath all the staged smiles and synchronised speeches, it would only take five steps for the mighty president and his infuriating vice president to lose — not to each other, but to something neither of them ever saw coming.

────

Step One: seeing each other.

It started like any other day in the student council room — a battleground polished to perfection.

You arrived first, flipping open your notebook, already plotting your next move. Yunho followed shortly after, shooting you a glare so subtle no one else would notice, but you caught it. You always did. The latest round in your ongoing war had been yours — you'd managed to replace his entire project folder with a stack of fake documents detailing a made-up proposal for a "Student Council Talent Show," featuring him as both host and performer. He'd spent an hour in front of the principal before realising the whole thing was a setup. You were winning.

So when Yunho swept into the room, you were already bracing for his retaliation. And sure enough, it came — a stack of freshly printed minutes from the last meeting placed squarely in front of you. Except every instance of your name had been replaced with "Her Royal Highness, The Vice President of Perfection".

You stared at it. He smiled, all teeth and zero remorse.

"Thanks for the edit," you said coolly.

"Anything for my vice president," he shot back.

But that wasn't the real blow. The real sabotage came during the club funding review later that afternoon. It was your turn to present the approved budgets for each club, a dry, boring task — until Yunho, in a voice far too innocent, asked, "By the way, Your Highness — didn't your old school have a fencing club? You were captain, right?"

You froze for half a second. It was microscopic — no one noticed. Except for Yunho. Of course, he noticed.

"Yeah," you said, flicking through the papers like the question meant nothing. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing. Just wondering why you transferred out so suddenly. From what I hear, you were practically royalty back there, too."

You knew what he was doing. Fishing. Trying to unearth whatever dirt might be hiding under your perfect exterior. You forced a smile. "It was boring," you lied. "Needed a challenge."

He hummed, unconvinced.

Later that evening, you found your chance to return the favour. You'd overheard a conversation between Wooyoung and Seulgi, something about Yunho always leaving in a rush after school, barely staying long enough to clean up. So you set a trap — a simple one. You "accidentally" scheduled a last-minute meeting that ran late, forcing him to stay behind.

You expected him to blow up at you afterwards. You were ready for it. What you didn't expect was to follow the tall and lanky boy out — purely out of curiosity — only to watch him walk straight to the convenience store down the street, throw on a part-time apron, and start restocking shelves.

You stood outside, stunned, watching the golden boy student council president clock into a job like any regular kid. Except he wasn't just any regular kid, was he?

For the first time, you saw him without the shine — no polished uniform, no cocky smirk, no sharp words ready to fire at you. Just a boy with his sleeves pushed up, quietly stacking instant noodles, stopping every so often to check his phone like he was waiting for a message.

And when his phone finally buzzed, you saw him smile — small, tired, real.

You didn't mean to see the text, but you did.

Mum: Yunho-yah, don't forget to bring home eggs if they're on sale.

You stepped back before he could notice you watching, heart thudding with something you couldn't quite name.

That was the first crack.

The next day, Yunho found a neatly folded discount coupon for eggs tucked into his student council folder. No signature. No note. Just a coupon.

He stared at it for a long time.

For once, neither of you said anything.

But it didn't end there.

Later that week, Yunho caught sight of you outside the school gates, long after the council room had emptied. He hadn't meant to linger — in fact, he had every intention of ignoring you like usual — but something about the way you stood there caught his attention.

You weren't scrolling through your phone or chatting with anyone. You just stood there, posture straight, hands clutching your bag like it was the only thing keeping you upright. A sleek black car pulled up, polished until the surface gleamed, and a middle-aged man in a pressed suit stepped out to open the door for you.

He scoffed quietly to himself. Of course.

Princess treatment. Figures.

But as you slid into the back seat, something about the way you moved made him pause. Stiff. Formal. Like you were stepping into a stranger's car, not your own. He caught a glimpse of your face through the tinted window before it rolled up — your gaze fixed straight ahead, unfocused, mouth pressed into a thin line. You looked... distant. Detached.

Not proud. Not smug.

Not like someone who had it all.

Just... tired.

Yunho frowned, stuffing his hands into his pockets, muttering under his breath, "Must be nice to have everything handed to you... so why do you look like you've got nothing?"

He didn't have an answer. And that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

That night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the memory of your empty eyes lingering longer than they should.

Neither of you knew it yet — but the game was already changing.

────

Step Two: the unexpected rescue.

The rain came down hard — the kind of storm that soaked you to the bone in seconds, drumming against the pavement with no mercy. You stood just outside the school gates, shoulders hunched slightly under the awning, arms crossed tight as your phone buzzed non-stop in your hand.

Driver (5 missed calls)

Driver: Stuck in traffic. 15 minutes.

Driver: 20 minutes.

Driver: Sorry, Miss. It's a mess out here.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, locking your screen before shoving the phone into your pocket. This was typical — your family's staff was always prompt when it came to your father, but for you? Delays. Excuses. You were used to it. Didn't make it any less irritating.

The rain intensified, and you took a careful step back, just barely avoiding a splash from a passing car. That's when you saw him — Yunho, already halfway down the sidewalk, hood pulled up, backpack slung over one shoulder.

He could have kept walking. You expected him to. Hell, you would've preferred it.

But he stopped.

He stood there for a second, back still facing you, before you saw his shoulders rise and fall in what looked suspiciously like deep, begrudging contemplation. Then, without a word, he turned back, marched toward you, and thrust his umbrella out with one hand.

"Don't make it weird," he muttered, hood shadowing half his face. "I'm not leaving my vice president to drown. People would talk."

You stared at him, dumbfounded, before slowly stepping under the umbrella's cover. Your shoulder brushed his — just barely — but it was enough to make the air between you heavier than the rain itself.

"You're still an arrogant ass," you said, mostly out of habit.

"And you're still annoying," he shot back.

But neither of you moved away.

The walk to the nearby bus stop was silent, save for the rain pattering against the umbrella's canopy and your synchronised footsteps on the wet pavement. The silence should have been awkward — it always was between the two of you — but this time, it felt... almost easy.

At the stop, he held the umbrella steady over both your heads until the bus pulled up, wiping rainwater off his forehead with his sleeve.

"Don't think this means I like you," he said, voice quieter than usual.

You snorted, climbing up the bus steps. "Please. I'd be more worried if you did."

But when you found your seat by the window, you caught a glimpse of him outside — standing there in the rain, umbrella still in hand, watching the bus pull away. Neither of you knew why this moment stuck so firmly in your minds. You just knew something had shifted.

The next morning, you were absent.

Yunho should've been pleased. A day without your sharp tongue, your constant presence, your infuriating need to challenge his every decision — it should've felt like a vacation. But instead, an uncomfortable unease gnawed at him from the moment he entered the council room and saw your usual seat empty.

He shouldn't care. He knew that. But for some reason, his mind kept circling back to the night before — the rain, the bus, the fleeting glimpse of your tired face in the window.

Did you even get home safely?

He scowled at the thought. Not my problem. I already did more than enough. But no matter how much he tried to shake it off, that knot of regret just sat there in his chest, stubborn and unrelenting.

By mid-morning, his irritation boiled over. Slamming his pen down, he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Where's Vice President Pain-in-the-Ass today?" he asked, tone far too casual to be casual.

Wooyoung's eyebrows shot up — before a slow smirk stretched across his face. "Why? Miss her already? You two were so cute sharing that umbrella last night."

Yunho's chair scraped violently against the floor as he sat up straighter. "What?! Who said— That's not— I'm only asking because I was expecting her to submit the student committee reports today!"

"Suuure," Wooyoung drawled, dragging out the word until Yunho was ready to fling a stapler at his head.

Seulgi, ever the peacekeeper, stepped in with a sigh. "She called in sick. Probably caught a cold from getting drenched yesterday."

The president's stomach did an uncomfortable flip, though he masked it with a disinterested shrug. "Serves her right for not bringing her own umbrella," he muttered.

But later that night, during his shift at the convenience store, he nearly rang up a customer's items twice — his mind completely elsewhere. Each time the door chimed, he half-expected to see you storm in with some ridiculous complaint about student council policies. He hated the way that thought made his chest tighten.

He hated it even more when, the next morning, he found himself at his kitchen counter — brewing herbal tea.

When you returned to school the next day, you dropped your bag onto your desk, only to pause, brow furrowing. Sitting there, completely unassuming, was a flask of warm herbal tea. No note. No explanation.

You glanced around the empty room — only one other person was there this early, and of course, it was him. Yunho, head down, pretending to be engrossed in a report he had already read twice.

You nudged the flask aside and pulled out your notebook instead, determined not to play into whatever weird game this was.

Across the room, his pen froze mid-sentence. After a few beats of silence, he huffed, loud enough for you to hear.

"For heaven's sake, it's not poisoned," he said, still not looking up. "Drink it if you want to actually recover."

You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious — but curiosity (and the faint scratch in your throat) won out. You unscrewed the lid, steam rising in a gentle curl. It smelled... comforting. Soothing. Like something homemade.

Reluctantly, you took a sip.

"...It's good," you admitted quietly.

He didn't respond, but when you looked up, you caught him — just for a second — sneaking a glance at you over the top of his file.

Again, neither of you said another word.

────

Step Three: forced vulnerability.

For a while, it seemed like the umbrella incident and the flask of tea never happened. Whatever fleeting kindness had passed between you both was quickly swallowed by your usual dynamic — sharp words, constant one-upping, and a relentless need to prove the other wrong.

That fragile truce didn't stand a chance.

It all came to a head after yet another brutal fight — the kind that had papers flying across the table, voices raised loud enough to make the underclassmen passing by the council room door wince. Seulgi had to physically step between you, arms stretched out like a human barricade.

"You always have to hog the spotlight, don't you?" you seethed, finger jabbing toward Yunho. "President this, President that — it's like you can't function unless the whole school is watching you."

"And you're any better?" His voice came sharp and fast, eyes blazing. "You waltz in here acting like you're saving us all, like this council should be grateful to breathe the same air as you. Spoiled little princess who can't handle not being number one."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Wooyoung, who usually lived for drama like this, suddenly found his folder of expense reports incredibly fascinating.

You stormed out before anyone could see the flicker of hurt flash across your face. No way were you going to let Jung Yunho of all people make you feel small.

You walked blindly down the hall, fury pulsing in your veins, until you froze at the sound of his voice — quieter, softer, so unlike the boy who had just ripped into you moments ago.

"…No, Mum, I can't cover that shift. I already stayed late for council." A pause. "It's fine, really. I'll figure it out."

The reminder hit you hard. Yunho, the golden boy, the president everyone envied — was working part-time jobs after school. The same boy who seemed to have it all was just another kid juggling too much, carrying more weight than he let on. You didn't mean to eavesdrop, but you couldn't move either. Something about the edge of exhaustion in his voice made you stay.

Suddenly, the arrogant bastard didn't seem so untouchable after all.

A few days later, the roles reversed.

Yunho had gone to the library to grab an old council binder when he spotted you tucked away at a corner table. You weren't working — just sitting there, blankly staring at an open textbook like the words weren't even registering.

Next to you, a small pile of letters lay scattered — some still sealed, others torn open, the papers inside slightly crumpled like you'd held them too tightly. He didn't need to read them to know what they were. Letters from parents who cared more about achievements than feelings, words dressed up as 'encouragement' but laced with disappointment underneath.

He hadn't meant to stop, but something about the way your shoulders curled inward — that tiny, defeated slump — made him pull out a chair across from you without a word. He opened his own notebook, flipping through pages like he had a reason to be there.

The silence stretched, but for once, it didn't feel awkward.

Eventually, Yunho broke it.

"Not everyone's parents show up for them either, huh?" he said quietly, still pretending to read.

Your head snapped up, startled by the unexpected understanding in his voice. But he didn't look at you. He just kept twirling his pen between his fingers, as if the words had been said casually — like it wasn't the first time either of you had ever acknowledged this shared emptiness.

You didn't answer, but you didn't push the letters away either.

And just like that, things further shifted.

For the first time, you both saw each other — not as rivals or enemies, but just two kids quietly drowning under the weight of expectations neither of you had asked for.

────

Step Four: defending each other.

It happened so fast, you didn't even have time to think.

You were passing by the courtyard on your way back to the council room when you heard them — two students sitting on the low wall, voices pitched just loud enough to be overheard.

"I heard she only got vice president because her family donated a new wing to the school."

"Yeah, everyone knows Yunho's the real deal. She's just there to smile and look pretty. Riding his coattails the whole way."

Your hands curled into fists, steps already veering toward them — but someone else got there first.

The sharp thud of a bag hitting the ground made the gossipers jolt upright. Yunho stood there, shoulders squared, eyes dark with something dangerously close to fury.

"Say that again," he said quietly — and somehow, the softness of his voice was far more terrifying than if he'd shouted.

The students stammered, scrambling for excuses, and he didn't even spare you a glance as he slung his bag back over his shoulder and walked off, leaving you standing there — stunned silent.

Because for all the times you had accused him of being full of himself, Jung Yunho had defended you like it was second nature. Like the idea of anyone else insulting you was unthinkable.

You didn't know what to do with that.

The universe, however, was nothing if not fair. Because just a few days later, the rumours shifted — this time, about Yunho.

"Did you hear? Student council president's working at some convenience store. Imagine seeing him behind the counter after school, bagging snacks for pocket change."

"Golden boy's not so golden after all."

The words grated against your ears so sharply, you were standing in front of them before you even realised you'd moved.

Arms crossed, chin lifted, you gave them a smile so sweet it made your words all the sharper. "Funny. I didn't realise students who can't even pass basic math had opinions anyone cared about."

The stunned silence that followed was delicious. You didn't wait for their response — just turned on your heel and walked off like they weren't even worth your time.

That should've been the end of it — except Yunho was waiting for you by the lockers later that afternoon, arms folded, gaze unreadable.

"I didn't ask you to defend me," he said, tone somewhere between exasperation and confusion.

"Yeah, well." You shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "Couldn't let my rival's reputation get dragged through the mud before I beat you fair and square."

He stared at you for a long moment — long enough that you felt heat creep up your neck. And then, to your utter disbelief, he smiled. Just a little.

"You're insane."

"You're welcome."

Neither of you admitted what was really happening here.

Neither of you wanted to.

Because rivals didn't protect each other like this — right?

…Right?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing.

That's what you both told yourselves. Yunho stepping in when people ran their mouths about you? Just defending the council's reputation. You shutting down rumours about his part-time job? Basic professional courtesy. Nothing more.

Except it kept happening.

You noticed when he looked more tired than usual, dark circles smudged under his eyes like he hadn't slept a wink — and then you caught yourself caring. Which was ridiculous. You didn't care. You were just making sure the president didn't screw up his responsibilities because he couldn't handle his personal life. Right?

And Yunho? He wasn't watching out for you. No way. He just… happened to notice when you didn't eat lunch (because of course a spoiled princess would be picky), and maybe that's why he tossed a protein bar onto your desk without looking at you. Totally normal. Not thoughtful. Just practical.

The mental gymnastics you both performed to justify each and every concern were Olympic-level.

When you caught the president absently saving you the better seat during meetings, you told yourself he was just being tactical — easier for you to see the projector, of course. And when Yunho overheard you grumbling about forgetting your calculator before a math quiz, and then somehow one appeared on your desk five minutes later, you were definitely not touched. It was probably a spare he didn't need. Nothing more.

Wooyoung and Seulgi, meanwhile, were losing their minds — because the two of you were so deep in denial it was physically painful to watch.

"She just snapped at him for using the wrong pen colour for the event banners, then turned around and gave him the last slice of cake at the meeting," Seulgi whispered, wide-eyed.

"And he's been pretending to hate her handwriting, but I caught him saving one of her post-it notes in his folder," Wooyoung whispered back.

"Should we help?"

"Nah. Let them suffer."

Because to everyone else, it was painfully obvious: the two of you cared, far too much, and it was eating you both alive.

Neither of you could sleep without replaying your arguments, wondering if you'd crossed a line. Neither of you could look at the other without searching for signs — were they okay? Were they pushing too hard? Were they... thinking about you too?

Of course not.

You hated each other.

That's what you told yourselves.

That's what you needed to believe.

────

Step Five: the breaking point.

The final planning meeting for the year-end festival — the crown jewel of student council events — was supposed to be smooth sailing.

Supposed to be.

Instead, it turned into a sudden crisis and full-blown disaster. Miscommunications piled up like wreckage, schedules clashed, vendors were double-booked, and somehow, two essential permits vanished into thin air — all thanks to the endless assumptions of he'll handle it or she'll settle it.

In truth, the entire student council had been stretched too thin. With final year exams looming and everyone juggling revision sessions alongside festival planning, it was inevitable that details would slip through the cracks. Messages were missed, notes went unshared, and somewhere along the way, every member — even you and Yunho — had trusted that someone else would catch the mistakes.

No one did.

And now, with barely a week left until the biggest event of the year, it was all on the verge of collapse.

The council room was a war zone by the end of the day, with papers scattered across every surface, and half-eaten snacks abandoned next to rapidly-drained cups of instant coffee. The rest of the council had long since been sent home after nearly combusting from secondhand stress.

That left just the two of you — sworn enemies, or at least that's what you both kept telling yourselves — sitting across from each other in the wreckage, sleeves rolled up, hair undone, exhaustion written into every breath.

Somewhere between fixing the vendor placements and rewriting the schedule for the third time, you both cracked.

Laughter. Actual, delirious laughter. It started small — you snorted at something he mumbled under his breath, and he stared at you like you'd grown a second head before dissolving into laughter himself. The kind that made your stomach ache and your shoulders shake, the kind fueled by stress and sleep deprivation until it was impossible to stop.

"This is actual hell," you groaned, collapsing onto the table, cheek smushed against a poorly drawn map of the festival grounds.

"Yeah," he leaned back, arms hanging off the back of his chair, head tilted to stare at the ceiling. "But at least it's not boring."

You turned your head to look at him — hair sticking up in every direction, tie loosened, shirt wrinkled, sleeves unevenly rolled, and yet somehow still the same Yunho who drove you insane. Except, right now, he wasn't the 'golden boy president.' He was just… a boy. One who was just as tired, just as human.

"Yunho," you said softly, surprising even yourself. "Why do you hate me?"

His laughter faded. He didn't look at you right away — just exhaled long and slow, fingers tapping against the table.

"Because you make me feel like I'm not enough," he admitted, voice low, like a confession dragged straight from his chest. "And I hate feeling that way."

The honesty knocked the air from your lungs. Because it was exactly how you felt too — and you'd never meant for him to see you like that, just like you never thought you'd see him like this.

"I never wanted to hate you," you whispered, voice small. "I just wanted to beat you."

He finally turned his head, gaze meeting yours — and for the first time, there was no sharpness, no competition, no battle lines drawn between you. Just understanding.

And maybe, just maybe, something softer underneath. Something neither of you were ready to name.

"It's late. We should go," he murmured.

The air was cool, the sky stretched inky black above you, and the silence between you wasn't exactly uncomfortable — just unfamiliar. After months of snapping and snarling at each other, the absence of sharp words felt almost too quiet. Too fragile.

The two of you walked side by side down the empty street, your steps slower than usual, like neither of you wanted to be the first to break the strange peace that had settled over you.

But eventually, you couldn't hold back.

"…Are you okay not making your shift tonight?" you asked softly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

He took a moment before answering, the faint scrape of his shoes against the pavement filling the gap. "I'll just work a double another time," he said with a shrug, like it was no big deal.

It made something pinch in your chest — this casual acceptance of overworking himself like it was second nature. You hesitated, then asked the question you realised you'd never actually known the answer to.

"Why do you work so hard?"

He didn't answer right away. His hands slid into his pockets, shoulders hunching slightly under the weight of the question. But eventually, his voice emerged, quieter than you expected.

"For as long as I can remember, it's just been me and my mum," he said. "She works really hard, but money's always been tight. When I was old enough, I took as many jobs as I could — bagging groceries, tutoring, working at that convenience store. And I kept my grades up because… I just wanted to make her proud. Wanted to give her a life where she didn't have to worry anymore."

You slowed your steps, turning your head to look at him properly. And once again, you saw him — not as your rival, not as the frustrating golden boy — but as a son. Someone's son, trying his best.

"You're a good son, Yunho," you said softly, with a smile that felt more genuine than any you'd given him before.

He smiled back — just a little — until you added, just as softly, "Can't say the same for myself though."

Yunho's footsteps halted. You stopped too, eyes falling to the sidewalk beneath you.

"You wanted to know why I transferred here, right?" you asked, voice quieter now.

Without waiting for an answer, you bent down and pulled up the edge of your right sock, revealing a thin line of surgical scars tracing across your ankle. The streetlight caught on the pale skin, glinting faintly.

"One bad match," you said, almost to yourself. "One opponent who played dirty during championships. That's all it took."

His brow furrowed, but he didn't interrupt.

"Like you said, I used to be fencing captain. Top-ranked in my old school." You let out a soft, bitter laugh. "And after the injury, I couldn't compete. I fell from first place — took months off to recover, missed exams, missed everything. To my parents, that was all it took for me to become… a disappointment."

You let your sock fall back into place, hands brushing down your skirt, voice tight with forced cheer. "So, they sent me here to start over. To rebuild whatever glory I lost. To make me their perfect trophy again."

The president didn't say anything right away. And for once, you didn't try to fill the silence either. You just stood there together, in the middle of a quiet street, under a flickering streetlamp — two students who had spent so long trying to outshine each other, only to realise they were both just chasing shadows.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you'd ever heard it.

"They were wrong."

You glanced up at him, blinking.

"They were wrong to make you think you're only worth something if you're perfect."

Your throat tightened, and you had to look away — because if you didn't, you might actually cry, and you weren't ready for that. Not in front of him.

"Come on," he said gently, nudging your arm. "We still have to survive this festival. One tragedy at a time."

You laughed — watery, but real. And without thinking, you bumped your shoulder into his.

For once, he didn't bump back harder.

────

Five steps later, you were finally here.

The festival had somehow, miraculously, come together — the chaos you and Yunho had wrestled into order was now a blur of glowing lanterns, flashing booth lights, and bursts of laughter floating up into the night air. From the rooftop, you could see it all — your shared battlefield turned into something beautiful.

You should have felt victorious. But instead, your chest ached with something you couldn't name.

Footsteps behind you.

You didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"Shouldn't you be down there soaking up the praise, President?" you asked, arms folded across your chest, voice deliberately casual.

He stepped up beside you, hands stuffed into his pockets, gaze flicking down over the festival before settling on you. "Shouldn't you be down there taking credit, Vice President?"

You side-eyed him, lips twitching up despite yourself. "I thought you hated sharing your spotlight."

"I do," he said — quieter this time, almost too honest. "But… maybe I don't mind sharing with you."

You froze.

This wasn't the usual banter. There was no smirk, no teasing edge to his voice. Just Yunho, standing there under the open sky, the glow of the festival washing a soft colour over his face.

"I spent this whole year trying to beat you," you admitted softly, your fingers curling around the cool metal railing. "Trying to prove I was better."

"Same," he said — too quickly, like he'd been holding it in. Then he shook his head, a breathless laugh slipping out. "But every time I thought I was close to finally taking you down, I just… ended up liking you more."

Your heart stuttered. "Liking me?"

"Yeah." He exhaled hard, like saying it out loud physically knocked the air from his lungs. "I hated you so much I couldn't think straight, and then somewhere along the way, I just wanted to know you. All of you."

The first fireworks burst overhead, painting the sky in red and gold. The light caught in his hair, in his eyes — and you realised you'd been staring at him this whole time.

"You're such an idiot," you whispered, even though your throat was suddenly tight.

"Why?" He turned toward you fully now, his shoulder brushing yours. "Because I confessed first?"

"No." You took a step closer — close enough that the heat of him bled into your skin. "Because I've liked you too. For longer than I wanted to admit."

Another firework cracked, sending sparks raining down like stars.

Neither of you looked at it.

Yunho's hand found yours on the railing — the touch hesitant at first, until your fingers curled back around his. His thumb traced along your knuckles like he couldn't believe this was real.

"I still want to beat you," you said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Good." He leaned down, forehead almost brushing yours. "I wouldn't like you if you didn't."

And then — under a sky exploding with light — he kissed you.

It wasn't sweet or shy. It was a clash of everything you'd ever felt for each other — every argument that left you breathless, every late-night meeting where silence spoke louder than words, every sharp-tongued insult meant to cut but only carved deeper into longing.

His lips were warm and urgent, tasting faintly of festival cotton candy and the mint gum he always chewed when stressed. His hand slid up, fingers threading into your hair before settling at your jaw, his thumb tracing a line along your cheekbone so softly it left your skin tingling.

He pulled you in like you were something fragile and precious and dangerous all at once — something he couldn't risk breaking, but couldn't stand losing.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, hands fisting in the fabric of his blazer, tugging him closer until there was nothing between you but heat and heartbeats. You could feel the tremble in his breath, the subtle shudder that ran through him when your fingers brushed the back of his neck. His heart hammered so loudly against your chest that you could swear it was echoing your own.

The fireworks painted streaks of gold and crimson across your closed eyelids, but none of it compared to the colour blooming beneath your skin — the dizzying warmth curling low in your stomach, the ache of every unsaid word bleeding into every touch.

When you finally broke apart, panting slightly, foreheads pressed together, you both laughed — breathless and dazed — like you couldn't believe it took you this long to get here.

The fireworks were beautiful.

But they were nothing compared to this.

────

The following Monday after the festival, the entire school knew.

Some claimed they'd caught glimpses of you and Yunho sneaking off together just before the fireworks, while others swore they saw his arm casually draped around your shoulders during the late-night cleanup. And, of course, the boldest rumours came from those who witnessed you both at the council table, sipping from the same straw like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But none of that was the real giveaway.

The real giveaway was how you two fought — exactly the same as before, except now he called you baby in the middle of arguments, and you shot back with a saccharine sweetheart, both said with enough venom to curdle milk. The council meetings were still battlegrounds, but now they were laced with something sharper — affection disguised as irritation, fondness hidden under barbed words.

"We should focus on next month's fundraiser," Yunho declared, tapping his pen against the table.

"We should focus on midterm review sessions first," you countered, not even looking up from your notes.

"You just want to show off how perfect your study guides are," he accused, eyes narrowing.

"And you just want to procrastinate so you can rewrite your precious 'president's welcome speech,'" you fired back.

"It's called leadership."

"It's called an ego trip."

The room went silent — council members exchanging wide-eyed glances, already bracing for the explosion.

But instead of storming off like you used to, Yunho just leaned back in his chair, tilting his head with that infuriating smirk. "I'm still your boss, Vice President."

Your smile was too sweet, too dangerous. "And I'm still the one who covers your ass when you forget deadlines, President."

Somewhere in the back of the room, Wooyoung silently started a betting pool: kiss or kill — which would happen first?

Together, the two of you became the undeniable, unstoppable force of the student council — a perfect storm of brains, charisma, and sheer chaos. When Yunho's charm and golden-boy smile couldn't win over the principal, your cold logic and flawless presentations sealed the deal. When your sharp tongue and brutal honesty made freshmen tremble, his easy grin softened the blow. Together, you raised more funds, pulled off bigger events, and terrified more slackers than any council duo in school history.

And yes — you still argued like your lives depended on it.

But now, the fights ended with lazy kisses behind closed doors, fingers brushing under the table during meetings, and softly muttered threats of "I'm still going to beat you at this" whispered like a love language.

Some days, he walked you to your chauffeured car, fingers laced with yours despite the stunned looks from every passing student. Other days, you waited at the convenience store until his shift ended, pretending to browse the snack aisle while secretly watching him work — admiring the boy who once drove you insane, and now, somehow, made your heart ache in the best way possible.

And every night you walked home together, sharing an umbrella or splitting a can of soda, your shoulders bumping softly in the dark.

"We're still enemies, right?" you asked once, voice quiet under the stars.

He grinned, tugging you closer by the waist. "Always."

Then he kissed you again — and just like that, the fight for power had never tasted so sweet. Because somewhere between rivalry and romance, between every clash and compromise, you both realised: there was no winning without each other.

If you've watched Kaguya-sama: Love Is War and are also a fan of it, just know that I love you. The way Wooyoung was initially going to take Miyuki's role, but on second thought, Yunho seemed more well-suited for it. Wouldn't you agree?

Also, I hope y'all liked the rooftop kiss🙈

And if you haven't watched the anime, I love you too! For taking the time to read this, I genuinely hope it was enjoyable hehe I know I had a lot of fun writing this.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@blueberrychan @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte

@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar

@bunny4yungi @zl-world @quailbagutte @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @cixrosie

@cristy-101

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[arxiwon]

Falling Through the Cracks | sjy

Pairing: Jake Sim x Reader Genre: Angst, Tragedy, Heavy Heartbreak Warnings: Emotional cheating, miscommunication, regret, angst with no comfort, terminal illness, major character death Synopsis: You and Jake were supposed to have forever. But forever was never promised.

The first time you met Jake Sim, he was the boy with the brightest smile and the loudest laugh. He was warm—like the summer sun, like the lingering scent of coffee in the morning, like the feeling of home.

And you loved him for it.

Jake had always been yours, and you had always been his. At least, that’s what you thought.

But love is cruel when it isn’t enough.

It started small—missed calls, late replies, moments where he wasn’t really there even when he was sitting right beside you. At first, you brushed it off. Jake was busy with work, tired from practice, exhausted from always giving so much of himself to everyone.

You told yourself you understood.

Until you saw it.

The way he smiled at her.

It was the same way he used to smile at you.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you were his anymore.

“Jake, tell me the truth.”

Your voice wavered as you stood in front of him, your fingers curled into your sleeves to keep them from shaking. Jake was sitting on the couch, his head tilted back against the cushions, but his whole body tensed at your words.

“What do you mean?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

You let out a broken laugh. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Silence.

It stretched between you, an unspoken truth neither of you wanted to say out loud.

Jake swallowed hard, looking down at his hands. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then tell me,” you pleaded, your heart cracking with every second that passed.

He sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. “I… I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

Your stomach twisted. It felt like the floor was crumbling beneath you, like the air had been sucked out of the room.

“So it did happen.”

He didn’t answer.

And that silence told you everything.

Jake never physically cheated on you.

But love isn’t just about the body.

It’s about the heart.

And Jake had given a piece of his heart to someone else.

You knew he still loved you. You could see it in the way he hesitated before leaving, in the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he had the right anymore.

But love alone wasn’t enough.

So you left.

And Jake let you.

A year passed.

You tried to move on. You really did. But there was always something missing—like a phantom limb, like a whisper in the wind, like the ghost of a love that should have lasted a lifetime.

Then, one day, Jake called you.

His voice was hoarse, weaker than you remembered.

“…Can we talk?”

You hesitated. But in the end, you went.

And that’s when you learned the truth.

Jake was sick.

Terminally.

The doctors had given him months.

Your world shattered in an instant.

The love you had tried so hard to bury came rushing back, suffocating you with its weight. Because it didn’t matter how much he had hurt you, how much time you had spent resenting him for breaking your heart—none of that mattered anymore.

Because you were about to lose him.

Forever.

Jake never asked you to stay.

But you did anyway.

Not as his lover, not as his second chance, but as the person who had loved him first and would love him last.

You were there through it all. The doctor visits, the sleepless nights, the pain that left him breathless and exhausted. You held his hand when he was too weak to stand. You ran your fingers through his hair when the weight of it all became too much.

And Jake… he never stopped looking at you like you were his entire world.

Because you were.

And maybe, in another life, he would’ve realized it sooner.

The last time Jake Sim smiled at you, it was different.

It wasn’t the brightest smile in the room. It wasn’t the loudest laugh.

It was soft. Tired. A whisper of what once was.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely above a breath.

Tears streamed down your face as you held his hand against your chest. “Don’t.”

He exhaled shakily, his fingers twitching against yours. “If I had more time… I would’ve spent every second proving to you that it was always you. It was only you.”

You bit your lip, choking on a sob. “I know.”

Jake smiled again—just for you.

And then he closed his eyes.

And this time, he didn’t open them again.

You loved Jake Sim with every part of you.

But love wasn’t enough to keep him.

And as you sat there, holding his lifeless hand, you realized—

Jake had always been yours.

And you had always been his.

But forever was never promised.

[idkanymark]

[So close to what]

best friends to lovers au | haechan x f!reader

INTRO: your best friend is in love with you but you’re too scared of ruin the friendship to accept his feelings.

w. slightly suggestive

NOTE: Exam season is over and I finally have a little bit of time. How are you?

Do you guys prefer when I use the name Haechan or Donghyuck? Please let me know!

---------

"Did you hear?" Ryujin asked, leaning in with a knowing smirk.

"Heard what?" you replied, raising a brow.

"Hoseok wanted to ask you out—but Haechan stopped him."

"What?" You blinked, stunned.

Everyone knew about Haechan’s feelings for you. He never said it outright, but his actions spoke loud enough. From high school to university, he remained by your side—teasing, annoying, and somehow still your favorite person. You’d lost count of how many times you tried to strangle him, probably resembling Homer and Bart, yet you couldn’t imagine life without him. That’s exactly why you never acknowledged his feelings, and Haechan was smart enough never to say them aloud.

"Do you really not see him as more than a friend?" Ryujin pressed.

"Yes, I'm sure” you said firmly.

Well… that was going to change soon.

Especially that evening, you and Haechan were having your usual dinner night—something that had become routine ever since you recently moved in together near campus.

Coming back from work, you expected the usual - maybe Haechan napping on the couch or raiding the fridge before dinner. What you didn’t expect was to find Haechan shirtless, playing with your dog.

You’d seen him shirtless plenty of times before. But not since he started hitting the gym. And wow—he had changed. Broad shoulders, toned arms, defined abs. When did this happen?

You were too busy staring to realize he had caught you. He turned, amusement flickering in his eyes as he fought back a smirk.

“Oh, you’re back?” he said casually, like he hadn’t just sent your brain into overdrive. “I already prepped everything for dinner.”

“Oh? Mh—yeah, I—” Wait. Why did it suddenly feel hot? Was there no air in here?

“I’m just gonna take a quick shower first!” you blurted before bolting to the bathroom, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

As you shut the door behind you, you swore you heard him chuckle.

Haechan 1 - 0 You.

By the time you stepped out of the shower, you had successfully convinced yourself that you were not affected by Haechan’s sudden gym-induced glow-up. You were just tired. Stressed. Hungry. That’s all.

You walked into the kitchen, determined to act normal, only to find Haechan already setting up the ingredients. His damp hair was pushed back, a few strands falling lazily over his forehead. The sleeveless shirt he threw on did absolutely nothing to hide the changes you were desperately trying to ignore.

"Feeling better?" he teased, glancing at you with that look—the one that always meant trouble.

You rolled your eyes and reached for the cutting board. "Just hand me the vegetables."

The two of you moved around the kitchen in a familiar rhythm, chopping, stirring, and sneaking bites of food when you thought the other wasn’t looking. Everything was fine—until you struggled with the knife, your hands slipping slightly on the carrot you were cutting.

Before you could react, Haechan was behind you. Right behind you.

"Here, let me help” he murmured, his chest just barely brushing against your back as he reached around you. His hands covered yours, guiding your grip on the knife.

You swore the temperature in the room shot up ten degrees.

"You’re holding it too loosely” he continued, his voice lower than usual. "You need to be firm."

Firm. Right. Firm grip. Not shaky hands. Not the overwhelming awareness of how close he was, how warm he felt, how good he smelled—why does he smell so good?!

"You okay?" he asked, his breath fanning against your ear.

No. Absolutely not.

"Yeah! Of course! Totally fine!" you blurted, stepping forward so fast you nearly knocked the bowl off the counter. "You know what? Maybe you should handle the cutting. I’ll just… stir."

Haechan watched you with amusement, the corners of his lips twitching upward. "You’re acting weird” he said, crossing his arms.

You grabbed the nearest spoon and pointed it at him. "I am not acting weird. You’re acting weird!"

He just chuckled, shaking his head as he picked up the knife again. "Whatever you say."

Haechan 2 - 0 You

And for the first time, you started to wonder if maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as immune to him as you thought.

-----

A road trip was long overdue. Ever since Haechan got his driver license, it had been your thing- just you, Haechan, the open road, a questionable playlist, the endless banter. Nothing had changed.

Or so you thought.

As you hopped into the car, adjusting your seat, Haechan shot you a lazy grin. “I got everything we might need so you can ride comfortably.”

You choked on air.

Ride comfortably?

Your head snapped toward him, but he was already looking straight ahead, fingers drumming against the steering wheel like he hadn’t just said that. Oh, this man was choosing his words very carefully these days.

“Oh?” You cleared your throat, narrowing your eyes. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Haechan turned to you, feigning innocence. “You know, snacks, pillows, a blanket in case you get cold—” He glanced at you, his smirk deepening. “Why? What did you think I meant?”

Your brain short-circuited.

“I—nothing. I just—shut up and drive” you muttered, yanking your seatbelt on as heat crept up your neck.

The car rumbled to life, and soon, you were cruising down the highway, music filling the space between you. But something was different. You could feel it in the air, thick and charged, every teasing glance from Haechan making it worse.

“So” he started, tapping his fingers against the wheel, “when are you gonna admit it?”

You frowned. “Admit what?”

“That you’ve been acting weird around me lately.”

Your grip on your drink tightened. “I have not—”

“You literally sprinted to the bathroom the other day after seeing me shirtless.”

Your jaw clenched. “I was hot.”

“Oh, I bet you were.”

Your head snapped toward him, and he was already grinning like he won some kind of game. You hated how smug he looked. You hated even more how right he probably was.

You exhaled sharply, turning your gaze back to the road.

Haechan 3 - 0 You

And this trip was far from over.

-----

The sky was drenched in deep oranges and purples as the road stretched endlessly ahead. The entire trip had been a game—one you were losing miserably. Haechan had been relentless, throwing teasing remarks and smug glances your way, collecting points without even trying.

But not this time.

You shifted in your seat, stretching your arms above your head with a casual sigh. “Ugh, I should’ve worn something lighter" you muttered, tugging at the neckline of your top just enough to draw attention. “It’s so hot in here.”

Haechan didn’t react at first, his eyes fixed on the road. But you caught it—the quick flicker of his gaze toward you, the subtle shift in his grip on the steering wheel.

Encouraged, you went in for the kill. “Maybe I should just take this off" you mused, fingers hooking under the hem of your shirt as if you were actually considering it.

That did it.

His knuckles went white against the wheel, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, and he exhaled slowly, like he was physically restraining himself.

Still, he said nothing.

The air inside the car grew thick with something different. No teasing comeback, no cocky remark. Just tension. Heavy, undeniable tension.

And that’s when you knew.

Haechan wasn’t winning this round. You were. You finally got a point.

A slow smirk crept onto your face as you leaned back, satisfied. “Hey, pass me the aux.”

For a second, he didn’t move. Then, finally, he let out a sharp breath, shaking his head with a disbelieving chuckle as he grabbed the cord and handed it to you.

“You’re so annoying” he muttered, gripping the wheel a little too tightly.

You grinned, plugging in your phone. “Something wrong?”

He scoffed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I hate you”

No, he didn’t.

Haechan 3 - 1 You

-----

The ride to Busan had been long. Five hours of charged silence, stolen glances, and the occasional throat-clearing that neither of you acknowledged. By the time you arrived, exhaustion was settling into your bones—but the universe clearly wasn’t done messing with you.

Because the moment you stepped into your Airbnb, you were met with a problem.

“A bed?” Your voice pitched slightly. “There’s only one bed?”

Haechan, standing behind you, blinked at the sight like he was just now realizing it.

You turned to him, arms crossed. “Haechan. You booked this place.”

“I didn’t know that!” he defended, throwing his hands up. “I just saw the good reviews and a nice view—how was I supposed to check that?”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. The tension had already been unbearable, and now, this? It was like karma was punishing you for something.

Still, you were exhausted. Arguing wasn’t worth it.

“I’ll order food" you sighed. “Go take a shower, you must be tired from all the driving.”

Haechan smirked as he grabbed a towel. “Try not to freak out during our honeymoon, sweetheart” he teased, throwing a wink before disappearing into the bathroom.

You picked up a pillow from the couch and chucked it at the door.

By the time he came out, hair damp and smelling annoyingly good, the food had arrived, and you were already eating. He plopped down across from you, stealing a fry off your plate without asking—typical.

For a while, there was just the quiet clatter of chopsticks and the hum of the TV in the background. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I’ll take the couch.”

You paused mid-bite, blinking at him.

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. You should have felt relieved. You should have nodded and moved on. But instead, there was this stupid little twinge of… what? Disappointment?

No. Definitely not.

“Alright" you muttered, pushing your rice around with your chopsticks.

Haechan glanced at you, lips twitching like he was debating whether to say something. “Unless…” he started.

You looked up. “Unless what?”

He grinned, leaning his chin on his hand. “Unless you want me in bed with you.”

You stared at him. “I will smother you with a pillow.”

Haechan laughed, shaking his head as he leaned back. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

You rolled your eyes, pretending the warmth in your face was from the food.

And the night was far from over.

-----

The tension from the car ride still lingered as you both got ready for bed. Haechan was setting up his spot on the couch, fluffing a pillow as if it would magically make it more comfortable. You sat on the edge of the bed, watching him.

He had driven for almost five hours straight. He deserved a comfortable bed—not a stiff couch—yet here you were, letting your ridiculous nerves and hormones get in the way.

What kind of awful person were you?

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Haechan."

He hummed in acknowledgment, not looking up.

You hesitated, then finally blurted, "Would you like to sleep with me on the bed?"

That got his attention.

Haechan froze mid-motion, blinking at you as if he hadn’t heard you correctly. "I’m sorry, what?"

You exhaled sharply. "I said: Would you like to sleep with me on the bed?"

A beat of silence. Then, "Are you sure?" His voice held an unusual hesitation, as if he didn’t quite believe this was happening.

"I’ll change my mind if you don’t jump on the bed in the next few sec—"

You didn’t even get to finish.

Haechan was already diving onto the bed, a satisfied grin on his face.

You rolled your eyes, shifting under the covers as he got comfortable beside you. It felt… strange. Too quiet. Too real. You both instinctively turned your backs to each other, but that only made it worse.

Minutes passed. Maybe an hour. But sleep never came.

You sighed softly, rolling over. "Haechan, are you awake?"

He turned too, now facing you in the dim light. "Yeah."

Your breath caught. Being this close, lying in the same bed—it was something entirely new. His face was barely a foot away, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for something.

He looked ethereal.

"Can I tell you something?" His voice was quieter this time, careful.

Your heartbeat stuttered. "Yeah."

He hesitated for only a second before saying, "I’ve liked you for a while."

The confession hit you like a slow-burning flame, creeping through your chest and spreading warmth and panic all at once.

"It could ruin our friendship…" you whispered.

"It won’t" he said immediately. "We will never break up."

There was no hesitation in his voice, no doubt. Just certainty. And for some reason, that certainty felt like the safest thing in the world.

"Do you feel it too?" he asked.

You swallowed hard, then nodded. "Yes."

Something shifted. The space between you felt smaller, your breaths mingling in the stillness of the room. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

And then, he kissed you.

It was soft at first, almost hesitant—like he wanted to take his time, like he wanted to memorize the way you felt. His lips moved against yours slowly, testing, savoring. But when you kissed him back, he exhaled against your skin, pulling you in just a little closer. His fingers brushed against your cheek, warm and steady, anchoring you in the moment.

The kiss deepened, unspoken emotions spilling into it—years of teasing, of unspoken tension, of lingering glances neither of you ever acknowledged. And now? Now it was undeniable.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling your face.

Then, just as you thought the moment couldn’t get any more overwhelming, Haechan smirked.

"Oh, by the way," he murmured, "I did know there was only one bed"

Silence.

Your eyes widened. "You WHAT?!"

Before he could react, you shoved him, grabbing a pillow to physically wipe that smirk off his face.

Haechan burst into laughter, dodging your attacks. "Hey, don’t be mad! It worked, didn’t it?"

"YOU’RE UNBELIEVABLE!"

Still grinning, he caught your wrists, pulling you back down beside him with a chuckle. "Come on, sweetheart, you still feel like yelling at me?"

You huffed, glaring at him. But the warmth in his gaze, the lingering feeling of his lips on yours—it was impossible to stay mad.

Haechan 4 - 1 You

And somehow, you didn’t even mind.

But then the laughter finally died down, leaving only the sound of your breaths in the quiet room. Haechan was still grinning, lying beside you like he had just won the biggest game of his life. Technically, he had.

You glared at him, still trying to process everything. The confession. The kiss. The fact that he had planned the one-bed situation all along.

But before you could throw another insult his way, he suddenly smirked—that famous smirk, the one that always meant trouble.

"Do you remember my suggestion?" he asked, voice dripping with amusement.

You frowned. "What suggestion?"

Then it hit you.

Your brain rewound back to earlier that day. The car ride. The teasing.

"I got everything we might need so you can ride comfortably."

Your eyes widened, heat creeping up your neck.

Haechan noticed the exact moment you put it together because his smirk deepened.

"Are you still up for it?" he asked, his voice lower now, playful but laced with something else. Something dangerous.

You swallowed, your pulse hammering in your ears. You should say no. You should roll over, ignore him, and go to sleep like a rational person.

But you didn’t.

Instead, without breaking eye contact, you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his before tugging him closer.

Haechan’s eyes darkened slightly, his smirk faltering just enough for you to know you had caught him off guard.

“I don’t mind a ride”

That was all he needed.

In a flash, his arms were around you, pulling you flush against him. His warmth, his scent—everything about him surrounded you in an instant. His lips brushed against your temple, trailing slowly down to your cheek before hovering just inches from your lips.

Haechan 5 - 1 You

But by the way he was holding you, it felt like you both won.

[elliesbabygirl]

RUN YOUR MOUTH [ E. W ] PT. 1

Word count: 1.7k words

Series synopsis: You and ellie broke up when you wanted more than a fwb situationship , yet she can't stop talking about you, even when you're in the same room as her and her friends. ( + a little more ellie-focused but trust me please..)

warnings: mentions of drinking alcohol, sweering + no more warnings! unless you're not into lower-case intend from a lazy author...

author's note: I'm going further into the pool of writing for ellie williams..I'm excited n scared. ellie's lowkey (HIGHKEY) an asshole in this one but i wanted to try writing angst + this is like a 2023 draft-series i never finished, back when i was still a good writer😭part two soon.... If this doesn't flop. Please reblog + like if you've enjoyed this!!

The house was packed, bodies pressed together as music thumped through the walls, drowning out any coherent conversation. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, cheap beer, and a fire that burned in the fraternity's backyard.

Ellie leaned against the kitchen counter, one hand wrapped around a lukewarm can of beer, the other gesturing wildly as she recounted ths latest tirade about her repeated ex, you.

"I'm just saying, dude." She scoffed, shaking her head. "She's the most dramatic person I have ever met. Like everything was a huge life-ending crisis for her." Ellie took a long swig of her beer, catching her breath, before she continued trashing on you.

"If I didn't text her back in five minutes? boom, I was ignoring her. If i wanted a night out with you guys? I suddenly didn't care about her feelings." Jesse absentmindedly nodding along, not caring for Ellie's rant as he looked down at his own beer.

"It was exhausting, like, get a fucking grip." She added, shaking her head, again.

Dina snorted into her red cup. "you're so fucked up for this, Ellie."

"Am I wrong, though?" Ellie shot back, grinning at Dina. "Come on, you guys saw how she was, especially on double dates." Jesse raised his eyebrows. "I mean...yeah, you guys weren't the best, but don't go in on her when she's–"

"Right over there?" Dina finished, subtly nodding past Ellie.

Ellie turned, her stomach flipping when she locked eyes with you. you stood a few feet away, eyes glistening under the harsh kitchen lights. The half-empty drink in your hand trembled slightly, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

"You really couldn't help yourself, huh?" You said, voice barely audible over the loud music.

Ellie's smirk faltered. "Look, I was just–"

"No, I heard you, Ellie" You took a shakey breath, your voice rising just enough to make Jesse and Dina shift uncomfortably.

"You love this, don't you? Running your mouth and making me out to be some crazy bitch so you can feel better about how you treated me."

Ellie scoffed, pushing herself off the counter. "Oh my god, here we go again–"

"No, shut the fuck up, Ellie." The whole kitchen went silent. Even the distant bass of the music seemed to fade as everyone turned to watch the unfolding disaster.

"You act like I was the problem, but you were an asshole to me." You continued, voice cracked. "you shut me down the second things got hard, you made me feel like I was 'too much' just for wanting you, Ellie."

"now you're standing here, laughing about it to Dina and Jesse like I was worth nothing to you." Ellie's throat went dry. she could feel Dina and Jesse's eyes on her, waiting to see her response.

"i-"

you let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head as tears fall down your face.

"fuck you, Ellie." Voice wavering and eyes steady—filled with nothing but exhaustion and hurt. You had enough of fighting for your innocence, especially to somebody that never cared for you.

"You're a horrible person, Ellie, I hope you know that."

Ellie felt something twist in her chest, something ugly and painful, but before she could even try to respond, you shoved past her, disappearing through the crowd.

The silence lingered for a few beats before the music swallowed the tension, and people went back to their drinks, their conversations, and their distractions.

Meanwhile, Ellie stood frozen, gripping the beer can that indented in her hand. She could feel the weight of your words, heavy and suffocating, echoing louder than the music ever could in her head.

Her pulse was hammering against her ribs as your words sank in.

You're a horrible person, Ellie, I hope you know that.

The kitchen was still thick with tension, even as people settled back into their conversations. Dina and Jesse exchanged a worrisome glance, both hesitating before turning their attention back to Ellie.

"Dude.." Jesse muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"That was—"

"Yeah, I got it." Ellie snapped, tossing her beer can onto the counter. It sloshed over the rim, pooling next to a pile of abandoned red solo cups. Her jaw was clenched so tight it ached, but she forced out a breath, trying to shake off the burning in her chest.

Dina eyes her warily. "you good?"

Ellie wanted to say yeah, wanted to roll her eyes, crack a joke, and pretend like the whole thing hadn't left her skin burning with embarrassment. Yet, her throat felt tight and her fingers twitched like they didn't know what to do with themselves.

So instead, she scoffed. "Am I a horrible person?" She asked, looking between them. "Seriously? She was asking for more than what we agreed on."

Dina's expression was unreadable. "Ellie—"

“She knew what this was!” Ellie continued, voice rising despite herself. “I told her from the start—I wasn’t looking for anything serious, but suddenly, it’s my fault because she caught feelings?"

She ran a tattooed hand through her short auburn hair, frustration clear in her words. "Like, yeah, we spent time together, we had fun, but that didn't mean I wanted the whole relationship package. She just—expected more, like I was supposed to change for her."

"But I'm the bad guy?"

Jesse sighed at Ellie's behavior. “You were the one talking shit about her while she was in the room.”

“Yeah, well, maybe she shouldn’t have listened in on my conversation.” Ellie shot back, but even as she said it, it felt weak, forced even, as if she was putting on a 'tough guy' act.

Dina crossed her arms, staring at Ellie like she was trying to pick apart a puzzle. "you really don't get it, don't you?"

Ellie frowned. "Get what?"

Dina let out a slow breath. “You hurt her, and instead of just letting her move on, you stood here and made a fucking joke out of it. Right in front of her.”

Ellie opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out, because what was she supposed to say? That she didn’t mean for it to get back to her? That it wasn’t that serious? That it didn’t hurt as bad as you made it seem?

Because that would be a lie. And if Ellie was honest with herself, she knew the truth.

Ellie knew she wasn't built for commitment. She knew she got too comfortable, letting things go further than she should have. Let you believe it could be more—because, for a while, maybe Ellie wanted to believe it too.

But she was always going to pull away.

And now, standing in the mess she made, she felt sick.

"Fuck." Ellie muttered under her breath, dragging a hand over her face.

Dina and Jesse were still watching her, waiting to see what she’d do next. She could tell they were both teetering on the edge of saying something, maybe telling her to go after you, or maybe just reminding her what an asshole she was.

Ellie swallowed. “I need some air.”

Without another word, she pushed past them, heading for the back door. The party raged on around her, but for the first time all night, she felt completely and utterly alone.

The cool night air hit Ellie’s skin as she stepped outside, but it did nothing to settle the tightness in her chest. The backyard was quieter than the house, the muffled bass of the music thudding through the walls. A couple of people sat around a fire pit, laughing, passing a joint between them. None of them looked at her.

Good. She didn’t feel like talking.

Ellie exhaled sharply and dragged a hand down her face, then pulled a cigarette from her pocket. Her fingers shook as she lit it, but she told herself it was just the cold. She took a slow drag, letting the smoke sit in her lungs before releasing it into the night.

your voice was still ringing in her ears.

You're a horrible person.

Ellie clenched her jaw.

She’s just mad, Ellie told herself. People say shit when they’re mad.

But the way you had looked at Ellie—like she was something cruel, something heartless—it unsettled her.

A horrible person.

Ellie had never thought of herself that way. Sure, she had flaws. She could be distant, avoidant, maybe even selfish, but horrible? That felt like something else entirely.

Yet, wasn’t this exactly why Ellie never let things get serious? Why she bailed the second people wanted more from her?

Because deep down, maybe Ellie was horrible.

Maybe Ellie didn’t know how to care about someone the way they wanted her to, maybe she never would.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth, worse than the lit cigarette near her mouth.

She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she almost didn’t hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

Dina.

Ellie sighed, knowing she wasn’t about to get out of this conversation. “If you’re here to lecture me, just—don’t.”

Dina ignored that and leaned against the railing beside her. “I wasn’t gonna lecture you.” Ellie glanced at her, unconvinced.

Dina sighed. “Look, I’m not saying what happened back there wasn’t messy. It was, but…” She hesitated. “You’re not a bad person, Ellie.”

Ellie let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah? Tell that to y/n.”

Dina was quiet for a moment. “You really liked y/n, didn’t you?”

Ellie’s grip on her cigarette tightened. “I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

Ellie exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the night. “I did, but I liked things the way I wanted them and that wasn’t enough for y/n.”

Dina shook her head. “Because no one wants to feel like they’re just an option, Ellie.”

Ellie swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. “I never meant to hurt y/n.”

“I know,” Dina said softly. “But you did.”

Ellie didn’t have a response to that.

The door opened again, and Jesse poked his head out. “Hey—some guy just puked in the kitchen, so if you’re looking for another disaster, there you go.”

Dina groaned. “Oh my god.”

Ellie barely reacted. Her mind was still stuck in the kitchen, in the way your voice cracked, the way you had looked at her like she was something irredeemable.

Dina sighed and gave Ellie’s shoulder a squeeze before heading back inside with Jesse, leaving her alone again.

Ellie took one last drag of her cigarette before flicking it into the grass. Then she sat down on the backdoor steps, elbows on her knees, head in her hands.

She had come outside for air, but no matter how deeply she breathed, it still felt like she was suffocating.

© 𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 ─ 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙙. 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙥𝙮, 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠 𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙖 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙨.

COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST!!

[izzygoesdark]

SMOKE AND MIRRORS

summary: The team is looking for an unsub who makes it impossible to create a proper profile. But maybe the answer is closer than they think. \\ pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader \\ warnings: unsub!Spencer, accomplice!reader, some fingering, so MDNI. \\ words: 1.6k \\ series masterlist

There’s always a brief, fleeting moment that changes one’s life forever in this situation, like when you flip a switch to turn off the lights. It usually goes like this; a person tells them their loved one is dead, there’s a beat of heavy silence, and then BAM, like a dam broke. Someone cries, others shout and beg, while there are some who take it with quiet dignity, holding back the tears for God knows how long.

The man in front of you is a beggar, asking the doctor to tell him his daughter isn’t really dead, that she’ll miraculously come back to him after recovering. But she won’t. Her murderer did a good job, they made sure she couldn’t be saved, even if she made it to the hospital. 

You glance over at Spencer, who takes a shaky breath, unsure of how to act now, and when his uncertain hazel eyes turn to you, you simply flash a supportive smile at him as you shake your head slightly. This is not the right time to question the father, you have to give him some time to grieve, to finally accept that his daughter is gone forever.

So, as you wait for the tears of the father to stop falling for more than a minute, your colleague moves closer to you and reaches out to squeeze your hand. He knows this case is taking its toll on you, and he’s been supportive all along, and despite his own feelings, he’s willing to put that aside to be there for you.

There’s a clock on the wall of the waiting room, which tells you it took the victim’s father a good half hour to pull himself together enough to talk to the two of you. He blows in the air from his lungs in preparation, then stands up to walk over to where you’re sitting, only to take the chair across from you.

“Can you find whoever did it?” he asks you, his voice rough but full of hope.

On your side Spencer nods in a barely visible way, but it takes him a moment to pick the right words to say. It’s a good strategy, you can’t give the man false hope, mostly because this unsub is a mystery to the entire team. 

You only connected certain murders because there’s a little detail that’s there in every single one of them, a small marble in each victim’s stomach. But that’s it. The profile changes with each case, there’s no fix point beside the marbles, and the team is getting more and more frustrated. 

Are they working in a team? Is it some challenge for gang members? Or is it the work of a single unsub? 

The number of questions keeps rising, with no answer in sight. Hotch is getting frustrated as Strauss decided to put more pressure on him to close this case quickly, while the rest of the team is mad that the unsub is playing this stupid game with you. Catching them became a necessity for your mental health’s sake, so everyone’s working extra hard to find something concrete.

And then, you hear Spencer shift in his chair as he takes a breath. “We’re doing our best to catch him, but this is an unusually complicated case, it might take time. But we won’t give up anytime soon,” he adds in the end. 

The man nods and leans back to look up at the ceiling. “That’s good to hear,” he says quietly. 

You stay for a few more minutes, but then you decide it’s time to go back to the office. The walk to the parking lot passes in silence, mostly because you’re too lost in your thoughts, and Spencer is perfectly aware of that, this is why he reaches out for your hand again.

In the past year, you managed to hide your relationship from the team, which wasn’t some conscious decision, rather the result of the chaotic circumstances. There were moments when you wanted to tell them, but there was always a new case, some drama in someone else’s life, or anything that made you reconsider. 

“Do you think we should stop?” he asks quietly as he brushes his thumb over your knuckles.

Without hesitation, you shake your head. “No, of course we shouldn’t. I just… get a little sentimental sometimes, that’s all,” you tell him with a shy smile before standing on your toes to place a kiss on his cheek. 

But that’s not enough for Spencer. Something suddenly snaps in him, and he puts one hand on the back of your neck, his thumb pressing against your pulse point, while the other hand lands on your waist so he can guide you better. Your back hits the side of the car soon after, and he kisses you like his life depends on it. 

His eyes darkened a shade or two in the past minute or so, you can see the hunger in them, but he’s not hungry for you. Well, not just for you. But it doesn’t bother you, after all that thing he wants is what got you together, what created a bond strong enough to make it hard to exist without him. 

Your phone rings, interrupting your little make-out session, and you both let out an annoyed groan while you check who it is. “Hotch. I guess our little break ends now,” you tell your boyfriend, then place a quick kiss on his cheek before answering the call on speaker.

Back in the conference room, the team goes over the cases and profiles again, trying to find a way to find the logic in the chaos. The unsub in an earlier case was an uneducated man in their early twenties, another time everything pointed in the direction of a perfectionist middle aged woman, and in the most recent case it seemed like the girl was killed by an impatient teenage girl. 

Hell, once it seemed like there were two unsubs. 

The marble remained the only fix point in the case, and that’s it. Everyone had their own theory, their own profile, but when you tried to find similarities between them, you came up with nothing. The method, the victims, the unsub–everything changed each time, there was no pattern to see. Even Spencer didn’t notice one.

How could he, though?

“That little feminine touch in the teenager edition was a genius idea,” you note with a small smile as you’re driving home once the day is over.

Spencer reaches out to take your hand and lace his fingers with yours. Those long, slender fingers you love so much, whether they run over a page of a book or your body’s most sensitive parts. You shift in your seat when you think about the expert ways he uses them, which doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“I am a genius, after all,” he says with a smirk, responding to your question casually, while his body does the rest of the talking. He lets go of your hand to move his own to your core, teasing you through the fabric of your pants. 

“That you are,” you breathe.

Seconds later you successfully bite back a moan when he pushes his knuckles harder against you, and for the first time that day you’re happy this is one of those days when he decided to take the wheel. Focusing on driving and his hand that is slowly slipping under the waist of your pants at the same time would be impossible.

Without thinking, you gently wrap your fingers around his forearm to ground yourself, but that’s only fuel to the fire, you’re slowly losing control of yourself. “Spence,” you whine when you feel his fingers dip between your folds.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. Listen, we’ll pick a new one tomorrow morning, alright? I have a few candidates,” he coos, as if you had the brain capacity to focus on the plan right now. 

“But–”

He pushes his fingers deeper to silence you. “Shh, just relax. We’ll talk about that tomorrow. For tonight, I have a much better plan. I want to give you something you’ve been begging for lately,” he tells you with a big smile when he looks at you.

Before you can say anything, he pulls his hand away from your pants to put his fingers between his lips to taste your juices that cover them. Only then, when a satisfied gleam appears in his eyes, do you realize what he’s talking about. 

The baby project. 

You don’t even know why you’ve been thinking about this, after all, planning a baby with someone like Spencer isn’t necessarily the wisest idea. But you love him. You want to have a piece of him with you even if something happens to him due to your little hobby.

You’ve been messing with the police, but mostly the BAU, for a while now, testing their limits in every possible way. Who will break first under the pressure? Who will figure it out first? Who will realize the killer’s been one of them all along?

To Spencer, it’s just a game. A game that he desperately wants to win. 

And what’s the end game? He wants to hunt down the members of the BAU, one by one. Each and every one of them, he said once. Which raises the question: are you one of them in his eyes?

[offbranddragon]

Older post game Taash, years down the line and well into their middle age, is still just as playful and energetic as they were in their youth. Yelling in fights, hyping up their allies, and shit talking like they've got nothing to lose. Taash is still buying rounds of drinks, taking hits, and casually flirting with who ever gives them the time of day or looks at them a certain way. But older Taash, while not the definition of mature, has clearly grown. They are less the student and now the mentor. Taking little pieces of those they once saved the world along side and rarely talk to today. Taash is the first person checking in with everyone post fight. They are the one who orders everyone else to fall back while they hold the line so everyone gets home safe. Taash's fire is still alive and hot but less like an all engulfing flame and more like a hearth. Their room is always open, bed always warm, for those who need the comfort of a pair of warm arms and an ear to listen. They are everyone's parent. The one who doesn't discipline you normally and who's nurturing is taking you for your favorite drink and carrying you home when you've had too much all to only give you shit the next morning for it. They have a book and cure for everything. A meal that makes you think of home just when you need it. They always seem strapped for cash despite taking job after job and finding treasure a plenty, making sure everyone else has enough before they even take a single coin. Most of their 'wealth' is then spent on others, both near and far. They arrange to have some romance novels sent to Bellara and then further arrange some tomes they found to be delivered to a certain professor in the necropolis. Neve finds a warm coat, hand crafted, always passed to her by a dismayed mailman just when the weather gets nippy. Davrin has a new sword or shield or little outfit for Assan every holiday and Harding, as well as her mother, have the rarest herbs in all of Thedas and never have an empty table. And then there is Lucanis who, every so often, gets given a special shipment by Teia containing daggers and trinkets forged from Wyverns. Even Rook is found, where ever they are, given Intel and trinkets as well as gold just incase. Taash's clothes are well worn and patched. Armor well kept but showing age. It's a habit they once didn't understand and now hold close to their heart. Taash has aged into a patchwork of everyone they've loved, everyone that has cared for them even when they were difficult and angry at the world. And as they age this becomes more and more clear until they are grey, still fighting and still loving those around them like family.

[wlwsoccerfics]

Hungover(StephCatleyXFoordReader)

Summary: you go out with Kyra, Alessia & Vic and your fiancee knows that you gonna wake up the next morning with a Hangover.

You came home at 1am. Completely wasted, that is the important part there. In your 27 years of life If was rare that you were so drunk. Maybe happend twice in your life before. But you were out celebrating your Engagement with some of your Arsenal Teammates/Friends.

Steph was out with Jen, Beth, Leah, Lia, Katie and your sister Caitlin. While you were out with Vic, Lessi & Kyra. Of course you two would have a big celebration with everyone soon. There was also a bachelorette Party planned before you would get married next year.

Steph wasn't home alone when you got back, no your sister, Katie and Leah were there with her. They were still chatting when they heard the Front door open and you stumbling in. Followed by Kyra who was the only one sober. You were hugging a bottle of Champagne.

"y/n, sit down and give me that bottle!" Kyra said. It was rare that she was the responsible one. One had to be. Because Vic & Alessia both were wasted as well. They stumbled in behind Kyra.

"my bottle." You said with a pout.

"what the f*ck!" Kate stated.

"No doubt the Hangover tomorrow will be bad!" Leah answered.

"never in my Life have i seen my sister so wasted!" Caitlin replied. Your fiancee didn't even know what to say. Vic & Alessia both had a bottle of Champagne as well. Nothing much was left in either of those bottles.

"damn, we can never let these three go anywhere alone anymore when it comes to drinking." Katie stated. You saw your girlfriend sitting on the Couch and stumbled into her lap.

"hi pretty Woman. Kyra is trying to steal my bottle. " You told her.

"Babe, i think you had enough of that happy juice, because you smell like a Mini bar!" She told you and took the bottle from you. Which earend her a pout from you. At the same time Kyra was Wrestling the bottle out of Alessias Hand and managed to sit her down on the couch. Leah sat Vic down on the Couch inbetween herself and Alessia.

"i am sorry this got out of Hand!" Kyra told your sister and sighed softly.

"this isn't your fault. they are all adults." Steph let her know.

"plus the Hangover they gonna have in the morning is gonna be such a punishment. I am sure they won't ever drink like that again!" Caitlin said.

"i am gonna call a cab so i can take Vic home with me!" Leah answered.

"and we gonna take Lessi with us!" Katie offered.

"good Idea! I didn't drink anything though so let us just drop you two of at your place, Leah!" Your sister informed Leah.

It wasn't long until they left and Kyra helped steph to take you upstairs into the bedroom you shared with your fiancee.

"we should grab a bucket, just in case, cause i am sure all of the Champagne is gonna come back up." Kyra suggested.

"good thinking. can you go grab it?" Steph asked Kyra.

"i don't need one, i am fine!" You tried to protest but it didn't have that much of an effect cause all of sudden you felt quite sleepy.

"sure." Kyra went to grab a bucket and put it besides the bed when you needed it.

"Thanks Kyra." Your fiancee said, offering her a soft smile. At this point you already have been asleep.

Kyra went to her own room and Steph laid down next to you. Watching you sleep.

"you gonna regret drinking so much, my Love." She whispered out, kissing your head gently, before closing her eyes and falling asleep. Not for long though. Two hours later she heard you throwing up. Hanging over the bucket.

"oh Babe." She said and rubbed your back. You whimpered softly.

"i feel like crap!" You sobbed out after having a break from vomiting like crazy.

"i know Love. No surprise there. You had quite alot to drink." Steph answered.

"never again, Steffy." You told her.

The night and morning was filled with you throwing up and your fiancee comforting you. It didn't look much better for Alessia & Vic.

Even the day after this when you went back to Training you could still feel that you weren't there a 100% there yet. And like that wasn't enough the three of you totally got teased by Caitlin, Leah and the others.

[aggieharkness]

Have I earned it, mother? Chp. 7

Pairing: Avis Amberg x reader

Summary: she had never realised how cold blood could feel, how raw her own hands could leave her skin, how your presence lingered in every corner of her house and in every inch of her body, but you weren't in the room with and yet your arms wrapped around her waist as if nothing had changed.

Warnings: blood, mention of torture/abuse, injuries/wounds, mention of guns, mention of character death, panic attack, nudity, medical equipment and mentions of surgeries. I promise that there's hints of fluff and pretty things as well.

Authors note: Like a zombie, slithering through the ground, I come to you all bearing gifts. Here you have the newest chapter, that has taken me far more time than I had anticipated. This is the last bit of big drama that I will write, so fluff, romance, and smut will be coming your way soon. No one worry because I will fuck Avis's brains out soon, I promise. I understand that this chapter might not be to everyone's liking but I still hope that you like it and as always, be gentle but tell me If I need to be more graphic, if I'm lacking in something. I am here for you, my dear people, I listen. I also accept ideas and suggestions that you might have. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Avis Amberg.

Shoutout to @bravewithacapitalb for being my beta reader and for being there to help me when I got stuck and give me wonderful ideas. I love you and I will give you a barrel of olive oil some day. Also shoutout to @p2pecleanerwitheyes and @renyfisher for being wonderful human beings ❤️

Chp. 1 Chp. 2 Chp. 3 Chp.4 Chp.5 Chp.6

Word count: 30K (As an apology for taking so long)

Take a breath and open your eyes, my darling

Every sound was muffled, as if a pair of hands were covering her ears, her eyes moving from side to side in a sedated state when everyone around her seemed to be rushing around, up and down the hallway, doctors and nurses barking orders that echoed against the white walls. All the people around her were barely shapes, only clouds of colours that her eyes refused to focus on as the stretcher you laid on vanished through two heavy doors at the end of the foyer, leaving her standing over cold tiles. She couldn’t remember how or where her jacket was, a thin white blouse clinging to her body, the once pristine fabric now covered in splatters of blood and dirt, the imprint of your hand resting on her abdomen, the material having picked up every wrinkle of your skin, the shape of your fingers, every line that crossed your palm. She could even make out your fingerprints, the sight burning the skin beneath as much as the bitter tears that had formed in her eyes begged to fall and yet she refused. No one in that entire hospital mattered to Avis more than you, and when her trembling voice had asked the doctor if you would make it the gravely look on the older man’s face had been enough of a response, words never answering her question. That might be the last time she saw you, battered and bruised, hanging on to life by a ripping thread that she could not fix as they whisked you away. She hadn’t even got to say that she loved you.

Her entire body shook, adrenaline and fear holding her upright as grief and agony enfolded her completely, her chest rising and falling arrhythmically as she fought the sob that threatened to escape from her throat. She was perfectly aware that she was leaving dirty imprints on the clean floors, dust, sand and mud stuck to the soles of her heels as your blood dripped from her fingertips one drop at a time. She was mesmerized by the way it ran along her palm, slightly reddened by the butt pad of her shotgun, in slender rivers that followed the path of each crevasse on her hands, lingering in between her fingers before they branched out, coating her soft flesh and sinking deep on the imperfections of her skin. Only a few minutes ago the crimson liquid had burnt her skin as much as the muzzle of the weapon had caused blisters to form on the pads of her fingers, but they had been completely different sensations. She would have preferred to take a knife to the heart over and over again than to have your blood on her hands, the emotional, mental and physical pain almost too much for Avis. Standing in the hospital now it was as if instead of the molten lava that had scorched her, she was feeling the sharp edges of an icy river. Her eyes just could not steer away from the way the droplets formed around her scarlet nails and fell in slow motion, almost as if gravity both pulled them to the ground and repelled them until they crashed onto the tiles beneath her feet.

The sound was barely there, so quiet that no one should have been able to hear it, but it blasted inside Avis’s head like an explosion, a thousand bombs going off at the same time, rumbling inside the building like an earthquake that was making her tumble on her feet. She had taken a step forward, unsure of what to do with herself, and if it hadn’t been for a pair of slender and gentle hands that wrapped themselves around her arms she would have fallen down onto the hard ground, the skin of her bare knees scratched and bruised where it would have collided with the freezing tiles. Her own body was protesting against the weight that her legs had to support and the hands that aided her in standing upright, but she could not fight either of them, and as the heat of the person that was keeping her on her feet seeped through her blouse onto her skin she felt the freezing touch of your hands on her. It was as if Death had greeted her, it’s bony fingers clinging to your body as your lungs fought to draw breath, Avis’s hands never letting go of yours thinking that having her close could bring you comfort, her soft words, laced with anguish and the hint of tears that she refused to cry in front of you, begging you to not leave her. She still had the sound of your raggedy breaths engraved in her brain, carved in blood and fire so deeply that it left her lightheaded.

Guilt sliced through her like a dagger, a constant train of what-ifs running on a loop in her mind. If she hadn’t let you leave the night before none of this would have happened, if she had listened to what her heart was telling her instead of being so terrified of what her daughter or everyone else would think if they saw you enter her house and not leave until the early morning she would not be standing in a hospital praying and begging to any and every God that wanted to hear her to please save your life. If she had held onto you instead of watching you slip through her fingers like smoke no one would have got hurt and she wouldn’t have had to kill a man, something that she both regretted and knew was the only way out. She would not be crying venomous tears that clawed at her skin and ripped her cheeks to shreds for the only person who had loved her for her and who she had learned to love back, no fake smiles and expensive presents given to her to hide all those things she already knew were happening behind her back. Ace was barely a few floors away from her and the thought of seeing him hadn’t even crossed her mind, all her attention on you and the memory of your broken body, cold under her touch. How was she meant to give the image of the worried wife when the person she truly loved, the other half of her beating heart, was fighting for her life?

None of this should have ever happened, not for a film, not for the studio, they were only material things that could be replaced, restarted from scratch but the loss of a human life could never be fixed. She was well aware of such a fact, the sight of Lon gurgling and choking in his own blood flashing before her eyes for an instant, a shiver running down her spine in disgust, and as much as she regretted having been forced to reach such a point it was impossible for Avis to feel full remorse for her actions. They had taken you in the night, like the criminals they were, and had let Lon do whatever he pleased, Ace partially to be blamed for having granted him far too much freedom all these years, and for what? Among all the anguish that poisoned her blood, she felt rage, a fury that she had never felt before that rotted inside her and made her feel like the worst human being on the planet though there was no real reason for her to feel such a thing. But the guilt crawled through every pore and chanted in her mind that she was to be blamed because she had green-lighted Meg and she had accepted the position of head of the Studio when she could have easily handed it to Dick, maybe even to the board, and it was her, and only her choices, that had ended up with you barely alive in her arms. There was a hole in her chest so deep, so vast that she feared she might never recover, withering like a rose as winter drew in. If she lost you, your sparkling eyes closed forever, your angelic face still for all eternity with no smile to lift her spirits and make Avis’s heart leap in her chest, bruises and wounds she would never forget hidden under layers of makeup that showed only a glimpse of who you had been, she would lay beside your coffin and force Death to claim her because a life with you would be like a universe with no stars, forests without trees, her body without a heart and soul.

Her entire being felt as if it was caught in a hurricane, emotions drowning and confusing her in a whirlwind that swept her off her feet and left her floating in between rough winds that cut through her skin like sharp shards of glass, words written in your blood carved onto the weapons as they dug onto her body. Each word lingered like the last embers of a fire, and it felt as if they had been tattooed on her skin, blistering her flesh and consuming her in a constant wave of pain that she couldn’t escape. A rogue curl had fallen from her perfect updo, the ginger tones masking the specks of blood her hands had inadvertently left on her soft hair as it brushed her cheek, flyways twisting in frizzy ringlets on the back of her neck, where the warm breath of a person touched her skin. Hints of a floral perfume mixed with the metallic stench her body was immersed in, her brain slowly comprehending that Ellen was the one holding her up even if she was risking staining her blue suit with your blood. Nausea began to build as the smell became unbearable, Avis lulling her head back as her face turned pale, fighting with all her might to not vomit in front of everybody; she would never be able to face them. Not that she could find it in herself to turn around, afraid of what half a dozen pairs of eyes would see on her face and shaky frame, dishevelled and utterly miserable and broken, but worse of all was what she might see on theirs.

Would they pity her or be afraid of her? She could not blame them for choosing either of those options, after all, she was asking herself that same question, but if she were to turn around and face the answer when she was so down, when her heart had been ripped out of her chest and sliced until it laid in shreds on the cold tiles of the hospital hallway, she would not be able to recover. Ellen took a step to her left, dragging Avis along with her but the woman’s body sagged heavily on the other one’s slender arms, black heels scraping the tiles as the ginger tried to get her legs to work, weak and trembling as the adrenaline she had been running on began to fade leaving an amorphous mass of aching muscles and stinging scrapes behind, the small wounds she hadn’t even noticed before adorning her hands in a gruesome spectacle. She hadn’t even seen the skin that had been peeled on her index finger from where her flesh had gotten caught on the trigger of the shotgun. She was no longer paying attention to her surroundings, voices barely making their way to her ears as Ellen carried on pulling her towards the side, her oak eyes glued to her hands once more as if she was only now noticing what your nails and hers had done to her skin, hidden underneath the blood that was beginning to dry, coagulating and thickening around her wrists and on her palms, leaving a horribly disgusting sensation behind. 

With clumsy steps, Ellen managed to get Avis to the closest seats, black wooden chairs that were clearly too uncomfortable to sit on for long periods of time, but whether her friend noticed or not was of very little importance to her. As soon as the back of the redhead’s knees hit the cold seat her body crumpled down, legs completely unable to support her any longer. How could she feel everything so raw, so vividly and at the same time be so numb? It made no sense. There could never be enough words to describe the turmoil inside her, the pain, the shame, the regret, the anger… it was a mix of it all that ravaged her mind and slammed against her skin, destroying everything in its path and leaving nothing but rubble and dust behind. Every moment of her life had been the same, controlled, measured, even when she went down to the gas station, did she do it knowing how and where, but you had changed all that. For the first time in her life there was excitement, there was the thrill of sharing experiences with someone, not out of duty, but because you cared, there was a reason for her to wake up in the morning and get through the day, your smile shining around every corner, your eyes a constant in her mind, their life and eternal light getting her through the worst. You had given Avis her life back, her reason for existing, and now all she had was your blood clinging to her, suffocating her as the splatters turned into thin, sharp tendrils of crimson poison that wrapped around her neck, trapping her, slicing through her flesh.

She was falling apart, breaking piece by piece with each passing second, feeling how her own blood was seeping from in between the cracks like a waterfall, leaving her dry, barely alive even if in truth her body still drew breath and the droplets that stained her skirt and slid down her legs were not her own. Never before had Avis felt as if nothing but glass was coursing through her veins, the pain never-ending, escalating by the minute like a constant reminder that it was her fault, and she could not escape, chained forever by her actions to the freezing ground as water rose all around her, threatening to drown her. Ellen’s face was maybe a foot from hers, but her features were blurry, incoherent shapes that her eyes could not focus on, her mind too distraught and busy to pay attention to her, or perhaps she was frozen in time, stuck still in the car with your broken body in her arms, pushing clammy strands of hair from your face as if that would make the wheezing your lungs produced less gravely, as if your eyes would open and look at her once more as if nothing had happened. But it had, and her perfectly planned and controlled life had been smashed to the ground, dust clouding her mind, voices in her head screaming at the top of their lungs making her deaf, unable to hear anything but her own guilt. She wanted to run away from it all, to make it stop.

The night you came to her house for the first time with your old coat around your frame and a never-ending line of documents in your hands, she had thought you another of her husband’s conquests. A pretty young thing who wanted nothing but to become a star, after all, that was the only reason she had heard for more than twenty years why people move to Hollywood, but when you had told her that that was not your case, she had taken an instant interest in you. You were… unusual, to say the least, and you most certainly were worthy of her attention after what you had done with her, matching or even surpassing Jack and Ernie, but you had not left her after that. You had showered her with affection, your eagerness to please her endearing to her flirty nature, and as you shared more of your time with her, she became drunk in the way your eyes lingered on her body as if she was a diamond, completely enthralled and bewitched by the way you were making her fall in love without realising it. You had shifted her entire life into something worth fighting for, had made her trust her own decisions and stand firmly on both her feet, only to be caught in the crossfire in the end. You would be safe if she had stayed in her lane, if she had not taken charge like Ace had wanted her to, but as much as she wanted to blame him, he had not given the order to produce Meg, she had. To her she seemed as if she had been the one who had killed you with her own bare hands.

And it stung. Her skin, her muscles, her very own blood choked her with disgust and anger at herself, crawling through every inch of her flesh like a thousand cockroaches and spiders that wanted to eat her alive until nothing, but bones remained, but even then, she would not escape the guilt and the absolute grief that knocked her to the ground. She had shared things with you that she had never been able to tell Ellen, her best friend for more than a decade, your tender touch drying her tears, your rosy lips letting words of love and kindness drip onto Avis’s skin like a balm, healing her, picking up the pieces that life had left for you and building her again, gold and roses sealing each piece with each kiss. She could not bear the thought of never hearing your voice again, of not having you there to console her and tell her that everything would be alright, her secrets and her love laying beside you under soil and dirt as her tears soaked the ground under her, infertile lands that would never grow a single daisy, a single rose, vast plains of sand and rocks where not a drop of rain would ever fall. Void of life, matching the black hole inside her chest that fed on her despair, taking her light and her breath, with it, leaving her freezing on her chair, feeling the rivulets of your blood sliding down her flesh like snakes.

Would this be her life if you didn’t survive? A walking corpse, living half a life with the remorse that she could have prevented it all by keeping you in her arms, by leaving with you that night, by having pressed you more into staying. A thousand what-ifs ran rampant in her head, each making her feel worse than the one before, fuelling the fury and rage that hadn’t left her since she had seen the cross, only now anguish seemed to her guide and agony her path as a rain of daggers made pain a constant. The grip on the edge of the chair made her knuckles turn white under the dry and cracking layer of blood, following and seeping into every single crevasse and pore on both the palm and back of her hands, her vision unfocused. Ellen was fighting a lost battle, trying her best to gain her attention when Avis was in fact miles away from the hospital, lost in a hurricane that no one could save her from, slender fingers rubbing soothing circles on the ginger’s arms to no avail. The touch never registered inside Avis’s mind, lost in the ocean that separated her from reality, her body sitting on that dammed chair when her mind was still in that house, in the car, in every room of her house, and every room of yours, following the traces of your perfume as if she could find you and take you in her arms, clam her raging heart and tell herself that everything had been a nightmare. She had never wanted anything more in her life than to hear that you would come home with her, terror bubbling inside her as the thought of planning your funeral hit her like a building collapsing on top of her.

How on Earth would she do it if you didn’t make it? How would she choose your coffin, the flowers, the music… when all she would think about was the fact that her bed would forever remain empty, cold even if Ace woke up and returned home? You touch would linger on her skin, your ghost haunting her and the halls of her house with whispers and freezing clouds of future that had been take form you, Avis chasing you and your memory for all eternity as she lost herself to a madness that she never wanted to get over, because in that state of mind, losing all sense of reality, you would still be there. The tears that had gathered in her big, sorrowful eyes, broke through her will and fell in quick succession, burning her skin raw, leaving a bitter taste that mixed with the metallic stench that clung to her like a second skin. She had dreamt of a church filled with flowers, every corner breathing in lilacs and whites as she made you her wife, the love of her life walking down the aisle dressed in silks and lace of the purest pearly white, a dream that now could turn into the worst nightmare she had ever lived, the baby breaths and roses turning into lilies as her clothes bled into the deepest black the universe had ever seen, matching her rotting soul. She could not lose you and yet she could not stop thinking that no matter what happened today she would always remain your partner, your friend, and your wife until her heart stopped beating and her lungs expelled her last breath, and if life had deemed it right to claim your life, a fact she would forever resent, she would be your widow.

There were no clocks on the wall all throughout the hallway, but she still heard the incessant ticking of time that spoke of all the seconds lost into a past that could not be changed. Avis was finding it so hard to cling onto what little hope she had left inside her, the baby lights shining so dimly that the darkness that had built in her mind kept hiding them from her, its warmth at the tip of her fingertips, almost there for her to grasp only to be pushed away to the edges of the firmament. Why couldn’t she trade her life for yours? She would rather lay on a stretcher battered and bruised beyond recognition if you remained untouched, not a scratch on your beautiful body, your locks pristine and soft, your cheeks rosy and full of life, your perfect eyes glowing still as if they were not fighting to hold on to a ripping thread. Avis was freefalling down an abyss where there was no bottom, just an endless sight of darkness that took her away from you, or perhaps it was you who was being taken from her, but why would it matter, there was a rift building between you two that she couldn’t cross. She had never truly noticed until now how incredibly cold hospitals were, freezing in truth, tiles everywhere slamming shards of ice onto her skin, Ellen still trying desperately to get her attention. The blond could not remember a single day in her life when her friend had looked as lost and broken as today; the great Avis Amberg was crumbling in front of everyone and neither Avis herself nor Ellen knew what to do to prevent it, or if they should.

Sounds became bombs, and every breath, every footstep echoed inside her head as if she had an orchestra playing, every single instrument off-key and untuned playing a hellish aria that could make her head explode any moment. Everything irritated her, everyone unimportant to her right now, and suddenly all that she had been numb to only a few moments ago raked at her flesh, driving her insane, angering her exhausted frame to the point that without thought she pushed herself to a standing position. Ellen tumbled back, Dick quick to grab her so she wouldn’t end up on the floor, both pairs of eyes watching dumbfounded as Avis walked down the hall before pausing and retracing her steps. She was not herself, that was clear in the way her body sagged with each step, heels clashing and crushing against the tiles as her hands pulled on her clothes, nails piercing through her skin as the physical pain spread like wildfires all over, but it did nothing to quiet down her screaming mind. All she wanted to do was to make it stop, to sit in silence as she let sorrow consume her, but the world was too loud, too fast, too careless and cruel and its weight was killing her the same way it had done to you. Was this how love was supposed to feel when things were wrong? As if her heart was dying with you, like there was no tomorrow unless it was with you? If it was so, she had no desire to keep it, because she could not escape the pain, the memories that she held onto as if she was the one barely alive turning bitter with each breath she took, constricting her chest. If this was love, she would rather die than to be told you were gone. She could not bear a single second in this world if she could not go home with you.

Her entire body shook, trembling as if the entire planet was succumbing to an earthquake, tiles, chairs, and people fading in and out of Avis’s line of vision as she struggled to push air into her lungs. Everything around her was so bright, forcing her to close her eyes in an attempt to dim it somewhat, black spots dancing under her eyelids as she tumbled on her feet, hands flying in the air looking for something or someone to hold onto. They landed harshly over the freezing walls, contrasting with her almost feverish body, sagging and melting as her legs lost all strength, giving up under her. She was collapsing, exactly the same way her world was falling apart, every cell unable to breathe, lungs begging for an oxygen that Avis could not provide, the tears mixing with your blood as they fell over her ruined clothes scorching every inch of skin they touched as if they could leave blisters behind. Her knees bent, hitting the harsh material the walls were made out of as her ankles threatened to twist, her heels feeling like a thousand needles, her clothes like plaster that trapped her, unable to move. For an instant her eyes opened and focused on her hands, fingers leaving macabre paintings over the white tiles as her palms slid down, following her exhausted frame, traces of blood imprinted forever in between invisible cracks, Avis’s fingerprints fading before her eyes as the crimson streaks carried on forever. Her palms smeared your blood as if her flesh was completely covered on it, dripping thickly over her eyelids, falling off the tip of her nose, staining her lips and drowning her as if the only thing she could fill her lungs with was the hot metallic liquid that burnt her insides like lava.

She was on the verge of passing out, falling like rags on the ground, when two strong hands wrapped around her torso and pulled her up, pushing her off the wall as her eyes observed the work left behind, grotesque shapes of monstruous trails and partially imprinted palms staring back at her as the deep red liquid dripped towards the ground. Her feet never made contact with the floor. She was swept into someone’s warm arms, a whiff of pine and whiskey hitting her nostrils, but the smell did not make her nauseous as it mixed with the metallic stench, it was, in fact, a comforting aroma that she tried to hold onto with both hands, fingers curling around the fabric of a white shirt, colours that she could make out through the tears. This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid, to be seen as weak by the people who were supposed to rely on her, to see a leader, someone they could trust, but she was now only a shell of her flamboyant persona, a broken item that people would run away from. She was supposed to be Avis fucking Amberg, not whatever she had turned into, whatever this was! How could anyone look at her and expect her to lead them ever again when all they could see was a weak, crushed woman? They would never respect her again, she thought, they would never look at her the same, and that brought a sense of defeat that she hated with every fibre of her being. Gently Jack walked over to the seats, placing her back on the chair she had just vacated with Ellen hovering over his shoulder, pale as snow, slender fingers aching to comfort her friend, but Avis did not want to let go of the man’s shirt, or perhaps she couldn’t, locked in place. Every joint and muscle felt stiff, the adrenaline in her bloodstream vanishing like smoke, fading and leaving behind an utterly depleted and trembling body that fought with all its might to sustain Avis.

-Mrs. Amber, please, calm yourself down.

-Listen to the man, Avis. Breath.

Had Ellen always sounded so sharp, so high pitched that it grated her nerves while at the same time, it made her blood freeze in her veins? She wasn’t a cruel or rude woman by nature; Avis could not think of a single moment in the woman’s life when she had been nothing but gentle and caring, and yet her words were commanding, though in the ginger’s current state of mind, she had not picked up on the worrisome tone that had laced the blond’s words. Oxygen, she needed oxygen, no matter how much, just enough so that the ever-growing black spots would vanish, so the weight on her chest would stop crushing her lungs and ribs, but she could not seem to get her brain to respond. Her heart was pounding a thousand miles per minute, her ears ringing as blood pumped through her veins at such a speed that she was beginning to fear her entire body would explode, which made her shallow breaths ever more rapid and arrhythmic. Ellen kept trying to get through to Avis, but half of the words got lost in the rattling of noises and screams that echoed inside her head, and as her skin turned paler, a gruesome contrast with the splatters of blood, Jack took matters into his own hands.

-Ms. Kincaid, bring me ice, as much as you can.

-Ice? Why?

-Yes, just trust me, please. Hurry or she’s going to pass out. – she had not a single inkling why he would ask for such a thing, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt and rushed down the hallway and out through the white swinging doors, the sound of rubber scratching on the ground along with the screeching of the hinges floating in the air like invisible dust that gathered around the congregation, adorning and accompanying the whispers that fell from thin cracked lips.

-At least we are in a hospital if push comes to shove.

-Henry! What the fuck is wrong with you?!

Through the corner of her eye, Dick’s form moved as the blurry shape of a dark suit that stood a few inches shorter than the brown one next to him, and even though her puffy brown eyes could not see it, he was fulminating the younger man with a look that clearly meant for him to shut his mouth. He really did not know how to read a room Dick thought angrily, and so in an attempt to calm things down, Henry raised his hands in surrender and turned away, returning to his seat. Had Avis been her usual self she would have given him a run for his money, but alas she was still holding onto Jack’s shirt as if he was the only thing that was keeping her grounded, fighting to breathe as his hands ran up and down her arms. What must he think of me, she thought? A woman who had commanded him, who had stood on top as he pleased her and did everything she desired, a woman he owed his career to, to a certain extent, turned into what? She didn’t even know who she was, what she felt, what was left of her. But if only for a moment, just an instant, she could read his mind, see what he did, she would find that he didn’t see any of those flaws, the cracks she was so terrified of. She was so much more than just that façade she went around flaunting, she was a layered, complicated woman that not many had the pleasure to see in predicaments like this, and although what they had shared had been strictly business and had ended months ago, he did care for her. She had been through enough in her life, why did she keep getting knocked off her feet like this, the harsh cement scraping her hands and knees, making her bleed until she had the strength to get back up again only to end up back over the dirt, bruised? 

She didn’t deserve this. Jack had listened to her during that first encounter, the pain and the sadness that had laced every word in a way that she thought no one would pick up, breaking his heart little by little. How could he not when her eyes had been screaming for love, for anything, to anyone who would listen? Every moment spent with her had been filled with an aura of expensiveness and power he had not minded, a sense of respect, and to be honest, fear, running down his spine every single time, but beneath that tough exterior, an insecure, emotionally starved woman rested, a side of her he had only gotten a glimpse of on rare occasions and that now sat bare and open before them all. He had never thought anyone, or anything could crack Avis Amberg like this, but then again you were not an accessory in the woman’s life, you were everything to her, an extension of her being that anyone with eyes could see, two hearts beating in unison. Hearing Mr. Samuels speak hurriedly about what had happened to you had been a shock for the entire cast, and as Jack, Archie and Rock gathered their things to aid Avis he had stopped for an instant and wondered how she must have felt, how she was handling everything. Ace had never been particularly loving towards her, forcing a cold, tough layer of rejection to be cast over the hurt interior that had shaped Avis into the woman she was now, but you had shattered all that slowly with each kiss, every whisper and glimpse of affection you had thrown her way, melting the wax that had encapsulated her, freeing her at last like a butterfly that set flight for the very first time. Knowing that she could lose you at any moment had been just as rough back then as it was now, though kneeling before her trembling frame trying to prevent her from hyperventilating herself into a fainting spell, he began to think this aftermath was worse. He had not been ready for the sight that had welcomed him when Avis had returned from the half-demolished house, he had most certainly not been ready for what had been left behind in the hospital hallway.

Ringlets of ginger hair had swayed in the midday warm breeze, caressing the nape of her neck and her pale cheeks, all colour had drained from her face as the image of Lon gurgling and coking in his own blood played on a loop in her mind, as fresh as the splatters of the crimson liquid that had landed on her skin, like macabre freckles that painted her flesh, shards of bone having flown towards her legs shredding her stockings, small bleeding scrapes on her shins that his eyes picked up on briefly. The shotgun rested in a grip so hard her knuckles had turned white, Ellen running behind her completely out of breath but Jack’s gaze was not on the blond, blue eyes taking in the dishevelled and panicked look that shadowed Avis’s features as if the sun had vanished from the sky, the world eternally forced to live in perpetual darkness, no moonlight to show the way, no stars sprinkled in the navy canvas that spread above their heads. Jack was used to fear and terror, after all, he had fought in a war, but for some reason all that could not compare to the way fury mixed with horror in a way that made his skin crawl, Avis’s deep brown eyes reflecting every emotion as if her very soul was an open book. His hands had travelled down to her hips as his thoughts swirled deep in his mind, coming to rest gently over her knees after a moment, the touch of her cold skin and ruined stockings under his palms pulling him from his memories to stare at that same face that  shone with bitter tears, the crystal liquid turning pink as they picked up the red beads that had dried over her flesh. Neither of them could say if it was yours or Lons.

On his wrist a small golden watch ticked, the tiny black clock hands showing to everyone each second passed, the way a single second turned into a minute, then another, and as they accumulated in the air there was still no sign of Ellen, no footsteps to break the deafening silence that enfolded Avis’s rapid breaths. There was a constant rain of questions in her head that flooded the floor with no answers in sight to vanish them, making her feel as if she had lost complete control of her life, begging silently for a doctor or a nurse to come out and tell her what was going on, if you needed anything because she would give it to you, be it a better hospital, better staff, her own organs, her own blood, anything you required, but the hallway remained impassive to her suffering. She had been defeated, she thought, by her own hand to be exact, actions and consequences meeting in the same place at the same time at last. Jack’s hands remained on her, never ceasing the reassuring movements, not that they worked at this point, sobs fighting her physically to escape her throat as it gasped for air, the sounds making everyone around her watch in horror as she turned paler by the minute, veins visible under her translucent skin, but the boy would not give up so easily. With gentle hands his fingers travelled down her claves to her feet, and although the gesture might not look like much to others, he removed Avis’s shoes as tenderly as he could, placing her feet firmly against the freezing tiles.

The gasp that parted from her blueish lips was the first proper time her lungs had drawn breath in several minutes, the crisp, antiseptic air filling her chest in shock, but Jack knew more needed to be done. The ground would match her temperature soon enough and the shock would fade back to her panicking persona, but he could not leave her, not when her hands were still holding onto his shirt. He had to wait, much to his dismay, until Ellen returned. He would have to throw the garment away he thought, the fibres of the fabric ruined, soaking up your blood like a sponge, but he could afford to lose a shirt, there were millions of them on the planet, but no one in that entire hallway could afford to lose you. Next to him Dick and Henry talked in hushed words, the topic redundant to the task at hand, and yet Jack could not help wondering what was so important that had to be discussed right then and there when there were definitely more important things to take care of, but he was in no real position to interrupt them. The sound of a heel on the floor reached the young boy’s ears after a few instants, his head perking up to make sure he was not hallucinating, and just as he did that another one filled the space until the blond appeared through the swinging doors with a glass bowl in her hands, rushing back towards them. Her slender hands and bony fingers cradled the ice as if it was the most important object in the universe, as if those same hands had not touched Oscars, sculptures and paintings, not to mention pieces of jewellery that cost more than Jack’s own life. Nearly slipping on the ground as water dripped from the edges, Ellen kneeled on the floor next to him.

-What do I do with this?

-Help me pry her hands off my shirt and put them in the ice.

-But won’t it shock her… Oh! I get it now. You work on the left one, I’ll handle the right one.

 It wasn’t an easy task as Avis’s grip was iron like, hard and nearly unbreakable, but with enough determination the both of them worked on prying each finger off, the boy not caring much about ending up covered in blood, matching the stains on Ellen’s once pristine blue suit and Dick’s dark one, although you could not see them unless the sun hit him directly on the front. Avis fought against them at first, terror dripping from her eyes in between the sharp tears that seemed to never end, but her body was growing weak, and soon enough the warmth of the fabric changed to the heat of each their bodies as they finally worked her hands of his shirt, revealing imprints of scarlet red that would soon dry and remain there forever. Without a moment to lose Jack grabbed the ice and dunked Avis’s hand inside it, Ellen following suit, feeling the slicing cold on her skin, but her pain did not matter, blue eyes watching intently as her friend yelped and gasped once again, but this new shock to her system lasted longer, bringing with the sudden drop of temperature a physical pain that knocked her of her feet. It felt like a complete reset, as if her body had shut down for less than a second and then restarted again. Her tumultuous mind quiet for the first time in what seemed to be hours, breaking the cycle of self-deprecation and guilt she had fallen into, tears ceasing to fall at the unexpected touch of the ice on her sensitive skin, brushing painfully over her blisters and cuts, but neither Jack nor Ellen let her lift her hands. It somehow forced her brain to focus on only single thing instead of the millions of thoughts that had taken her mind hostage, registering one sense at a time, in this case, touch.

-Come on Mrs. Amberg, in in four and out in four. You can do it. – her gaze fell on his kind face, seeing him through the dark spots that had began to slowly fade in her eyes, hearing his deep calming voice as he counted. One, two, three, four. She took a deep breath and held it until the countdown began again. One, two, three, four. It was slow but sure work, and at last oxygen began to enter her system regularly, steadily filling her lung and every cell in her bloodstream, the dizziness she hadn’t even noticed before vanishing like smoke as a tender breeze swept through the hallway, taking with it every ailment she could possibly have and leaving behind only an exhausted body. With each inhale pine overwhelmed the bloody stench, whiffs of vanilla accompanying the fresh aroma as Ellen got closer to her. She had never thought of how sweet her friend’s perfume was, nor how manly but formal Jack smelled. Her mind could almost imagine your gentle berries lotion caressing her skin. – That’s the way to do it Mrs. Amberg. We can stay here as long as you need. In. One, two, three, four.

What sweet sound silence was, no screams, no madness that pulled her into a hurricane of insanities and grief, no voices grating at her nerves and playing with her emotions, kicking her while she was down, when she could not defend herself. It was heavenly to only have Jack in her head, not even herself as it was still stuck on the feeling of the terrible ice. It really was true what they said that one’s worst enemy was their own mind. Her panic melted of her body bit by bit like the wax of a candle, flames consuming them until nothing, but cold hard white rivers were left over metal candlesticks, specks landing on top of wooden tables that would never be removed. Parts of it still lingered under her skin, and would probably do so for the rest of her life, but with each silent tick of Jack’s watch her heartrate slowed down to a pace somewhat normal, the wheezing and sharp sounds of her lungs begging for help no longer in existence as they drew breath with relative ease, the boy’s voice fading into nothing as the attack passed. Chocolate irises could not bear to hold gaze with either pair of blue eyes, watching instead in disgusted fascination the way the ice melted under her palms, turning what once had been a most perfectly crystal clear water into a sea of pinks and deep shade reds that froze over the first thin layers of the mismatched cubes as blood clots fell to the bottom of the bowl, thin, translucent trails left behind, but this could never even begin to wash it off her skin. She feared it was all part of her now, forever stamped on her body. 

-Avis? – Ellen’s hand rested gently on the woman’s forearm, making her stare at the wet but warm fingers of her friend. She had never noticed the many wrinkles that decorated the pale skin, how short her nails were nor the way not a single spot blemished the back of her hand. They were small details that made Ellen so inherently herself but that for some reason the ginger had never seen before. – Avis, look at me. Please. – as much as she wished to run away from the surely pitiful glares she was going to encounter, she lifted her head, not ready to see the disappointment in everyone’s faces but at the same time unable to deny her friend her request when she voiced it with such a pained tone. As brown locked with blue she did not find a single trace of all those feelings that had been clawing at her, only worry. – Are you alright?

-I… Yes.

-You had us all so worried there for a moment. I was sure we would have to call for a doctor or a nurse. Are you certain you are fine?

-I am, Ellen. As fine as I can be under these circumstances.

-It’s not the answer I wanted but it will have to do. Take your hands out of the ice before you lose a finger. – Jack remained silent as Avis removed her hands, drying them on a handkerchief Dick was gallant enough to hand her, the soft touch of white linen on her wounds gentle and tender, even if the ice had numbed the pain a little bit. From the corner of her eye she observed the young boy, his hands inches from her bare feet, his countenance reserved, almost as if he feared she would yell at him at any given moment. Was he still terrified of her after what he had witnessed? Her hands trembled slightly as she grabbed his chin and forced their eyes to meet, but the gesture wasn’t harsh, her body could not manage harsh right now, and in those deep blue irises of his she found distress.

-Jack… Thank you.

-I… Of course, Mrs. Amberg.

-What is it?

-I don’t think I understand the question.

-Why are you looking at me as if you had just been through Hell? Did I say something or do something to you?

-No, not at all. It’s just… Well, I have come to think of you as some sort of friend and…

-And what? – How did she do it? Moved from nearly collapsing in his arms to looking at him with anything but kindness as if he was the one who had just been through the most traumatic thing in the universe and not her. Her hand caressed his cheek before it fell back on her lap, Ellen having removed the bowl from her friend’s thighs and leaving it on the floor to the side.

-You scared me. I had never seen something like this, not since the war and it was horrible to be face to face with the fear and the panic all over again, only that it was a thousand times worse because it was happening to you. You don’t deserve this Mrs. Amberg, no one does, but you, out of everyone I’ve ever known, are the one who deserves it the least. You should have never been forced to feel such horrors.

-Oh, Jack. 

-I mean it. You are my friend, at least I think of you as one, and someone as wonderful as you should never have to live through things like this.

-Life is not fair, my boy. The worst of people could live forever not facing a single consequence for their actions, while kind people, like you, have to face hardship after hardship. I’m hardly a saint, Jack.

-But you are no monster either. It is of no concern to me what you might have done in your life, but I am sure that it is not as bad as what has been done to you. You are finally happy; life can’t be so cruel as to rob you of that.

If only things worked like that, she thought. If only life could wait and let the world fix their mistakes before they sentenced them to pay for their crimes, but alas it kept on turning, waiting for no one, pausing for nothing, time running away from everyone’s hands as the hourglass turned only once, swirls of sand falling until the very last drop flew through the air. He was still so young with so many things to learn, and Avis felt so old, the decades she had lived falling heavily on her shoulders. There were so many things she wanted to say to him but all of them felt discouraging, heartless at most, and she did not wish to dim that beautiful light the boy possessed, a light that only yours could outshine. He had lit her up in every encounter they had shared but it could simply not be compared to the way you had uplifted her, put her in a pedestal and worshipped her as if she was the most precious work of art, dressing her in gold and placing roses at her feet, your essence, your light, forever casting a most perfect halo over her skin and underneath it. A shine that comforted and gave her the strength to carry on every day of her life since the moment she met you. You were younger than Jack and somehow you carried the wisdom of a thousand lifetimes that lingered in the way you walked, on the taps of your fingertips over wood, in each look and every word that fell from your lips, sweet as candy and soothing as honey.  

What wouldn’t she give to be staring at you right now and not at him, your baby blue dress draping around your bent knees like waterfalls, the gentle touch of your fingers barely making contact with her ankles instead of Jack’s calloused hands? Silence filled the foyer like an invisible gas that had rendered everyone mute. Suddenly heavy doors screeched, hinges screaming as they were pushed open making heads turn as fast as muscles would allow, a sharp pain running down Ellen’s neck at the motion, but she did not complain. A man in a white coat stepped into the hallway, years of medical practice engraved on his mature face as the heaviness of loss and work weighted him down, curving his spine as he made his way to the congregation. This was it, Avis thought, the moment everyone had been desperately waiting for. Her entire life was about to change, either for good or bad, and in both cases it made anxiety rise in her chest once more, completely unready for the grief that might slip from his thin lips, a nervousness that she could not control. But there was no need for her to do so, not when Jack, Ellen, Dick and the rest of them were there for her, would be there for her no matter what, and as the man’s steps got closer, the two of them held onto her injured hands with a caring and comforting touch. Her breath caught on her throat as soon as the man’s polished black shoes paused a couple of feet from them.

-Mrs. Amberg.

-Doctor Friedman. How… how’s Y/N?

-She’s stable for now. She did come in an awful state, I won’t lie, and she will need time to recover from the extensive injuries, but for now the surgery we performed to handle the internal bleeding was successful.

-So, she will recover? She’ll survive?

-You brought her in with several bruised and even broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder that we were able to handle before he took her to theatre, a punctured lung and bleeding spleen, along with many other minor injuries that the nurses are handling now. She was very very lucky, Mrs, Amberg. I can’t say that she will have the same life she did before, but she should get better, yes. -never before had she heard sweeter words. Angels were singing in her head as she released the breath she had been holding, the weight that had been crushing her for hours finally freeing her from its destructive grip. Relief was coursing through her veins as the doctor’s statement sank deeply inside her brain. You would be alright. Everything would be fine. And yet the man’s voice spoke in a gravely tone, his features darkened by the seriousness of the situation, putting a damper on Avis’s happiness for a moment. – I must warn you that her recovery will be slow. She is to be confined to a bed for at least a month, until I’m sure that her ribs have healed enough for her to stand without pain and once her legs are able to support her.

-What’s wrong with her legs?

-Her right ankle is broken, and she has a crack on her left femur, probably caused by a blunt object hitting her. I don’t know what happened to her and I don’t want to know, but it’s a miracle I’m not treating her for dozens of broken bones. She really is a fighter.

-For how long will she have to stay in the hospital?

-I cannot give you a specific amount of time, I’m afraid. It all depends on whether her lab work comes back within acceptable ranges and if there is no risk of her suffering any more harm once her body has begun to recover. We shall cross that bridge when we to it, if that’s acceptable to you Mrs. Amberg?

-Of course. Anything to make sure Y/N heals without issue. Could I… could I see her?

-I would usually say no as she is still in a very precarious situation, but I can give you a minute or two with her. She’s still under the effects of the anaesthetic and we did have to put her on a ventilator to reduce the stress on her respiratory system, so I’m giving you a heads up that the sight might be quite distressing, but it is only temporary. Can you handle that?

It crossed her mind to mention Ace’s state, just for an instant, how she had grown used to the sight of him surrounded by tubes that breathed for him, but her better judgment prevented those words from ever slipping out of her mouth. Without a second thought though she nodded her head, extracting her hands from Jack and Ellen’s tender grip, lifting herself off the chair and taking one single step towards the doctor. Jack’s hand on her knee stopped her just as her still trembling body had been about to take a second one, turning her head towards the kneeling boy to see him holding her shoes in his other hand. A sigh escaped from her red lips, the carmine slightly smudged on the corners of her mouth as she let him put them on. When Avis had been little, her mouther used to tell her stories before she had gone to sleep, tales from the old continent that she still remembered to this day, stories that she had read to Claire when she had been a child, before everything had turned to shit in her life. This very moment reminded her of one of those charming fairytales, but reality could never be as beautiful as the scenes in that worn-out book. Jack was not her prince charming putting on a glass slipper on her dainty foot, she was hardly a princess or even one of those ladies that wore tiaras and danced in room decorated with brocades and gold, and there would be no castle at the other side of the heavy doors. Avis’s princess charming was currently somewhere in this hospital asleep, waiting for her love to come and see her even though there would be no kiss that could heal you from the horrors that had transpired that day.

Her heels echoed against the tiles as she followed the doctor silently down the hall, feeling everyone’s eyes glued to the back of her head, but she never turned. She needed to see you, she needed to make sure that the words spoken to her were real and not just flimsy things that could easily be forgotten, taken by freezing drafts of cruel wind, and if she turned, even if it was for a single moment, and locked eyes with Ellen or Dick, her resolve would crumble. They would question her with one glance, and then she would begin to doubt herself, wondering if she really wanted to expose herself to whatever was awaiting her in your room, if she really had the stomach to see you in the same state her husband was in. They wouldn’t understand the visceral need to know that she had not lost you, that she wouldn’t have to fear a phone call in the middle of the night from some nurse or other telling her in rehearsed sadness you were gone. She was beyond grateful and happy that you were alive, of course, and she highly doubted anything could ever show and express the depth of her feelings of relief and utter delight, borderline delirious, that Lon had not taken you from her, that despite every hardship, you had fought and won, but there was still that tiny little voice telling her, asking her if it was real or just a panic induced hallucinations. She would have believed the later if Dick’s handkerchief hadn’t remained in between her fingers, the once perfectly manicured nails tracing the embroidery on the edges of the linen as the doctor held the door open for her.

In the course of barely twelve hours, she had gone through every emotion known to humankind, from lust and love to terror and anger, but this new fear that was taking hold of her felt completely different from anything she had ever felt before. Your body would heal, with time, but would your mind ever truly recover from something as horrible as this? Every time she blinked Avis could see the shape of your battered body on the filthy ground of that house, blood everywhere, your once perfectly alabaster skin now black and blue, not an inch of you safe from Lon’s wrath. But that had been but an instant, even during the ride to the hospital her eyes had remained on your face, never glancing down your body otherwise she would have broken down in front of you and she could not afford for such a thing to happen; you had needed her. But now you were somewhere safe, and she could not help but wonder what you would think of her when you woke up and told she told you about everything. She had killed a man for you, would you think her a monster? Was she truly ready for this? Her steps halted in the middle of the floor, the doctor not noticing her absence until he was around six feet from her, turning on the heels on his feet to look at her, eyebrows raised in a questioning manner.

-Mrs. Amberg? – those deep raspy tones that Dr. Friedman carried in his voice floated up to her ears, but they sounded to her like nails raking on a board, the undertone of his question lost before it could even be processed by Avis’s brain. Why couldn’t she just stop feeling so intensely? Why couldn’t her body just turn it all down for once and let her get on with the task ahead instead of making her feel like a scared child all over again?! For the first time in decades, she wished she could hold onto her mother’s hand.

-Come on, Avis. We’ll go in together.

In the back of her mind, she could trick her brain into believing that the perfume her nostrils picked up on wasn’t Ellen’s vanilla one but the floral she had missed for over twenty years now. No matter how old she got, how many years she cradled in the wrinkles that adorned her skin, she would always wish for her mother to be there with her, guiding her, telling her that everything would be alright, that she was strong enough to go and see you, to carry what you could not the same way you had been doing for her since the cold December night. Ellen’s touch on her forearms almost felt the same as hers, kind, loving, never rushed and never harsh, simply a statement that she was there for her. Turning her head towards the blond she saw a tender smile on her thin, rosy lips, and as if time had stopped to let Avis catch her breath, it began to tick once more as both women stepped forward in unison. Perhaps she had not given her friends enough credit, she thought, far too used to all those fake people that didn’t give a single fuck about her and her feelings, always believing that no one understood her, that she was everyone’s last resort when it came to things that didn’t involve money or connections. She was never even flirted with unless she started it, which always left her devasted by the time she got home. But Ellen was always there, listening to her, walking beside her down a hospital hallway just because she knew she would need a bit of push instead of telling her what a bad idea this whole thing was.

She made a mental note that she would make more of an effort from now on to show her just how important she was and how much she loved her. After all the poor woman had seen and helped her when she was at her lowest, when she had drunk herself to sleep after arguments with Ace, when she had had difficulties with Claire… The list was endless, and she could hardly recall a single time when she had said thank you to the woman for being there; she most certainly would fix that. In a small gesture of appreciation Avis moved her left hand until it came to rest on top of Ellen’s, the warmth of the blond’s skin mixing with her own bringing a sense of comfort that was very much needed, resumed their walk after a moment. The doctor guided them all the way to the end of the hallway and through a narrow corridor on the left, stopping in front of a dark wooden door that was marked with the number 217 in metal, each symbol hammered by thick nails onto the heavy planks. Her free hand shook as she pushed it open, the sound of several machines reaching her ears as both ladies stepped into the dimly lit room. It was exactly like Ace’s she noticed, with the same boring white walls and fluorescent light bulbs that flickered every once in a while, a single small window opposite the door covered in what only could be described as the grimmest grey curtains in existence, the smell of antiseptic and blood heavy in the air.

The sight was indeed anything but grotesque, crude, simply utterly heartbreaking. Your gentle frame lay underneath white bedsheets and a grey thick blanket; your skeletal body dressed in a gown that did nothing to hide the thousands of bruises that painted your skin. Dried blood remained stuck to your golden locks, turning them dark over the pillow, a mosaic of gruesome shades that made nausea rise in Avis’s throat for a moment, the acidic taste of vomit gracing the back of her tongue. You look so small, so tiny and broken in that big bed, wires and tubes circling your body in every angle and direction possible, dark glass bottles of blood and medication handing from drips, injected into your veins through yellowish tubes and wrapped around your arms and hands to prevent them from slipping, though you showed no signs of being on the verge of waking up any time soon. There were still red tinges on the parts of your skin that were not covered in bandages or plaster, the hues of death that refused to leave you just yet, on your temple, on the tips of your fingertips, around your cracked lips that were parted by a big white tube. She was quite familiar with that machine, watching with unshed tears the way the spring moved up and down with each monitored breath, the mechanical sound in no way a stranger in her life by now. And yet it somehow echoed differently in her mind, like a million screams that all matched your voice.

She had barely noticed how she had wayed on the spot, Ellen’s grip slightly stronger on her arms as to support her, Avis’s hands now dangling from her sides like rope, her entire body like a rag doll that remained on its feet because someone else was propping her upright. Your chest rose and fell artificially, and even though the doctor had been quite clear that it was to avoid any more stress on your weak state, she could not help but wonder if it had been a lie to hide the fact that it might be keeping you alive. Would you remain forever asleep, deep in a world so far away from Avis’s that all she would ever see of you again would be this, your deteriorating body as the days passed? Every minute spent with you had been like a blessed rainfall, washing her body of all pains and miseries, granting her fresh water to drink from your hands, an angel with no wings. She desired to see you barefoot over the grass, the sun bathing your alabaster skin with a perfect golden glow, locks of hair flowing freely in the wind as dandelions floated lazily around you, perhaps a butterfly or two landing on your fingers as bees buzzed in between flowers at your feet. Every waking moment was spent imagining you without a worry in the world, in the Garden of Eden dressed in nothing but your innocence and your golden virtue, waiting for Avis to fall into your arms in nothing but her wild locks of fire, laying down next to you in a bed of white poppies that cushioned you both from the hard ground.

She wanted you in ways that she could not understand, needed you so deeply that it made her entire body ache when she was away from you, her treacherous heart begging for you to be returned to her arms. Every instant without you made her soul yearn for you in ways that could make new sins appear on black ink on parchments at the Vatican, your name written in perfect golden calligraphy as hers followed suit in a deep red, like your humble apostle. She would set the world on fire for you, to see you open your eyes and find even a glimpse of love and recognition behind them, to feel your hands squeezing hers under all that medical equipment, to hear your raspy voice saying her name, and as she took one step towards you, Ellen never letting go just in case, she felt her chest constrict in a painful wave of grief. Yes, you were alive, but you were at the same time so far away from her, within her reach and yet her fingertips never seemed to be able to touch you, an invisible sea between you. Her brown eyes raked over your frame, but they always returned to your face, cuts and bruises decorating your pale skin in a macabre painting done by a madman, strokes deliberate, calculated over your once rosy cheekbones, splitting your lips and eyebrows as if he had been breaking a brand-new canvas, slicing your flesh so he could paint the walls of your enclosure with your blood, a hellish forest of splashes and puddles of burgundy and scarlet red dripping down the concrete, deaf to your pleas and screams. Stitches closed them up now shining under the flickering lights preventing your veins and capillaries from letting a single drop of your essence fall down your skin onto the bedsheets.

Ellen’s right hand held onto hers, and with curious brown eyes Avis watched as her friend lifted them and brought them to the edge of the bed. She made no attempt to touch you, leaving that part for the ginger to do when she was ready, but she remained a constant by her side, a supporting member of a team that played one of the most important roles; to simply be there. Avis hadn’t noticed how harsh the bedsheets seemed to be under her palm, rough, too starchy for her liking, and perhaps even a little worn-out, a feeling that she was incredibly displeased with and that she would make sure the nurses changed as soon as possible. You needed to be comfortable, and this was most certainly not up to standards. She was going to pay good money to this hospital once you were released, she expected you to be dressed in linens and cottons soft enough that they could never leave a rash on a baby’s skin, clean enough that Avis herself could eat on them and not worry about a single speck of dirt tainting her coffee, every single thing used on you of such quality that it could be used on the Royal Family without a doubt. It was understandable that since everything had been so rushed they had had to use the first thing their hands had grabbed, but that didn’t mean your entire stay would be like this, not while she was alive and next to you. The doctor cleared his throat behind them, making Ellen’s head turn to look at him to see him pointing at his wristwatch, a sign that the few minutes he had granted them were coming to an end.

-Avis, we’ll need to leave soon.

-Just one more minute. Just one. Please.

Dr. Friedman was not a cruel or heartless man, and as much as he knew he should follow every protocol in the book, he understood that whatever had transpired that morning must have been a most traumatic event and therefore the women in front of him needed the reassurance that his words were real. One more minute wouldn’t be the end of the world. He nodded his head silently, retreating back to the shadows by the door and letting Ellen whisper the good news to her friend who visibly relaxed her shoulders as she took a step closer to you, her ruined skirt barely a few inches from the mattress. With skin pale as milk, she could almost trace the outlines of your blueish veins up your arms through the many bandages that protected them, down your neck towards your hidden chest and over your eyelids. Everywhere she looked there they were, like spiderwebs of a tone between indigo and periwinkle that spread underneath your skin in different lengths and sizes, and if she narrowed her eyes just enough, she could almost make out what little blood you had left on your system coursing through them, your weak heart pumping in a steady rhythm. She only had a few more seconds left with you, this brief moment in which no words were exchanged, not even a glance except for Avis’s eyes roaming over your body, coming to an end far too soon and far too quickly for her liking, her hand inching closer and closer to yours as quickly as the speed of light and slowly as if she was traveling back in time.

Like lighting striking down her body Avis’s fingers finally made contact with your skin, a quiet gasp nearly falling from her lips as heat seeped from your body to hers. One single tear rolled down her cheek, eyes closing as she let the sensation wash over her, relief blooming fully in her chest like a garden in Spring, white roses climbing up the walls of her heart, daisies growing in her veins as her feet walked on the fluffiest of clouds or the softest of grass. She highly doubted she would ever forget the feeling of your freezing skin under her fingertips, like sharp shards of ice that had cut her flesh so deep scars would forever be imprinted on her skin, marks that no one but herself would ever feel, but as your still smooth flesh seeped a gentle warm glow onto her body, raining life back into a heart that grieved your absence and your memories, she was sure she could find it in herself to push every horror as deep into the back of her mind as it was possible. For the first time since you had kissed her tenderly last night, she could feel you again, alive against all odds. Euphoria could be a better way to describe what she was feeling, an unbridled joy even if she could make out all the tiny cuts and stitches that held your skin together, her fingers leaving reddish translucent trails of your own blood behind that the bowl of ice and water had not been able to remove, as she caressed the back of your hand, eyes watching the way your eyelids twitched almost as if you could wake up any moment, but she knew better.

-I’m sorry, Mrs. Amberg, but I can’t let you stay any longer. I suggest you go home and rest, perhaps have a bite to eat and come back this evening. The anaesthetic will have worn off by then, and it will only be a matter of time until she wakes.

-She will wake up, won’t she? – she refused to meet his eyes, afraid that the truth might be reflected in his greyish irises even if his mouth delivered what he might think were harmless lies.

-Yes. It might be later today or in a couple of days, whenever her body has recovered enough from the trauma and the surgery to regain consciousness. – so soon? What if she wasn’t there when you woke up and you thought you were all alone? She couldn’t possibly leave you now. Noticing how Avis hadn’t moved, not even attempted to step back from you, the man approached both ladies, and in a slow gesture he placed a bony hand on her shoulder in a way that could only be described as comforting. His voice carried a tone of patience and understanding that she wasn’t used to, each word delivered with such certainty it made her feel like there could be no other truth than his. - Mrs. Amberg, trust me when I say that she will be alright. I will keep an eye on her personally until you return, but that has to be in a few hours, alright? You need to rest as much as her.

Trust didn’t come easy for Avis, so used to being used by people as if she didn’t have feelings, just a means to gain something, but this man made it irrefutable for her to not do so. He didn’t gain anything by lying to her, she thought, looking at his older face over her shoulder, observing the veil of age and wisdom displayed in his eyes, a partially hidden smile gently gracing his lips behind a peppery moustache. He wanted you to live and go home as much as she did. A sigh made its way out of her throat, her fingers lingering on your hand for one more instant before they released you, leaving an empty spot that even in your unconscious state you somehow felt, knowing deep inside your mind that she was there, almost smelling her perfect perfume through the antiseptic and the blood. Not wishing to part ways like this, making it all seem so cold and distant Avis approached your head, pushing stained locks from your forehead before bending over the bed, balancing herself on the tips of her toes as her lips touched the soft skin she had just exposed.

 Her heart leaped in her chest the moment your warmth met her mouth, almost making her cry in relief as if she was coming to terms with how alive you were all over again,  but she could not prolong her stay any more than she already had and let her brain get lost in those wonderful thoughts, so as she placed her bodyweight back on her heels she observed through a wet chuckle the imprint of her red carmine on your smooth flesh. No one said anything about wiping it as Avis stepped back, her fingertips brushing the fabric of your gown before her arms came to rest at her sides, not that they were thinking about doing it in the first place, simply followed her silently towards the doors, Avis fighting to not look back just like Orpheus had done with Eurydice, afraid that whatever agreement she had signed with her silent prayers would be broken the instant her eyes landed back on your bed and she had to watch frozen on her spot as you were taken from her. Standing once again in the hallway the doctor was quick to excuse himself as he had other patients to check on. Ellen took the lead and pulled Avis away from your room and back to where everyone was still waiting, nurses smiling sweetly at them even though their eyes were blown wide at the state of both ladies. It made Avis hug herself, conscious that she looked nothing like she usually did with her curls bouncing out of the hairdo, frizzy and sticking out in some places, not to mention her ruined clothes; she felt nothing like her usual self. Ellen pushed the doors, holding them until her friend had walked through, letting them screech as they closed. Dick was the first to reach them, meeting in the middle of the foyer.

-Is she okay? How did she look?

-She’s… fine. Still sedated but the doctor says that she might wake up soon. He told Avis that it was best for her to return this afternoon.

-That’s good. Great news. Do you want me to drive you home Avis? – he placed a hand on her shoulder, a tactic she was beginning to hate. She wished for everyone to simply stop touching her, to let her handle all this however she saw if and at her own pace, but she partially understood that they didn’t have any other way of making her feel and see that they were on her side. The specks of anger that had built in her chest popped like tiny bubbles just as quickly, the angry words she was about to deliver to poor Dick getting lost among her aching muscles.

-No. I think I’d rather have Ellen do it. Besides, you have other matters to attend to.

-The film can wait for one day, Avis. We’ll pick it up tomorrow, don’t worry, I will personally cover the loses.

-I’m not talking about the film. Something must be done about Lon’s body. – the elephant in the room had the spotlight at last. None of the men had had the courage to bring it up even though they knew perfectly well what had transpired in that house, after all, shots could only mean one thing. Henry had flatly refused to even bring it up, saying, as both ladies left to see you, that he already had done his job and wasn’t going to get his hands dirtier than they already were, a cowardly move, Dick thought. The other three boys were simply too terrified of how Avis would react if they did that, that they had mumbled words under their breaths that sounded like excuses to the man, leaving only him to face the hangman at the end of the day. He couldn’t have been more grateful to Avis for bringing it up herself. - We can’t leave him there or it might draw some unwanted attention to us. Could you handle that, Dick? I don’t think I can, not right now.

-Of course, don’t worry. I’m sure that Mr. Psychosis over there knows of someone who can help. We’ll figure something out.

-Thank you. Just a heads up: it’s not a pretty sight what I left behind.

-I suspected as much. I’ll warn the boys. You head on home.

-Phone me if there are any problems, okay?

-I most certainly won’t. Go on, I’ll take it from here. – the first hints of a genuine smile broke through her serious semblance, picking at the corners of her mouth even if it was for a moment. She took the chance to squeeze his hand affectionately as a thank you before both ladies began their journey down the hall and to the parking lot. - Drive safely Ellen!

What had she done to deserve such wonderful friends? He was going out of his way to do something for her that she was extremely aware was dangerous, a criminal act that he was willing to cover up to protect her, and to a certain extent, you. No one would have ever even thought of doing that except for Ellen, maybe even Jack if you pushed him enough, but Dick would jump into action if he knew Avis could not. The boys waved them goodbye as they passed them by, Ellen mouthing a silent thank you to Jack for the ice trick from before, holding onto the ginger’s arm as they pushed the door open. Slowly, inch by inch, everything was sinking into her mind, every moment she had lived, every word she had heard replaying like a scratched record, the world around her not as blurry or as muffled as it has been when she had entered the hospital but still not quite as real as what was in front of her face, as if everything three feet from her didn’t exist. Every memory mixed as if they weren’t sure where they were supposed to go, like a puzzle that she could not finish even though she had all the pieces because the table kept on being moved, spilling them onto the ground over and over, her body aching even more each time she had to bend to pick them up. The sight of your body under all that equipment overlapped the image of Lon on the hard ground, you alive and him spewing the last few breaths the bullet she had embedded in his chest would allow.

She had barely registered the journey to the car, not noticing the hot rays of sunlight that hit her skin as if she was walking under a desert, nor the sound of her heels or Ellen’s on the asphalt as they approached the black Cadillac. Her purse was gone, she realised, looking from side to side in a panicked state as if it could magically appear out of thin air, not knowing where it was or if she had lost it in the turmoil of activities that had led them to this place, eyes flickering before she saw the blond pulling the car keys from a pocket in her jacket, unlocking the vehicle. It was right there, on the passenger seat along with the revolver she had handed to her friend. It was dangerous to leave both items for everyone to see, but at the same time she highly doubted anyone would have tried to steal them, bloody handprints almost engraved on the back of her front leather seats, perhaps from different hands, or where they hers? She seemed to recall a moment in which she had turned to beg Dick to drive faster, but she could not fully remember if she had rested both of her hands over the leather, maybe her friends had accidentally left them when they had manoeuvred you onto the back seats. Her eyes glanced then to where you had laid what seemed to be seconds ago, dirt and blood everywhere she looked, not inch unstained, the cabin filled with a horrible metallic stench that only seemed to get worse as sunlight broke through the windows, heating the air inside. 

Nausea hit her like a train going at full speed, forcing her to step away from the car as the vile taste of vomit returned, stinging and burning the back of her mouth as tears gathered on the corners of her eyes. Under other circumstances she would have considered walking back home, safely cooked up in her mansion in under twenty minutes, but people were already eyeing her a mix of worry and fear that she didn’t want to face out in the streets, rot to have the police stop her and start asking questions about a business they did not have to know about. She would have to endure the smell, she thought, turning back to the car to see Ellen fighting the foul stench herself, turning windows down so that the breeze would help dissipate it as much as possible. Through the open door that Ellen was working on, cranking the window lever, Avis saw the dark outline of your body marked on the seats, puddles of still wet blood dripping down onto the car mats one by one, perfectly formed tear-shaped beads travelling through the curves on the leather, imprinting the maroon shades onto the stitches. They were ruined, completely and utterly unsalvageable, she thought, not even an inch safe from some sort of splatter or smear of the crimson liquid, but it would be no issue to get someone to replace them, not leaving behind a single trace of the horrible experience. Hell, she could get herself an entire new car if she desired it, but her brain was exhausted and could not make decisions of that sort at this moment in time, the only thing clear enough for her to acknowledge being her wish for Ellen to take her home, away from everyone and everything.

A couple of minutes later the blond turned the engine on as Avis settled herself on the passenger seat and exited the hospital’s parking lot. The smell was still there, forever clinging to every surface, but the wind that had picked up around the car as Ellen pressed the accelerator, snatched most of it and pushed it out of the cabin with brute force. An eery feeling crept up her spine, eyes moving almost of their own accord to the back only for Avis to be forced to look through the windshield, a battle between her better judgment and that side of her that could not move on from what had happened. It almost felt as if invisible hands were hovering over her throat ready to strangle her with a mix of guilt and regret, pushing the happiness that you would survive to the side as if it meant nothing, demons that she had not faced in what seemed an entire lifetime taunting her. The woman behind the wheel was a completely different story. Shock prevented her from feeling anything but worry, as if nothing else existed in the entire universe, her perfectly normal life shattered into an amorphous shape that she had no idea how to understand and handle, feeling as if she could not fully comprehend just how deep you and Avis were connected, and therefore how bad this entire situation truly was. It left her bewildered to say the least, but she would never have to live with the thought that she had killed a man, unlike the woman next to her. Both ladies were lost in their own little crumbling worlds by the time the doors of the Amberg residence became visible.

No old man was there to greet them as they drove past the wide-open metallic gates, just as they had left them when they had come to pick up the weapons. When had that been? Avis wasn’t wearing a watch, and she could not recall what time Jack’s had shown while they were at the hospital. Over the leather, the revolver slid from side to side in between them as Ellen parked the car on the side, the gun hitting her thigh as everything came to a halt, eyes glued to it as if it had been the first time she saw it, the shotgun she had cradled not that long ago lost in the ginger’s mind, just as much as her jacket. They could be lying on top of twigs and grass in the forest, or maybe they were somewhere in that sterile place you were trapped in, her brain didn’t seem to even be trying to remember. They were, in fact, on the mats right behind her, soaking up blood by the minute, hidden under a dark mist of death that followed her everywhere she went, a reminder, a constant danger that made the hairs on the back of her head rise. Pullin on the hand break, Ellen turned off the engine, leaving them both simply sitting there, eyes staring into the distance unsure of what to say or if they should do something at all. Nothing could ever change what had happened; the burning crosses, the threats, the blackmailing and your kidnapping, all resulting in you being in a hospital and a man dead over the rubble of his parents’ house. Not a single word they said would erase a single second, turn back time to that moment late the night before in which Avis had been in this exact position, sitting on the passenger’s seat of your Packard instead of her very own Cadillac.

-Avis. - her hands were still trembling as her eyes broke their gaze from the revolver, lifting her head slowly to look at the blond. Sympathy swam in her blue eyes, concern crashing into her irises in waves of cold water that didn’t quite reached the ginger. Slender fingers intertwined with her own. – Everything will be fine. Y/N is strong, she’s already survived the worst of it. I’m sure she’ll wake up soon.

-I know, it’s just… so hard to believe that it will actually happen. Am I becoming paranoid Ellen? I have this feeling that at any moment I could get a call and she’ll be gone.

-You are not paranoid, you are worried. We all are. This… all this has been bigger than what we anticipated. Far more horrible that we could have ever thought, it’s normal for you to feel that way. She was almost taken from you.

-She was so cold, Ellen. It was as if I was touching pure ice, as if my skin was burning every time I put my hands on her. I was so sure she would be gone before…

-Hey, don’t think that. She’s fine, she will recover, and everything will go back to how it was.

-Will it? I don’t think there could ever be a normal again. We can’t go back to acting as if none of this ever happened, because it did, and I know it has scarred you as much as me, don’t deny it, Ellen. Please.

-I won’t. – would it even matter if they went back in time? Actions would still be engraved in blood and fire in their brains, haunting them in every waking moment, chasing them in nightmares that they could never escape from, shredding their skin with their sharp claws, making their ears bleed with their cruel laughs. What difference would it make if at the end of the day everything would still be fresh in their heads? Avis’s eyes noticed the layer of grief that ghosted over her friend’s eyes, and instead of waiting to be comforted she did the comforting instead, squeezing the woman’s bony hand hoping she would understand. The unshed tears were all the answer she needed. - We are all still in shock, let’s just try to get through the day to the best extent we can. Do you want me to stay with you?

-No, it’s okay. Do you need me to stay with you?

-I’ll be okay on my own, don’t worry.

-Then I’ll get the driver to take you to the studio so you can pick up your car. Promise me you’ll phone me if you need me, okay?

-I should be the one saying that, since you often forget to ask for help.

-Maybe things will change from now on.

Ellen raised her eyebrows in surprise, a small cheeky smile on her thin lips that matched the hints of lifted corners on Avis’s own mouth, a comfortable silence falling in between them as they exited the car. She felt the sun on her skin this time, the warmth that caressed her body gently through the white fluffy clouds that floated in the bright blue sky above. It was a continuous back and forth; one minute she could not feel anything but sorrow, and the next, joy filled her so completely that it almost made her think she would explode. It was as if she was caught up in between two worlds and she had no clue which way to go, which door to choose from the thousands that were presented to her. An absolutely insane hurricane that toyed with her emotions constantly. It made her doubt whether you could actually recover when you had looked so small, so vulnerable and pale, but at the same time she knew she had to believe that with people like Dr. Friedman around you nothing bad would happen to you, and that soon enough she would have you in her arms, cuddling in bed, kissing every inch of your body until dawn came. A soft breeze pushed rogue curls off her face, the floral aroma of her garden overwhelming her senses, making the metallic perfume she wore vanish as if it didn’t exist.  She rummaged through her purse to get her keys, steps slow, exhausted as she made her way to the doors, Ellen following her to protect her sensitive skin from the sun under the covered porch, eyes blinking lazily.

-You be careful Ellen, okay? I wouldn’t survive if something happened to you as well.

-I’ll be extremely cautious and alert at all times, I promise.

-Even so, I’ll get security for you house tomorrow morning. Don’t fight it, just humour me, please.

-I wasn’t going to. I’ll feel much better if I have someone there to watch over me at night.

-If you got with Ernie, you would have extra protection. – the heavy oak doors creaked in its hinges as Avis pushed them open, keys dangling and rattling from their spot inside the keyhole, feeling the cool breeze that wayed through the entrance. The words had left her mouth even before she had been able to filter them, but by the surprised look on her friend’s face and the soft chuckle that escaped her lips they had been exactly what was needed, lifting part of the gloomy atmosphere off the air around them.

-Oh, Avis! I can’t believe you; you are still trying to push me into his arms? Honestly. – she accommodated herself on a chair next to the door, crossing her legs under her blue pencil skirt as if it was just another conversation over a glass of wine, but in that case her suit would not be ruined by stains that not even a dry cleaners would be able to remove. - For what is worth I have already had lunch with him a few times.

-But you weren’t the dessert he was hoping for, I’m sure.

-Oh, you! Things will happen if they are meant to, and that its all I’ll say on the matter.

The following silence was comfortable, happy even, just like it had been all those times they had chatted in the afternoons when neither of them wanted to go home to an empty house, when they had wished to gossip and laugh and simply feel young and foolish. The grey clouds still threatened to rain in the corners of their minds, but they didn’t feel as imminent as before, as if the harsh truths of reality could be put on hold for a while. It was a breath of fresh air for everyone if they were being honest. Before stepping inside her house Avis turned to Ellen, and as a goodbye she kissed her cheek in a quick peck, leaving a translucent mark of her red carmine on the blond’s skin, promising her that the driver would right there. Gertie was waiting by the kitchen’s hallway as her employer stepped into the house, letting the wood creak as the door closed behind her, but the woman didn’t say a word, unable to at the sight of her. She had been perfectly composed when she had left the house that morning, even when she had rushed to gather the guns not that long ago, the woman in front of her looked as if she had just come back from a battlefield. If Avis had noticed the look the maid was giving her, she didn’t bother to mention it, simply asked Gertie to tell the driver that Ellen was waiting outside and made her way to the staircase as the other woman scurried away, a million questions floating in her head. Alone at last she let the armour fall of her body completely, mentally echoing as they dropped onto the ground, the last traces of adrenaline sliding of her arms onto the carpeted floor under her feet.

Each step felt as if she was climbing up a steep mountain, lungs begging for rest as her legs burned from the exercise, but she could not stop, she needed to reach her bedroom as close the door, isolating her from the rest of the world. Her left hand followed the polished wood of the banister, dried scales of blood parting from her skin, stuck to the railing without her noticing, like sprinkles of a punishment you had not deserved.  She had never counted each stair, but it seemed to her as if she would never reach the landing of the first floor, as if with each step she took she was walking backwards and not forward, like a never-ending walk down a hall where there were no doors. It was simply extraordinary in every sense of the words how much every bone and muscle in her body fought against her mind, aching and screaming at her to stop, to sit down and let the world pass by her, but in under a minute she stood over the carpet of the desired floor, barely three feet from her bedroom door. She could hear people moving about downstairs, voices floating as words she could not make out, nor that she wished to, her mind was already rushing as it was, she was not going to add more noise to the growing orchestra. Her heels made no sound as she walked towards her sanctuary, the white door keeping her away from everyone and everything, completely alone and secluded, curtains drawn so only the minimum and necessary sunlight could get in.

As soon as the door clicked shut everything went quiet. There were no cars on the road, no birds chirping joyfully on the other side of her window, no neighbours lounging by their pools with music or guests, just a deep silence that drilled itself into her head. Even before she had let go of her purse her shoes were already off, dropping her height by about five inches, soles pressed against the floor releasing hours’ worth of pain into the air, a sigh of relief falling from her lips. In a vase by the window a bouquet of white roses rested, filling up the space with a gentle floral aroma that could hardly make it past the stench that clung to her body, every single piece she was wearing material for a campfire as they were ruined beyond repair. Throwing the purse on top of the pristine covers she made her way to the bathroom, locking the door behind her, and with precise and practice movements she turned the faucets on top of her pearly white bathtub on. Water poured in angry rivulets, crashing against the porcelain and spreading like a transparent wave until the drain claimed it all, swallowing without mercy. She watched mesmerised for a minute or two, feeling the cold splatters land on her hands from where they rested over the curved rim, the sound loud but somehow soothing. It made her think of the waterfall you had shown her yesterday, with its crystal-clear waters sliding over smooth rocks as if they were nothing, not even an obstacle, free in its movement, choosing its own path without anyone to tell it that it could not. It had been perfect, simply beautiful; just like you.

Steam began to gather as the liquid warmed up, and after wetting two of her fingers to test the temperature Avis pushed the plug over the drain, letting the tub fill up. Normally she would pour oils, foams and other beauty products in that would leave her skin perfectly smooth and smelling like a sublime blend of flowers and sweet oils, but today she had no strength to do so, simply watched as the water spread over the porcelain before turning and heading towards the bathroom mirror. She looked horrendous, she thought. Her hairdo, for the most part, had not survived the day, waves of red and curls the shade of fire matted on top of her head, curls bouncing and cascading over her shoulder and on the back of her neck, a few messy strands framing her face. Even under the artificial light that came from the bulbs placed around the mirror she could make out perfectly every single speck of blood that had landed on her hair, some barely visible to her tired eyesight while others stood out in amorphous shapes that both contrasted and yet blended with her ginger shade. Her once immaculate make up was smeared, mascara gathered in black clumps under her eyes, innocent trails staining her cheeks from all the tears she had cried and yet could only remember vaguely, her rouge patchy over her pale skin, leaving areas with a fake pink tone as others remained as white as marble. Even her carmine was cracked on her lips, streaks cutting through the red shade like a knife that exposed the rosy mouth underneath. But as much as she hated looking all dishevelled like that it was the hundreds of tiny little burgundy splatters all over her face that drove her insane. She felt as if she had been marked by Death; everywhere she looked, every inch of skin her eyes landed on blood would meet her, drops of rubies that had cost more than she could afford to lose.

Her fingertips touched and traced a few of them, smearing the ones that had not yet dried, her own flesh feeling like it belonged to somebody else. As much as she tried to rub them off, they remained imprinted on her, refusing to part from her, and it drove her insane, forcing her fingers to practically scratch the skin off with her fingers until she felt a stinging sensation and realised, she was close to actually drawing her own blood with her nails. Both hands fell over the marble counter, gripping the edge as her body collapsed onto a stool, the vision she had of herself on the bathroom mirror now only reaching up to her bust, though she didn’t need to see the reflecting to know where your bloodied hands had landed on her body. Meeting her own eyes in the reflection she felt every single year she had lived, all the decades of hate, abandonment and humiliation mixing in an explosive cocktail that poisoned her body. Not a single day passed without her wondering why things had turned out the way they did. Why had her once perfect life crumble into a spiral of betrayals, sex and money that she had never asked for? Her plans had been burnt to ashes by an industry in which she now had all the power she desired and still she felt like that Jew that was rejected before she even opened her mouth all those years ago. When had she lost herself? Each question went unanswered, a tired sigh escaping from her parted lips as she lifted her hands and began to pull each pin from her hair, placing them gently on top of the counter, releasing the pressure of the hairdo as each curl fell in perfect waves over her shoulders creating a red mane of frizzy and angry strands.

Her pearl earrings followed. It was amazing how they remained unpolluted, not a single speck of dirt on them maintaining that pristine white look on them as her hands placed to rest on the side, as far away from the sink should they accidentally get hit and fall down a pipe. It was obvious that the next step was to undress but she felt as if she could not stand, as if her legs could give out at any moment and she would end up crumpled on the floor like used tissues, and so she remained seated for a minute or two longer than she should, looking at the falling water that was filling up the huge tub with each passing second, tiny little bubbles coating the surface before popping. She had asked for this bathtub to be made to very specific measurements, hoping that one day she and Ace would share it, soak in it as they talked about absolute nonsense but that moment had never arrived, the size of it making her feel so small each time she stepped inside it, as if she was floating in the middle of an ocean with no boats around to save her should she give up on swimming. She had clung to the idea of using it with him and just with him that she had refused to take any of the gas station boys into her bathroom, not even Ernie, but after she met you the idea of sharing a glass of wine and a conversation only with her husband began to shift, and the image of you instead, filled her mind. And yet she had not had the courage to bathe with you as she dreamed of every night. There could have been so many opportunities lost, so many feelings left unsaid, kisses never received, promises broken, if the doctors had not been able to save you, and that clawed at her heart.

She had been so close to losing you that she was having the worst of times comprehending how you had survived, how you were alive in the hospital when you had been so cold under her touch, her words barely reaching your ears as with each breath you lost a little more of that spark that kept you going. Death was a cruel player of this game, throwing the dice and taking its prize without caring who it was and who they would be abandoning in an empty house, but then again, how could someone without a heart feel any remorse at leaving sorrow and grief wherever it went? Its skeletal hands had had such a strong grip on you that Avis would have never been able to release you, not if she had tried with every fibre of her being, letting her very own soul rot in an attempt to rip you from its sharp claws, but thankfully she had not had to. Her thoughts were scattered in her mind as fog began to build on the edges of the mirror and knowing that the longer she postponed stepping into the water the bigger the chance was of the tub overflowing and her body completely collapsing on her, she pushed herself into a standing position. Her fingers worked slowly on the buttons of her blouse, feeling the sating sliding down her arms until it rested on her hips, caught under the waistline of her skirt until she pulled it out and let it fall on the ground around her feet. The blood had seeped through the thin material and had felt big red splodges on the skin of her arms, like stamps that marked were your body had touched hers.

Her hands traced the shape of her white corselette, ruined just as much as any other of the clothes she was wearing, the crimson liquid having dyed the delicate lace around the boning, the shape of your hand perfectly embedded on the garment, almost down to the creases on your palm, fingers around her waist that she had not seen before. You had been holding onto her, but you had not been afraid of dying, you had made your peace with that, but afraid of leaving her without being able to say one last I love you. Tears welled up in her eyes and this time she made no attempt to stop them; no one could see her here, alone just like she had wanted, staring at all the cracks she had so desperately tried to cover every year of her life. She felt like a porcelain doll that was one single hit away from shattering. With trembling hands and a slightly blurry vision she unzipped the skirt, joining the blouse on the floor. She had not noticed how heavy the garment had got since she had put it on this morning, the fabric having acted as a sponge that had soaked up every gallon of blood your body had released without permission, the black colour hiding the gruesome truth it carried in between each thread and stitch. There was no pressure on her hips pushing her down anymore, only her underwear and her ripped stockings. She placed one foot on the stool and proceeded to unclasp the garter, rolling the once nude silk down her thigh, but something small and sharp that dangled from a hole around her knee caught her attention, and with her thumb and her index finger she picked it up and brought close to her face.

The next instant her hand released the item in horror as her body stepped back, hitting a glass cabinet and making several bottles topple and fall on the shelves. Her body shook, as more tears rolled down her cheeks, smearing the mascara further, her hands shooting out to hold onto the cabinet to keep herself upright even though her back was sliding over the smooth glass towards the ground. It had been so small that she could have easily kept on undressing without seeing it, that pointy and porous piece of what looked like a deep red piece of plaster, but she knew better, she knew what it truly was. She had been carrying a piece of Lon’s body with her all this time, from that hellish house all the way to her very own home, a bone fragment that even in the distance that separated them over the bathroom floor still held beads of dried blood in between its pores. God, she had truly killed a man. There was part of a human being in her home, of a person that she had not hesitated to murder; she hadn’t even blinked when she had done it, in cold blood. In her head she had repeated on a loop until even her mental voice had turned hoarse that it had to bed done, that if she hadn’t pulled the trigger, he would have killed you and would have probably ended up doing the same to her, but she could not process it. It was a if her brain had suddenly turned into a fortress that wouldn’t allow that information to pass, and it brought a distressed cry out of her throat that she tried to cover up with her mouth.

It wasn’t a matter of what people might think of her; it was a matter of she thought of herself. It was something irreversible, something that she had extremely clear in her mind about you, how if you died there was no coming back, no replacement in a drawer unlike with scripts, but there had only been one Lon as well. Was she a monster now? A criminal? A murderer? Both her hands flew to her face, covering it as she cried and sobbed, everything falling on top of her at the same time like a building collapsing, and this time there was no adrenaline to mask it and no Jack to save her from facing it all, just her and the wind whirl of emotions that she could not control. Every breath was sharp, loud and with a certain wheezing sound to it, mixing with her sobs like a sonata being played in the wrong key but she could not stop. This wasn’t her, the woman she had created after all those decades of hatred and loss, she was a completely different Avis who had no idea how to face the world anymore, who didn’t know her own strengths and weaknesses. She was a stranger in her own skin. A bitter, metallic taste reached her tongue from between her parted lips, and in utter horror she removed her hands from her face to see that the once dry blood was dripping down her arms, thin crimson rivers that branched out over her pale skin as if you had been in her arms only a few seconds ago. This was your very own life coating her skin, not his, you were the innocent one who hadn’t deserved to be beaten to the edge, hanging onto to life by a single thread that he had been far too close to cutting.

Why couldn’t she understand her own actions?! She needed her brain to accept it all before she went insane. Even though the crimson liquid held no heat except for the one that seeped from her body to the atmosphere around her, it felt to her as if it was burning her flesh down to the bone, and in a rushed and clumsy manner she crawled towards the sink and stood up. The faucet ran cold water for a moment, but she did not care, she scrubbed desperately every single inch of flesh she could, watching how the crystal-clear liquid drained in a deep red shade, the stream never lightening, never stopping, her hands still as dark as before. Her eyes met themselves in the mirror, puffy, oak irises dim of every spark they had possessed merely hours ago, following the burgundy outline her own fingers had left over her cheeks, as if she had slapped herself with her blood covered hands. The sink could not do it, she thought; it wasn’t enough. She practically ripped the stockings of her body and unhooked the corselette with as much speed as her trembling hands would allow, hurried breaths matching the silents tears that were still falling. Naked over the tiled floors she caught a glimpse of her body reflecting on the cabinet behind her and the mirror on her side, picking up on every spot of her body that had remained pristine as if they hadn’t been there with her when everything had unfolded, untouched. If she was still Avis, if the eyes that looked back at her still belonged to her why did she feel so broken? Maybe she had been that way all along and had only been able to see it now, when there was no armour to protect her, no walls to keep her true self hidden away.

Your blood ran over her body like snakes, dripping from her fingertips just as it had done back in the hospital, drops that one by one crashed onto the ground, as if hours hadn’t already passed, and as she looked away from her reflection she didn’t hesitate to step into the hot water that swirled inside the tub, letting the warmth soothe her aching muscles as she sat over the porcelain, the faucet still running. It was as if she was covered in a strange emulsion that, as soon as her body submerged itself, seemed to peel of her skin like strings. They had a life of their own, curving in strange forms and creating tight ringlets and beads that did not melt into the water until several seconds after they had been floating around, turning the white around her into a light pink that slowly darkened as the seconds clicked. All those odd shapes diluted like they were nothing, like they hadn’t belonged to anyone, as if they hadn’t had a purpose, and Avis could only watch this morbid display as if she wasn’t the one involved, the producer and yet the product of this horror film she had not agreed to be part of. The parallels were there, the hypocrisy embedded in her mind, but no matter how hard she tried to not compare your situations to Lon’s her treacherous and vindictive mind was working against her, forcing her to see two different images one right next to the other as if she was standing in the room, bloodied water dripping onto the dirty ground as it slid of her body.

On the left was you, lying over exposed cement with black and blue bruises painted on your body, broken limbs showing sharp edges of bone, bleeding through your ears, the corners of your eyes, every scratch and injury separating you from her as your delicate frame turned nearly into a corpse before her eyes. Everything around you was dark, windows taped up, not even the candle she had seen in your cage lighting up the room, just cold and shadows. On the right was Lon, with a shattered leg that glistened gruesomely under fading rays of sunshine, gurgling and choking as his chest fought against the open wound that could never be repaired, heart shredded by a bullet, lungs collapsing in a pool of his own blood, a murderer that had met his match. The only difference she could see was that you had been almost killed by him while he had been killed by her, the ghost of the shotgun heavy in her hands as they floated under the hot water. What was the distinction between her and him that wouldn’t label Avis as a murderer like him? From a shelf next to the tub she picked up a dark blue sponge and dipped it in the bath before proceeding to rub the skin of her arms with it, the strength she was using far harsher than what she would usually do but there was something in the back of her mind telling her that she needed to remove every speck of blood that covered her body. She scrubbed, scratched and turned her skin from pink to red in an attempt to vanish it all, moving onto her chest and torso in a panic state as she saw that some of it seemed to be stuck on her, that no amount of pressure and hard work could remove it. She was brutal, leaving her flesh raw, a very thin line separating her skin from being intact to a bleeding mess, and yet she carried on, frantic in her need to free herself from everything, but to no avail.

Invisible hands pressed themselves onto her flesh, bruising her shoulders, the soft skin of her neck, her collarbones and sternum, leaving the imprint of wine-coloured palms on the sides of her breasts that matched the fading outline of yours that had seeped from her blouse down to her taunt abdomen, nails scratching without noticing. They were everywhere, like a thousand demons that wished to rip her skin off until only bones were left floating in the bath, and with sponge in hand she seemed to be aiding them. Soap soon followed, that special blend she had had made so she would always smell of cashmere and champagne, but the aroma was the least of her concerns, the white bubbles forming on the sponge soon tainted pink with each stroke over her thighs and shins, hissing painfully as her cuts got cleaned. They wouldn’t leave a mark of course, but as soon as the thought crossed her mind every movement halted. Would yours? She had traced the stitches and bandages, and she had seen with her very own eyes every wound on your precious skin, but she had never even thought of whether they would remain forever embedded on you, a constant reminder for both her and you. Would she hate them whenever she saw them? Would your eyes close every time you stepped into the shower and refuse to look at yourself in the mirror? From her spot kneeling inside the tub, she could see her translucent reflection on the glass cabinet, in between fallen bottles of oils and foams, seeing for the first time her true self meeting her back. Her face was free of makeup, pale and pristine, her neck smooth without a single speck left, the ends of her hair and the strands that framed her face wet, sticking to her skin.

This is what you saw, the real her she hadn’t met since she had been a child, a side of her she had been scared of for decades but that you had adored with every fibre of your being, kissing it, cherishing it. It was as if she was seeing herself through your eyes, admiring things that were not only physical but emotional, and she wasn’t hating it. If you had seen all her flaws and cracks and still loved her, why would she hate your scars? They would be silent stories of survival embroidered onto your flesh, like rose golden threads that told a tale only a few privileged people could read, and every moment you spent in her arms she would whisper in your ear that they could never hold you back, that they could only push you further into the life you deserved. Slowly the puzzle was rearranging itself on a steady table at last.  Her hands let go of the sponge, watching in the reflection the way the moving water made it float around the surface, fingers wrapped around the rim as splatters of both reddish and crystal-clear liquid fell drop by drop around the tub. Her breaths were hurried, and her muscles ached like never before, but all panic and fight had vanished from her; she just felt so tired, so exhausted, leaving her to soak in filthy water for a minute or two as she looked at herself in the glass. There was a bruise on her right collarbone that she traced gently with her left had fingers, feeling the tenderness on her skin the butt of the shotgun had caused. This injury would fade along with the others, but yours would stay for all eternity. Unplugging the drain, she watched in silence the small swirl that formed as the water travelled down the pipe, exposing her naked form to the foggy bathroom air, the warmth of her body contrasting with the cold atmosphere even if in truth the room was filled with steam and heat.

White bubbled clung to the sides of the tub as the water level decreased, sliding down her body from underneath her breasts to her waist and beyond until the only thing left was foam stuck to her skin and to the porcelain bottom. She didn’t want to think anymore, she just wanted to push everything to the back of her mind and reach the end of the day. If she thought about everything one more time, she would be stuck in the same loops she had been all day and she just couldn’t handle it. She needed her mind to shut up and leave her be. She had turned the faucet off at some point, though she could not recall when, and to a certain extent it felt kind of dumb to turn it on again, the sponge underneath the stream of brand-new clean water, washing the left-over residue on the blue strands. Her movements were lazy, slow as with a sigh she pushed the plug back over the drain and let it fill up again, but this time she rested against the back and rim of it, feeling the warmth coated her body as the level rose, foam forming on the edges from the soap she had not gotten rid of, but it didn’t matter to her, it would soon fade as well. A bottle of bath salts caught her attention through her half-closed eyelids, the purple shade of lavender rocks making the corners of her mouth twitch in what could have been a smile. They had been a gift from you for Valentine’s Day, along with some lotions, flowers and chocolates, everything in a basket she had put away in her closet among her purses. They had hardly been expensive, and Avis knew she could have traded them for better things or even regifted them to Ellen or Miss Stinton, but they had come from you, and that bright smile you had just for her had prevented her from even entertaining the thought. These things were yours, she could never part with them, she could never sell them or give them away, no matter how much they cost or if they didn’t fit with her lavish lifestyle, they were simply yours. It was hardly an excuse, but it was the truth. She had kept every single gift you had ever given her, from flowers that laid pressed in between pages of books Ace would never read, to a metallic box of chocolates she used now to store pictures of you, bows you had forgot at her place, even a lock of you golden hair that you had cut in front of her so you would always be with her.

She had in her possession dozens of little things that had belonged to you, or still did, like the nightgown she kept under her pillow just in case you stayed with her at night, and every moment she didn’t spend with you she spent it with your things, knowing that come the morning your face would greet her again with a smile, and your lips would kiss hers as if it was the most normal things in the universe. With perfectionated practice Avis turned the faucet off with her foot once the water reached her neck, the rest of her body submerged under a thin layer of foam randomly spaced over the crystal surface. Steam swirled around her like white smoke, but it didn’t choke her, it simply floated about the room, lulling her slowly to a world in which you were there with her. She had plans for the two of you, trips, dinners, picnics, dances… She wanted to show you off like you deserved, to dress you in the most beautiful gowns and twirl you around the dance floor without a care in the world, breathing in your perfume, caressing your skin with her hands and her lips. She wanted to make love to you. She wanted Ace to be you, to call you her wife and take you with her to every luncheon and every meeting, hand in hand, have midnight conversations and laughing fits that left her breathless under the moonlight with you in her arms. She had almost lost all that the dreams that could be and the ones that society would never allow but now that she knew you would be alright, as hard as it still was to process it, there was no reason for her not to do them.

She was a grown woman who had defeated all the odds, who had fought with herself to get to where she was now. She was not going to step back and let life pass her by again, even if it meant living with the consequences of her actions. At the end of the day his death had brought on your survival. Avis took a big gulp of air and submerged herself completely under the foamy waters, red locks floating around her face as every sound in the universe dimmed, eyes closed, letting herself fall as if she was floating in a never-ending ocean. She could feel the currents brushing her naked body, legs and arms moving from side to side to keep herself upright in the bottomless waters, silence in her mind, deep in her throat and ears, no waves crashing above her head, just her body and her. It was so peaceful like this, where nothing could get to her, nothing could disturb her very needed break from reality, blue all around her form, her fiery curls swaying in a rhythm that caressed her cheeks and the back of her neck like tender kisses. She could feel the gentle flow of blood in her veins, her heart pumping steadily, her lungs holding onto the oxygen provided like a mother holds her child, close to her chest whispering promises of a wonderful future filled with love and happiness. She could give that to you, she could be beside you until her very last day returning all the love you had given her, all the passion and joy you had brough to her life. It felt like an eternity as she floated in that vast ocean, free, but her lungs soon began to constrict and the need for air overtook everything else, but her body did not disturb the gentleness of the moment and broke the surface with the utmost care, water sliding over her eyelids and nose, kissing her rosy lips as they dripped off of her from her eyelashes, oak irises opening to meet the same scenery.

She was in the same place but everything around her had changed. The atmosphere felt different, lighter perhaps, as if a pair of hands had been covering her eyes and had at last been removed, allowing her to see everything clearly again. Her life had shifted from that safe spot where she had resided for decades into a place where she was in charge, not having to ask anyone about what she was allowed to do or not, what things were appropriate or worth taking risks for. Meg was a risk she was glad she took; you were a risk she had been waiting to take for her entire existence, everything she stood for now was a risk, and she very much wanted to continue like this, no steps back. She had suffered terribly, but she was no true innocent, she had caused pain as well, and as she sat on the bathtub hugging her legs close to her chest, hair cascading down her back like molten lava, she realised that things had to change with Ace if she wanted to move forward form this point. They had been so locked up on throwing dirt and pushing each other to the ground that they had forgotten why they had got together in the first place, what was truly important. Claire had been caught in the crossfire, and no one had been there to take care of her. True that Avis had been putting on the effort to fix things with her, to create a bond, and understanding, but Ace had to as well; it wasn’t in the hopes that they would become the happy family she had dreamt of, but because the three of them deserved to at least become friends even if love could never truly happen. Ace had made it very clear that he was not interested in her like that, and she had you, the most perfect angel sent to the land of sinners to show her that love was real and not a legend or a prize for the lucky ones.

It had to happen like this because she was Avis Amberg and yet she was not, not until she was ready to become who she was meant to be. Time would tell when that moment would arrive, but for the time being she could simply bask in the joy of knowing that you were alive and would recover. The sponge floated up to her, colliding gently with her knees and breaking her concentration on her reflection on the glass cabinet. Every movement as she washed was mechanical, methodical and usual as she opened her shampoo and lathered her hair in the tender smell of orange blossoms, foam all over her scalp as she scratched the skin hoping to remove what little blood might be left, feeling it running down her back as she picked up the showerhead to remove it. There was no need for her to stand and wash her body yet again, but she did it anyway, although this time her hands were kind to her skin and refused to use more pressure than what was necessary to cover her flesh in cashmere bubbles. She had been cruel to herself far too many times today, she could afford to be kind for a change. Hot water fell over her face and body, rivers of diamonds sliding over her skin, taking with them every bit of soap they could find and releasing the image of smooth and almost perfect frame, travelling over her freckled shoulder, in between her breasts that rose and fell with each slow breath, beads of water falling off her pink nipples and crashing in quiet plops around her knees, each stream molded to her body down to every wrinkle and stretch mark.

Her hands pushed the wet hair off her face before squeezing the excess off, head lulled back as her eyes closed briefly, the sound of water returning to water filling up the bathroom as steam gathered around her, before bending to unplug the tub and let it drain for the last time. Her slightly wrinkled fingers grabbed her salmon-coloured bathrobe as her legs stepped out onto the tiled floor, cool under her hot skin, leaving small puddles with each step she took towards the sink, arms going through each sleeve, the soft fabric clinging to her curves as she loosely tied it around her waist. It left the valley between her breasts exposed along with part of her upper abdomen, but she did not mind, using her right hand to wipe the fog from the mirror before sitting back on the stool. It was a completely different sight to the one that had welcomed her the moment she had stepped into the bathroom, but it was a better one as well, no more blood in sight, no smeared makeup, just her, completely bare, meeting her reflection. Dark spots appeared on the back of her robe and around her legs from the water that was gliding down her body and dripping from the wavy ends of her ginger hair. From a hanger on the left side of the room she picked up a small white towel and gently tapped her face dry before scrunching and shaking her locks into a light dampness, proceeding with a short version of her skincare as she threw it onto the hamper to her right. Lotions, oils, serums, almost a dozen bottles rested around the sink, but she didn’t feel like doing every single step, too tired to even entertain the thought, so she simply grabbed the daytime lotion and tapped a few beads onto her skin, massaging it as the white cream got spread and absorbed.

It made her glow under the artificial lights. Coming to stand she towered over the ruined clothes, observing them in disgust, lip curling slightly before she headed towards the door and unlocked it, steaming colliding with the chilly breeze inside her bedroom in spirals that faded into nothing. She would burn those clothes that same night. She would throw them in a paper bag and watch as the flames consumed them until there was not a single thread of fabric left. After all it wasn’t as if she didn’t have clothes to wear and underwear to spare, she was not even going to try to save them. She was not going to face the memories of today over and over again every time she opened her closet or when the idea of wearing them crossed her mind, but most of all she was not going to subject you or anyone around her to the sight of them ever again. Her steps were sure but fatigued as she crossed the room towards her vanity, curtains perfectly still as they fought against the sunlight that was begging to be let in, palms swaying to the warm breeze outside as Avis sat herself on her ivory-coloured padded chair. There were small items scattered all over the white wood, from a box of hairpins to small bottles of perfume, but her hand did not reach for any of them, it picked up her silver brush, her initials engraved in the back surrounded by tulips, and began to run it over her damp hair, watching in the reflection the way her fiery locks gently draped over her shoulders, lazily beginning to curl. It was a soothing motion, like tender fingers that caressed and massaged her scalp with each stroke, and as her movements began to slow down, she felt the headache that had been threatening to form and possibly render her useless for the rest of the day was being pushed away, dissolving around her temples and behind her eyes.

Under normal circumstances she would start applying makeup as soon as she rolled up her hair; layers of foundation, rouge and mascara that shaped the stern and superior persona she had always been. But for some reason she did not wish to hide away behind all that right now. It wasn’t that she did not enjoy dolling herself up, she was the first to spend hours trying new sets and products and adored to see the beauty they accentuated on her red lips and deep outlined eyes, but it felt right now like an excuse to build those retched walls around herself again, a fortress that her tired hands could not erect. Satisfied with how her hair looked after a few minutes she left the brush on top of the wood, next to the box where her pearl earrings belonged, sighing deeply at the stiffness on her shoulders. The doctor had told her to wait until evening arrived to go back to the hospital, but she didn’t think she could find it in herself to simply sit around for hours, much less try to get some rest when she knew for a fact your unconscious face with all those horrendous tubes around you would appreciate behind her closed eyelids. It felt as if you were in the room with her, like an intangible presence that her eyes frantically looked for and never found, and yet her brain was telling her that it was real. Like a ghost that whispered words in her ear that she could not understand. She could feel you in every corner of the room, in every stitch of her clothes, under the covers of her bed, floating around the curtains that kept her world hidden from reality. You were in the very foundations of her home and in every drop of water that she had been submerged in, filling in the peaceful silence, but it was all an illusion.

A shiver ran down her spine, beads of water still clinging to her skin making her shake slightly, so in an effort to make time pass quicker she stood up and returned to the bathroom to moisturise. Her Elizabeth Arden body lotion rested right next to her Helena Rubenstein face cream, the pristine white and golden bottle clashing with the deep green jar, a harmonious battle that blended like the Heavens on her body. The door was left ajar this time as Avis untied the robe and let it fall over her blood-stained clothes, the soft fabric sliding over her flesh like melted butter until she stood naked over the tiles once more. Her hands were perfectly rehearsed as she picked up decent amounts of the cream and began to gently massage it over her arms and shoulders, following the pattern of collarbones, sternum and breasts. She was extra careful around her bruised skin, deep blues and purples beginning to form under a dark layer of what could only be considered black, the chipped nail varnish following the fading edges until she could not tell when the redness of the injury ended and the pale tones of her skin began. The thoughts began to unravel on the edges of her mind, memories sliding to the front like venomous snakes that wished to poison her and make her crumble back to the ground but she did not allow it, pushed them back to the darkness and depths of her brain with all her might and continued applying the lotion on her abdomen and as far as she could reach on her back. With one leg perched on the stool, toes pressed against the hard glass, her hands run up and down her shin and calf, fingers carefully observing the scratches as they rubbed the flesh, inching over her knee towards her thigh, smooth skin molding to the motions provided to help absorb the cream.

If you had been in the room with her your hands would have done it for her, the pads of your fingers massaging every inch of her, touching her tenderly until her body melted against yours, kisses following ever trail your palms had travelled originally to make sure she was perfectly tended to, completely and utterly loved. There would be time for that, she thought as she perched her other leg, enough time for her to show you just how much you meant to her and how much she loved you. She would take you to secluded spots so you could look up at the stars together, sharing kisses hidden by the veil of night, she would take walks with you down parks and boulevards, your arm interlaced with hers as the two of you laughed and talked not sparing anyone a glance as your eyes would be completely glued to each other. She had so many plans, so many things she wanted to do with you that she had been doubtful and worried would be frowned upon, but not anymore. She had been playing a game with rules given by someone else, it was about dammed time she made the calls instead. Her hands finished applying the lotion over her thigh, body glowing gently as her skin absorbed the cream. She stepped down from the stool after a moment to wipe her hands clean on a towel and grab her ocean blue satin robe from where it hung behind the bathroom door. It felt incredibly soft on her smooth body as she put it on, lace on the cuffs of her sleeves and the entire hemline of the garment that dressed her body in gentle blue tones. Her body was as much on display as before, her breasts practically spilling out of it as the slit showed of her legs with each step she took as she made her way back into the bedroom. Her hands itched to do something, but her brain was at a complete loss as to what. As she began to pace over the carpeted floor she saw her purse from the corner of her eye, an idea striking her as she bent over the mattress, her nipples barely covered by the blue satin, and picked up her silver cigarette case and golden lighter. With practice easy she placed one in between her rosy lips and made her way towards the window, pushing ethe curtains to the sides and opening the glass enough so that the soft warmth of the day could slide inside the room and snatch both the coolness that seeped form the walls as well as the tobacco infused fumes. 

The first puff tasted marvellous to her, the rich and bitter aroma hitting her tongue and nose, working wonders on calming whatever nerves were still a bit frayed, smoke travelling down her throat and into her lungs in an intoxicating blend of nicotine and a hint of mint that she was unsure where it came from. It got released out of her mouth and nostrils in lazy grey swirls that slipped into the air outside ethe room, diluting amongst oxygen until there was nothing left. Only the leftover state in her mouth. The world had indeed kept spinning without any of them following. Palm trees moved from side to side at angles that only made the leaves dance under the bright golden sun beams, the sky as blue as ever, not a cloud in sight, not a bird slicing through it, simply unblemished above everyone’s heads. There was the muffled sound of cars driving around, of birds chirping and bees buzzing around the flowers of her garden, blooming in a variety of colours that hours ago would have seemed black and grey. Everything was still as beautiful as ever, but Avis knew better, Ellen knew better. No amount of petals falling over her emerald grass could make you wake up any faster or heal in the course of barely a night, and as she took another drag of her cigarette her eyes drifted to the clock on her nightstand, a unique piece made in gold and sapphires that matched the perfection of Swiss watches. It read four in the afternoon. Had it really been so long? She could have sworn that the last time she had glanced at the clock, back in her office, it had read eleven. How had so many hours passed when it felt to Avis as if it had barely been five minutes? The entire day seemed to have passed in a blur around her, everyone and everything rushing, leaving her memories of the events looking like a film that was being played at a much higher rate of frames per minute than usual. Right on cue her stomach growled, reminding her that she had been going around with just a cup of coffee and some scotch in her system, not a single bite of food ingested in all those hours, just nicotine, caffeine and alcohol; the golden trio, she thought with tired and bitter amusement.

-Ma’am? – she had not heard the gentle knock on the door it seemed, as Gertie’s voice floated up to her while the woman remained in the hallway, only her head poking through the crack she had opened. Ginger girls bounced as Avis turned her head, a puff of smoke escaping from her parted lips. – Is everything alright? – the poor woman must have been scared out of her wits, she thought, watching her enter the house in such a state, but as much as she wanted to explain everything to her, she did not want to subject her to such horrors. At least she could spare one innocent person from suffering.

-Yes. Everything’s fine now. I apologize if I seemed… erratic or if I frightened you when I came in.

-No need, ma’am. I simply wished to know if you were alright or if I need to call the doctor.

-I am perfectly fine, as you can see, but I do appreciate you checking on me. You are good woman, Gertie.

-I’m simply doing my job, but thank you, Mrs. Amberg. – a soft blush crept up her cheeks, something Avis was not used to seeing and she wondered if she had been as kind to her as she had been to Avis. She was well aware that there had been many times she had to clean up after a fight between her and Ace, glasses and vases shattered on the floor, pictures knocked to the ground in fury, but had she ever told her just how thankful she was for not leaving? The woman had become a pilar of stability in Avis’s life, and she hardly thought she could do without her at this point in her existence. Perhaps she could send her on a long and very well-deserved holiday to some exotic place as a way of repaying her. - Is there anything I can do for you?

-Actually, there is. Could you phone Oscar Russel, down at the Packard dealership, and ask him if he knows of anyone who can change the seats in my Cadillac for brand-new ones? Someone who won’t ask questions.

-Of course, ma’am. Same colour and material?

-Yes, Gertie. And could you fix me something to eat? You don’t have to go overboard with the meal, just something quick and simple that won’t dirty the kitchen too much. I don’t want you to have to tidy it up again.

-Do not worry about that Mrs. Amberg. Do slices of turkey with some gravy and grilled asparagus sound appetizing, ma’am?

-Very much.

-Then I will have them ready for you in a moment and will call Mr. Russell later this afternoon. Anything else ma’am? A drink perhaps?

-No, thank you, Gertie. That will be all.

The door clicked close, leaving Avis alone once again, the cigarette dropping ashes onto the ground even if part of them were carried outside by sudden gusts of wind. Some day she would explain everything to Gertie and put the woman out of her misery, but it would not be today. She watched the sun for a brief moment, already moving west as dusk approached, the once bright white light that bathed the world turning slowly into soft golden rays with hints of orange, but not quite yet. There were still a few hours left of sunlight, the world not ready to meet the night and all the shadows that came along with it. Another drag left the cigarette between her fingers practically burnt to the very edge of the butt, and with no desire to light another she exhaled the smoke through her mouth before tapping it out on the stray that was on her nightstand. The slight tinges of tobacco clung to her robe as she made her way to her drawers to pick out a set of underwear, satins, silks and lace meeting her as she pulled the one on the top right open. There were purple brassieres, white corselettes, black bodices… in truth, anything and everything money could by at a store, but she made no attempt to find something sexy the way she had been doing since she met you, she searched for comfort and practicality, and in the end, she found her trusty dark corselette. It was a bit worn out around the straps, and some of the lace could do with a few extra stitches, but she had had it for years and it suited her body, and her currents needs better than anything else.

It came as a set, of course, so it had a matching pair of panties that she grabbed as she returned to the bathroom, though this time she didn’t even bother to close the door. She wasn’t as careless with her blue robe as she had been with her salmon one, still resting on the floor, and hung it behind the door just as it had been before, making quick work of putting on her undergarments, adjusting the hooks and her breasts so everything would sit exactly as it was supposed to, the top of her bosom spilling from under cups of simple but exquisite embroidery. Barefooted she walked to her closet and threw the doors wide open, suits, dresses and mink coats meeting her eyes but alas there was desire for such extravagance today. No rich colours and expensive fabrics would dress her body, and she was adamant about following that rule. Her fingers brushed over silk blouses and tweed skirts, some of the garments not having been worn in years, but for some reason she hadn’t parted with them, and they now laid inside her wardrobe gathering dust and as possible victims to moths should they ever get inside her closet. Chanel and Dior were most definitely out of the question, not to mention Versace, all dresses that she could wear to a dinner or a party, but not to spend a night in hospital with you, but then her eyes picked up on a bag hidden in the back. She had forgotten about it. Grabbing the hanger, she took the bag out of the wardrobe and laid it flat on top of the covers before carefully unzipping it. Inside was a simple dark forest green gown with short mutton sleeves that didn’t carry too much of a puff around the shoulder, a skirt that reached her knees, maybe an inch underneath them, and a decorative cinched waist with elastics hidden in the back. It was practical, a garment she had never worn because she hadn’t been sure what sort of event would require for a gown as simple and classic as this, a dress that spoke of privacy and propriety to a level that had never felt right to Avis but that right now she considered the correct call.

It was of no concern to her if it was made out of the softest velvet, it would probably keep her warm once the temperature outside the hospital dropped and a cool breeze began to seep into your room, so without giving her brain a chance to back down she searched for the zipper, which had conveniently been placed on the side instead of the back,  and stepped right into it. It was outstanding how designers could take one single look at her and get her measurements perfect down to the last decimal. It clung to her in all the right spots, showing of her waist while at the same time leaving certain parts of her body to the imagination, only the slightest hint of a cleavage peeking from behind the soft neckline. You would have loved it, she thought as her hands travelled over the fabric, imagining for a second that they were yours, arms wrapping around her waist as your head rested on her shoulder telling her how beautiful she looked. It made her lips break out in a genuine smile that only her eyes saw reflected on the mirror as she hugged herself as if her palms could feel the skin of your arms around her body. Standing barefooted over the carpet she looked over to the other side of her bed, the one Ace would usually occupy but that had been empty for a while now, counting the days you had spent on it and gathering in her mind the numbers, wondering if your shampoo or your perfume could still be lingering on what used to be her husband’s pillow. Like a magnet she headed towards it, needing to know and at the same time afraid that only his aftershave would hit her nostrils, shaky hands picking it up and placing it close to her chest. A tear threated to fall as she caught a gentle but lingering whiff of your berry perfume under Ace’s sandalwood aroma, and for once it did not feel as if it didn’t belong there with yours.

Perhaps many more things had changed inside of her than she had anticipated. Walking to her side of the bed she sat carefully on top of the covers still cradling the pillow in her arms, wishing to keep as much of you with her as she could until you healed enough to come home. Had she just thought of her house as yours as well, as the only place she ever wanted you to live in? It felt selfish but how could she not wish to keep you with her when she had been so close to losing you? Minutes passed without warning as she remained seated, unmoving, lost in thoughts that she would forget as soon as she woke up from her dissociative episode but that for the time being she could immerse herself in. You had mentioned once how you would have loved to live in a house with a big garden, flowers everywhere for your tender hands to care for as spring came, picking up oranges and peaches in the heat of August that you would place carefully in the skirt of your dress or in a basket, the unforgiving heat gliding over your skin as if you were unaffected by it, smiling up to her form her spot by the pool, or maybe she would get her hands dirty and pick them with you. There was an entire world of possibilities before her that she had never seen before, and each idea and plan was better than the one that had come before it, but all of them shared one common factor. Your happiness. Gertie’s voice floated up to the room and although it did not pass the closed bedroom door Avis understood that her meal was waiting for her, snapping her out of her moment and forcing her to let go of the pillow and finish up getting dressed. Her black heels were sprawled out on the floor, abandoned, probably as stained and ruined as everything else, and as with everything else, she was not even going to try to fix them. Opening another set of doors, dozens of pairs of shoes greeted her in every colour possible, in lines and cuts that not many people had the privilege of even seeing in magazines, but she already knew which ones she was going to wear.

Her hands reached for a beautiful pair of green heels, pumps, if her mind did not betray her, that matched her gown. But there was still something missing, a touch to make it all come together, a detail that would wrap it up and make look like one of the outfits Avis would usually wear but without all the unnecessary splendour. Rummaging through her jewellery box nothing seemed to stand out to her, her stomach rumbling reminding her that her food was getting cold downstairs, and she had to hurry, but there just wasn’t a thing in it that wasn’t either too expensive or simply too much. The thought of forgetting all about it crossed her mind for a moment, but she discarded it the same instant it came up in her mind and headed to her nightstand where she knew for a fact, she had a few pieces she knew she had to put away but never remembered. Underneath handkerchiefs and several pairs of gloves she found a golden locket. It wasn’t anything Ace had gifted her, much less something producers or actors had placed on the table for a good part or a good price for a movie, this was a token you had given her just because. There had been no fancy dinners or flowers awaiting her, just you with the locket after a hard day at the studio. This was it, the cherry on top of the ice cream that she had been looking for, the dried petals of a daisy inside it, the first flowers Avis had given to you back in January, almost right after New Year’s. You had meticulously pressed them and aired them so they would never rot, eternal inside their golden case that Avis was now fastening around her neck, the jewel sitting perfectly over her collarbones and stopping right at the top of her cleavage.

The sight that welcomed her in the mirror was far from what she was used to, but she could not say that she did not like this homely, comfortable look, not when all that mattered was getting herself back to the hospital as soon as possible. There was no chance in Hell she was going to leave you to wake up alone. With one last brush of her hands over the green velvet she picked up her purse and the cigarette case and headed out of the bedroom, but just as she was about to step through the threshold she stopped. Was this what she truly wanted? Could she handle all the things she had changed? In an hour Avis had turned her entire world upside down, had transformed herself into something she had never been before, but she hadn’t sat down to consider if it was what she needed. Maybe she was not as ready as she thought to push away the Avis Amberg she had grown accustomed to. That woman wasn’t bad, she was simply cold, distant. She had been hurt far too many times. She had known where her place was and what role she played, and she had been bloody brilliant every time it had been her turn, but there had been things she had hated about herself that she never wanted to live again. So, maybe instead of becoming someone completely different she could consider other options, like… adapting? Evolving to fit with the woman she was now without giving up all the good things that she had been back then. The best of both worlds with flaws and faults that you would see and help her modify to become the woman everyone deserved, including herself. Something had been missing, and she knew exactly what it was. Walking inside the room again she approached her vanity and from the first drawer on the left she picked up her signature Victory red lipstick and with meticulous fingers applied it, looking up to see those same chocolate eyes she was used to but with a sparkle of something new shining behind her irises. Now she was ready.

Her steps were confident, strong, as she walked out into the landing and down the stairs, meeting Gertie by the dining room as the woman told her that her lunch was waiting for her inside. It did not go unnoticed the gentle smile that graced the maid’s lips as she walked back to the kitchen, and it sure made Avis feel good. But she forced the sensation to subside, as if she had no right to feel that much joy when you were not there with her to share it. The meal was excellent, of course, and to her starving system it tasted as if angels had cooked it, each bite a wonderful mix of herbs and saltiness that covered the bitter taste the cigarette had left behind. Just as her hand lifted the glass in front of her to take a sip of water the doors opened, signalling that the driver had returned and Ellen was probably on her way home by now, so without missing a beat Avis called for him. His semblance had not changed from this morning, serious, competent in everything that he did, but as she turned to him with her head held high, she saw something in his eyes that told her he had put the pieces together, and was pretty sure he knew what had happened, or almost everything. It hit her like a bucket of cold water, and it made her realise just how easy it was for someone to find out about what had happened and begin to talk, half a dozen people’s lives destroyed with one quick blow. She knew he would not talk, he had been with the Ambergs almost as much as Gertie and he had never shared a single thing about what went on with her family in or out of their home, so she knew she could trust him, but that didn’t mean that strangers could not get wind of something, just one small detail and cause for everything to be exposed. Suddenly all the confidence that had filled her up popped like a balloon and the gravity of the situation weighted her down once again, making the almost fading aches return. With a quiet voice she asked him to get the car ready again as she required to be driven to the hospital and she could not use her own vehicle, to which he nodded in understanding and left. No questions were asked, no looks of disappointment or disgust were thrown her way, but she felt so small all of a sudden, as if she had been in a self-centred bubble and it had been popped by all the thorns she was walking on top of now.

Why did every happy moment have to be destroyed? Her feelings were not directed against you, they weren’t even against herself, but they were there, and they were pulling her back to square one, all the way to the very beginning as if she had made no progress at all, and she was just too dammed tired to walk that same road all over again. The food that was left on the plate didn’t look appetizing anymore, and she was not about to sit there and rot until a reasonable time for her to leave arrived. She would rip her hair off in anxiety, her head would explode. With a quick gulp she downed the rest of the water and left the glass on the table before standing up and making her way towards the entrance to grab her coat and tell Gertie that she wasn’t sure if she’d be home tonight and to not touch the clothes that were in her room, that she would handle that herself when she returned. The woman nodded even if Avis was already walking out the door, watching with worry how the confident aura had vanished in barely a few minutes. The sun was shining as bright as ever, but to Avis the blue sky was covered in thick grey clouds that threatened her with a storm, matching the uncertainty she felt regarding what she would do when she set foot in the hospital and people began to pry into affairs that did not concern them. She did not have Dick nor Henry to help her out. The driver opened the back seat door for her and let her accommodate herself before sitting behind the wheel and turning the engine on, Avis feeling the vibrations of the motor under her feet. With her eyes glued to the window and her elbow resting on the door as her hand propped up her head, every thought and question she had successfully pushed away returned, and not having the answers to any of them unnerved her more than words could express.

She trusted Dick, of course she did, but people could be cruel, and she was well aware that Henry would sell his own mother if it benefited him in some way, but would he really spread rumours or even tell the press about everything if he could earn some sort of profit? She wanted to say that she trusted him blindingly and she was sure he would never even consider it, but the truth was that she couldn’t. He had been willing to let you die all for a film, for an object that could be done again in a few months, and she was not going to forget about that fact easily or soon. She could cover up her traces as best she could, and protect Ellen, Dick and the boys so their lives would not be ruined, but she would keep an eye on Henry for as long as she saw fit, until she could say with all the conviction in the world that he would not betray them. At the end of the day everything came down to money and power and Avis currently possessed both to such levels that she knew she could run the world if she wanted to, but that it also came with far too many enemies to count. The ride to the hospital was done in complete silence, not even her breaths could be heard, but her thoughts were screaming inside the cabin. The car came to a full stop inside the hospital’s parking lot, under the blazing sun and the dark clouds.

-Mrs. Amberg.

-Please, don’t… don’t say it. I know you want to ask but…

-I ain’t going to ask and I ain’t going tell, ma’am.

-Really? – she met his eyes through the rearview mirror, honesty and loyalty shining on them as if they were the banners he carried with him every day of his life.

-Yes. You have been through enough; I won’t add more miseries to your plate. I’ve seen what they can do and I’m not the sort of person that hurts others just because they can, and I can prove it. I took Ms. Kincaid to the studio and drove behind her to make sure she got home alright, so I will wait here for you until you are ready for me to drive you back to your house.

-You… you didn’t have to do that, but I’m thankful you looked out for her. Though I couldn’t ask you to stay and wait for me. It might be hours before I’m ready to leave.

-You ain’t asking ma’am, I’m offering. You go and see your young miss and I’ll be waiting here to take you home. 

She was surrounded by wonderful people and had never seen it until now. A nod would have to suffice as she wasn’t sure her voice wouldn’t crack as she thanked him, a lump forming in her throat, and quickly stepped out with her purse in one hand and her coat in the other. It was as if she hadn’t set foot inside the building in weeks and yet she hadn’t left at all, pushing the doors open until the coolness of the white walls and antiseptic breezes embraced her once again. That was probably one of the smells she would never forget, your blood on her body being the first. Each hallway looked exactly the same, but she knew perfectly well where she was going, finding that the floors had been cleaned after they had left but witnessing the palms of her hands still marking the wall as if she had been clawing at the tiles to escape and perhaps, she had been. Everything she had felt in this room had been raw and out of control, like a dam that had let centuries worth of water flow down the valley, ripping and killing everything the furious stream found in its path, only Death left behind, and she had not wished to face it. But in the end, there had been no other choice but to do so, or at least the part that her mind and body could handle at the moment. She ripped her eyes from the macabre painting and carried on walking, nodding her head politely at the nurses and doctors that greeted her but never stopping to talk with them, your room barely a few feet away from her.

Her hand hovered over the doorknob unsure if she should go in or wait a bit longer, but with each second that she let pass she felt her need to see you grow exponentially and with quiet movements she stepped inside. Everything was still the same, your body on the bed, the ventilator breathing for you, even the horrible blankets that covered your battered frame, but when she got closer, she saw that your cheeks had regained some colour, and your skin didn’t look as pale as before. For some reason she wasn’t going to try to understand, it made her heart leap in her chest. You were even still carrying the mark her lipstick had left on your forehead, making her smile as she picked up the black armchair that rested in the corner and placed it beside your bed. She didn’t know and it was a secret you might carry to your grave, but the instant she had stepped into the room your frazzled and still partially unconscious mind had felt her, from that unmistakable aura that she carried with her and she was completely unaware of to the aromas that floated from her skin to your nostrils, perfumes that comforted and calmed your nerves. Even if your body did not respond to what your mind was trying to say to it you could feel her, hear her, and smell her, wishing and praying that somehow she would touch you and make it all real so that you would believe that this was not just a cruel hallucination you was living. She did not disappoint, and with a tender and caring touch she took your hand in hers and interlaced her fingers with yours as she whispered sweet nothings against your skin, her lips ghosting over it.

If she knew just how much this meant to you, if you could tell her, words would never stop falling from your lips, enfolding her for all eternity, because she had the chance to leave you, to let you die, and she had gone through the Heavens and every single circle of Hell to find you. She had come in like your knight in shining armour and had defeated the dragon that had almost claimed your life and there could never be a gesture as loving and as a powerful as searching for her love all the way to the middle of nowhere knowing that her life would be at risk, but she had not cared. Nothing could ever compare to this, to the scattered memories of her angelic face telling you through tears and pained words that everything would be alright, that you would be fine. Avis’s eyes were glued to your hand, feeling the heat that seeped from your body to hers along with the touch of your palm with all its lines and wrinkles matching hers. Unaware of the effect she had on you, she let her mind drift, her eyelids becoming heavy in exhaustion but with the safety of knowing that you were really there with her, and no one would ever take you away. She had dreamt so many times of taking you back to your home, to that land of crashing waves and orange blossoms that you so loved and carried with you deep in your heart, desiring to see those endless fields of yellow that blended into green in Spring, and to explore every corner of the place that had raised you into the woman you were now. She could almost see it now, the gentle rivers with reeds swaying to the lazy currents as butterflies flew, decorating the skies like swinging petals that played lazy games of catch and chase with the flowers that surrounded them. And there so many. Roses, poppies, lavenders and morning glories, all scattered through deep green and olive trees that provided shade for the small gentle bird, and in between all that beauty and magic, you, standing on the riverbend with your hands stretched out for her to hold onto.

And she would take them. Everywhere you went, she would follow, every mountain you climbed she would do so as well, and she would do it all because she loved you. God, she loved you more than she loved herself, more than actions could ever show and more than words could ever tell. Every night you would appear in her dreams, sweet and caring and always with a smile on your face, saving her from problems that would soon fade into the ether as your hands held onto hers and your lips brushed over hers, washing all her worries away. No storm could ever roar in the sky when she was with you because you were a rain of cherry blossom petals in Springtime, the sound of waves and the cooling waters of a soothing sea in Summer, every brown leaf that fell to the ground in Autumn and each unique snowflake in Winter. The essence of the universe and the first element to ever exist, and she would never believe just how she had been the lucky gal to make you fall in love with her as she fell for you. She could almost feel the way your fingers squeezed her own as you pulled her closer. No, wait, that hadn’t been a product of her imagination, she was sure of it.

Her eyes shot open, woken up from her slumber with a start that had her heart hammering against her ribs, her gaze watching your intertwined hands. Your tips moved as the pressure suddenly increased. Yes! Your fingers were indeed squeezing hers! The chair scraped the floor slightly as Avis stood on slightly shaky legs, joy and panic flowing through her veins, but even in that frazzled state of mind she never let go of your hand. You were fighting against the odds, walking through the darkness to get to her because she was there, real and you needed to see for yourself if she was fine. Just as her head turned to look at your face, searching for any other sign that you were coming back to her, your eyelids fluttered for an instant. You were right there, on the edge of the abyss waiting for something that you weren’t sure what it was to take that leap of faith and jump, to gather her in your arms and whisper to the tear-stained face you had last seen that she had been right, and you were alright. Avis was quiet for a moment until your eyelids fluttered again, and without even realising it that raspy, velvety voice of hers dropped the push you needed to jump as she pleaded you to wake up. Her angelic face had been the last thing your eyes had seen; it would be the first as well. Like a miracle your eyes opened.

[pegging-satan]

Caleb who’s really devoted to you. Whatever you want, you get.

Caleb who’s so desperate for your attention he’s not afraid of being absolutely pathetic

Caleb, who’s unhealthily obsessed with you, walking the precarious tightrope between sanity and madness.

Caleb is loud, he’s vocal, he’s shameless and he’s possessive. He’s protective and he’s also an absolute freak. Down horrendously.

Caleb loves every single thing about you, the way you behave, the way you look, the way you smell, the way you taste, the sound of your voice, the way your skin feels so soft against his. A complete sensory treat.

He believes he doesn’t even need food or water to live. If somehow it was possible for him to just have you and nothing else in his life it would be enough nourishment for him.

He’s loving, he’s caring and he’s kind, he wants everyone to know he’s taken and that you’re the one he belongs to, and that he’s your loyal servant, always there at your beck and call. He cannot stay away from you.

He cannot stop touching you. “You feel so good. Just a little. No one will know. God, you’re so warm.” His hands explore your body with reckless abandon. He cannot stay away or hold back when he’s around you. His hands shamelessly groping, massaging, pinching, gliding over every inch of skin. In his office, in his room, standing beside him. No place is inappropriate

He loves the way you smell. He wants to live in that scent. He doesn’t even need air. He wants every single part of him bathed in it. Christened with your love. You’re shaking, you’re leaking, you’re trembling and he won’t stop until his uniform is soaked wanting to infuse the fabric with your sweet, musky scent, it turns him on so much so it is no surprise he keeps the previous day’s used underwear on him, in his pocket as a reminder of you <3.

His gloved fingers sliding in and out, in and out as you’re sat on his lap quivering. Tears falling.

Riding his thigh as he works and spurs you on as you pathetically grind against him till you cum on his uniform pants wrapping your arms around his neck and nuzzling his nape as you cry.

He’s your slave and your master. He wants every single possession of his to be touched by you. You soaked his uniform, but his boots still remain untouched :( oh well ‘suppose it’s time to get on that, isn’t it? You’re kneeling, hugging his leg again pathetically whimpering as you seek the stimulation you so desperately crave, while he looks down at you with the adoration reserved for a god.

His hand in your hair, making you look up at him, your face wrecked by tears. Eyes glassy and half-lidded, cheeks flushed and tear-stained. Lips puffy and pink, a trail of drool on the side of your mouth. The sight drives him insane, especially when you desperately rub your head against his knee like a cat. The feelings that conjures up for him are indescribable.

He’s a busy man, he has work. But he can multitask. Thats why you’re on his lap, as one hand glides over screens and the other lazily strokes your heat. Aw baby, she’s drooling already, you like that? He says giving you light slaps and pats there. He’s shameless about it though, he’s giving orders to his subordinate while playing with you so languidly. But if he sees their eyes dart to you even for a millisecond, it’s a death sentence.

“Yes baby I know you don’t like feeling empty down there, here, this will help” he says as he slides the muzzle of his gun up and down your sensitive, soaking folds, before pressing it in, further and further until you’re impaled on it, moving slightly to feel it in you. Oh, it’s so debauched and filthy, but god, does it feel good. Perhaps that’s why you’re into it. It’s so unconventional and dangerous, but you’re into it.

And so is Caleb.

[fireinmoonshot]

if you're okay with the other dagger members, "memorizing their favourite things and treating them when they have a bad day" with mickey (fanboy) please? :')

A/N: Surprise! I rewatched Top Gun: Maverick tonight and since falling in love with Joaquin from Marvel, I have also now totally fallen in love with Fanboy. I've had this request in my inbox for a long time – like the last time I wrote for Top Gun which was... 2023 or early 2024? I cannot remember. Anyway, I'm so sorry this took me forever to get around to, anon! I hope that if you're still around on my blog, you'll enjoy this fic now that I've finally written it. I'm definitely gonna be writing more for Fanboy and for the rest of the Top Gun crew cause my inspiration for writing them again is so strong at the moment. Anyway, enjoy – and remember my requests are always open!

In hindsight, Mickey Garcia should have asked for help getting everything from his car to the Hard Deck. He’d put a few things in a bag, but it was still incredibly awkward to hold it all and he could only hope that someone would be kind enough to open the door with him. He’d already had to kick the door to his truck shut with his foot.

The whole team was meeting up at the bar tonight, celebrating a successful training day – though it hadn’t been super successful for all of you. You’d made a mistake and been absolutely reamed by Maverick and Cyclone. It’d almost made you decide not to come out tonight, but Natasha had convinced you to come along, saying it’d help to be around your team rather than be alone.

Mickey had made his decision pretty quickly and as soon as you’d all been dismissed, he’d hopped into his truck and spent his few spare hours driving around the city and collecting things for you.

He’d been keeping a list in the notes section of his phone about things you deem your ‘favourite things in life’ ever since he first started falling for you. Considering how long ago that was, he long since should have confessed but when it came to you, well… the poor aviator was tongue tied more often than not. 

Chocolate (specifically anything with caramel)

Iced Coffee (but not too much ice)

Romance books.

Sunflowers.

He’d selected a handful of things off your list and done his best to track them all down – even going so far as to arrange them in a small hamper. Well… it had meant to be small. But things had gotten a little out of hand at the bookstore and instead of leaving with one book like he’d planned, he’d ended up asking for recommendations and had left with four. That, along with three blocks of chocolate, a bouquet of sunflowers and an extra large iced coffee (without too much ice), were what he was attempting to safely get inside.

You were none the wiser to Fanboy’s plans, sitting in the corner with the other members of the team. Nat was sat beside you, nursing her first beer of the night, and Jake and Javy were just starting a game of pool with the others. It was difficult for you to really focus on your friends rather than the words swimming in your mind, berating you for your mistake. 

Everyone said it was an easy enough mistake to make – it could’ve been anyone – but in the real world, not in a training exercise, you know it could’ve cost you or someone else their life. 

You’re just about to get up and head to the bar to get your first drink of the night in an attempt to numb the thoughts in your head when you spot Fanboy making his way through the room. It’s not busy yet, but with what the man is carrying, he knocks into several people on his way over towards you.

“What the hell is he doing?” Nat says from beside you, beer paused halfway to her mouth.

“Has he organised a date or something?” Bob asks, sitting across the table from you, his eyes also focused on Fanboy. He looks just as confused as the rest of you do – your whole team now staring at him.

He stops when he reaches your table, huffs out a breath and then grins. “Hey guys.”

“You good, Fanboy?” Nat questions, motioning to the flowers, coffee and the bag in his hands.

“Yeah, I’m good!” He seems chirpy, as usual. He puts the bag down on the table, it making a thudding noise as it hits the wood. Whatever is in there must be pretty heavy. Then, he surprises you by making his way around the table to where you’re sitting. “So, this is for you.” He hands you the iced coffee he’s holding, as well as the incredibly large bouquet of sunflowers – your favourite. 

“For me?” Your eyebrows almost hit the roof.

You wouldn’t be lying if you said you thought Mickey was cute. You had done ever since you’d first met him a long time ago now. Part of you had always wondered ‘What if?’ but the reasonable part of you that refused to let yourself date co-workers or fellow aviators won out every time. But here he was… delivering you flowers and iced coffee?

“Yeah, the ice might be a bit melted by now – it’s like a hundred degrees out there – but I blasted my air con the whole way here so I could try and keep it cool,” he explains, so incredibly nonchalantly despite the fact that he’s clearly gone out of his way to do this. “And I know sunflowers are your favourites so…”

“How do you know that?” 

He shrugs his shoulders. “I just remember you mentioning it one time.”

He figures you don’t need to know about the note on his phone – not just yet, anyway. He could save that for if he ever actually gets the courage to ask you on a date and confess his feelings to you. Right now, that would likely come across as a little creepy.

Nat pipes up. “What’s in the bag, Fanboy?”

“Oh, that!” He says, hurrying back over to the bag as if he’s forgotten it existed – truly, he kind of did. He was so focused on the look of pure happiness on your face that he forgot half your present was still waiting. “So, this…” He continues, carefully pulling the hamper out of the bag, “is also for you! I found you some books, I hope you haven’t read them yet.”

Before Mickey can even take a step towards you to give the hamper to you, you’re off your seat, hurrying over to him. He barely even has time to put the hamper on the table before you’re flinging yourself into his arms. He swears his heart stops and then re-starts at the sudden contact, the feeling of your body pressed into his.

Well… this is new. 

“What the hell, Mickey?” Your voice is soft in his ear as you hug him tightly.

“I know you had a tough day so…” He mutters in reply.

“People usually just buy me a beer if I’ve had a tough day, they don’t go out and buy me all of my favourite things,” you laugh a little, pulling away from the hug. Mickey already misses the contact as you step away from him. “And you bought me books?” 

You lean down to inspect the hamper on the table.

“Have you read any of them?” Mickey asks, watching you carefully. “If you have, I think I can exchange them. I kinda befriended the girl that works at the bookstore. She helped me pick them out.” She also definitely thought Mickey was buying books for his partner, so that was probably why she was so helpful – he knows that.

“No, but I’ve heard good things about this one!” You point at one of them, then turn back around to look at him. “You really didn’t have to do this, you know? I really would’ve been okay with a free beer and some good company.”

Mickey shrugs, suddenly a little shy. “You deserve it.”

“Okay, this is sweet and all,” Nat starts, immediately reminding both you and Mickey that you’re in the middle of a bar surrounded by your team and it’s not just the two of you. “But this does not mean you get to sit in the corner and read all night, okay? And I want a piece of that chocolate – the caramel swirl one.”

You laugh at her, shaking your head at how blunt she is, and turn back to Mickey. You surprise him again by reaching out your hand, taking his and giving it a squeeze. It’s like an electric shock travelling up his arm. 

“Will you come sit with me?” You ask him. “We can read the summaries of all of the books you got me and you can help me decide which one to read first. Obviously when I get home, since I’ve been banned from reading here tonight.”

Mickey nods, already loving the idea just because it means he gets to sit next to you and spend more time with you. You don’t let go of his hand as you move back to where you were sitting before, making Nat shuffle up a bit so that Mickey can fit beside you on the booth. 

“You really made my day, you know that?” You squeeze his hand again before letting go so you can grab the hamper and start to get the books out.

He can’t help the smile that comes to his face. “I’m glad I could make you smile.”

[anyplaceisparadise]

Geta Headcanons

Geta always has a plan. In fact, he usually has two, three, four plans in the back of his mind. His brain is never not working; he’s always watching, always anticipating his and everyone else’s next move. He’s got it all down, he knows every exit in every room in the palace, he always has his back to the wall, he wears his sturdiest rings just in case he has to lash out. He’s thin, lanky even, but he figures he’s been on the receiving end of enough punches from his father to know how to land one himself.

Every blink, every flick of a finger, every word that comes out just a little bit off, he notices it. He sees how people watch him, but he watches them right back, and he sees it all. Things maybe they don’t even realize they’re doing. But Geta sees it, analyzes it, his mind spinning with reasons for why. Why do the senators fiddle with their robes when he is speaking? Why does Lucilla pause slightly before she answers his questions? Why does Tegula’s lip twitch whenever Geta adjusts his laurels? He’s got a million answers for each question, and not one of those answers makes him feel any better.

Geta doesn’t sleep well. He never has. He has trouble falling asleep and then staying asleep. As an adult, he grinds his teeth so badly he’s had one removed at the back of his mouth. As a child, he’d stare at Caracalla, passed out and snoring, completely oblivious to the world around him. Geta envied him for it. He still does.

Caracalla. It’s not entirely Caracalla’s fault he’s ill, Geta knows that. Geta isn’t even sure Caracalla knows he’s ill most of the time. Geta pities him as much as he loves him. If he thinks about it too much, he feels his throat seizes up and he has to close his eyes. He hasn’t cried in a long time.

Geta layers on the cuffs, stacks his rings, slathers his face with make up. Geta does not always like being himself. The thicker the eye shadow, the more elaborate his robes, the more 'Emperor' he looks, the less he sees himself and the less others can see him too, he thinks. He hopes. He doesn’t always feel that way, not when he is standing in the middle of a room, playing his part, and then something or someone goes off script and he’s left naked and exposed, a fool.

When that happens, Geta broods. He paces, he fiddles with those same rings he layered on for protection. He replays the moments over and over and over and over and over in his head, he can’t stop himself. His stomach burns and he’s found himself on the ground a few times, curled up and sweating, blinking back hot tears and swallowing bile. He’s pulled out hair before, he’s made himself bleed with his own fingernails, and so now he cuts them short.

[sunflowersonatas]

TOO GOOD TO BE FAKE: CHAPTER 5

JAMES POTTER X F!READER

a/n: YAYYYY CHAPTER 5 OUT EARLY!!! i've been so so appreciative of all the love for this series 🥹 i figured it was the least i could do to get my ass up and edit the rest of it. hehehehe enjoyyyyy!!! ☀️🌻

series page for prev chapters

wc: 2197

5: Too Good to Be Fake

— 1 —

The next few days pass in a blur, and my real life and my fake life begin to meld all the same.

It’s subtle at first—little things, easy things. James slinging an arm over my shoulder in the corridor, without thinking about it, his hand drifting naturally to my waist when we squeeze through crowds. Me leaning into his touch on instinct, him whispering a joke just for me in class, both of us laughing too effortlessly.

The stares haven’t stopped. The whispers haven’t faded.

But somehow, I don’t care as much anymore.

Or maybe—I don’t care why they’re watching.

It’s not just the school anymore, though. It’s our friends. Alice and Jade don’t even try to hide their amusement anymore. Sirius has started giving James looks. Remus has started watching me.

Lily Evans has started paying more attention, too.

It’s another Saturday when I realize how far I’ve let this go: Quidditch practice.

I would never normally go to these. I’ve never had a reason to sit in the stands, watching a group of sweaty Gryffindors hurl themselves through the sky while screaming at each other.

But today, I’m here.

I keep telling myself it’s for appearances. People have to see me invested, have to see me acting like a real girlfriend. I bring a book, find a spot on the stands, fold my legs beneath me, and pretend I’m not watching James too closely.

I tell myself it’s just part of the plan. Making it look believable.

And then Lily arrives.

She doesn’t sit. She stands at the base of the stands, arms folded across her chest, gaze fixed on the pitch. I know who she’s watching, everyone does.

James cuts through the sky like he was born to be there, all fluid motion and instinct, his windswept hair a perfect mess, his body moving with a confidence that’s utterly effortless. The sun glints off his grin, bright and reckless, like he’s drunk on the thrill of it, and I feel that familiar lurch within me again—something warm, something unsteady, curling deep in my stomach before I can shove it away.

Lily tilts her head slightly.

Then, she glances back at me; and suddenly, it’s not just a game anymore. She’s watching me watch him. A challenge, a test.

Suddenly, I realize—this isn’t about her anymore. It’s not about making her jealous, and it’s not about Simon either. Because the thing unnerving me the most isn’t that Lily Evans is watching me.

It’s that James Potter hasn’t looked at her once.

— 2 —

The courtyard is quiet in the early evening, the last flickers of sunlight stretching long across the stone pathways. The air is crisp, cool enough to wake me up a little, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. I tell myself that’s why I’m lingering here instead of heading back to the dorms.

Not because I’m waiting for him, and not because I know he’ll find me. But then he does.

James’ footsteps are easy to recognize—a little too confident, a little too deliberate, like he’s always walking into a room expecting something fun to happen. But here, now, he doesn’t say anything right away. He just falls into steps beside me, hands tucked into his pockets, like this is normal. Like it’s always been normal.

I glance at him. “What are you doing?”

James shrugs. “Dunno. Seemed like you wanted company.”

I huff, turning my gaze back to the darkening sky. “Oh, right. I always exude warmth and openness.”

James chuckles, nudging my arm. “You say that, but you haven’t told me to leave yet.”

I don’t respond. Because… he’s right.

The pause stretches, the courtyard filled only with the sound of leaves rustling in the breeze. For a second, while it’s just the two of us, walking in relative silence, it’s nice. Easy. Comfortable in a way I don’t have time to question.

Then James exhales, a little deeper than necessary, and leans against the railing beside me.

“You know,” he says, “you’re kind of terrible at taking a compliment.” His tone is too light, too airy for the kind of comment he’d just made.

I frown, caught off guard. “What?”

His gaze flickers to mine, and something in his expression softens—just slightly, but enough that it throws me off balance. “I mean, when I do something nice, you just… get awkward and run away.”

I blink at him. “That is— so not true.”

James lifts an eyebrow. “Oh? So last week when I said you looked nice, and you immediately knocked over your drink and changed the subject, what was that?”

I open my mouth— close it.

He smirks. “Exactly.”

I turn my face and look down the path we’re following, blinking, genuinely considering. “You just catch me off guard, that’s all.”

“Right,” he says sarcastically, “because the idea of me being nice to you is so shocking.”

“Yes, actually,” I quip, but the words come out lighter than I mean them to.

And that’s when James does something dangerous.

He shifts closer—just a little, just enough. His shoulder brushes mine, his voice lower now, softer. “You know, I like being nice to you.”

My stomach twists—thrilled, unsteady, completely betraying me. I let out a laugh, too quick, too high-pitched, a little too obviously forced.

James watches me, expression unreadable, but there’s something knowing in his gaze, something patient, like he’s waiting for me to catch up to something he’s already figured out.

“Alright,” I say, pushing away from the railing, not letting this get any more real than it already is, not letting myself think too hard about it. “This has been fun, but I’m going to—”

“Walk away before you have to acknowledge that you actually like me?” James finishes for me, eyes glinting with amusement.

I huff, already turning on my heel. “Exactly.”

I don’t get very far. James is right behind me, catching up too easily, too effortlessly, like he always does. “Merlin, if you wanted me to chase you, you could’ve just asked. Would’ve saved us both some time.”

I throw him a glance over my shoulder, my lips curving just enough to make his eyes flicker. "Where’s the fun in that? I like to keep you on your toes, Potter."

James huffs, but the way he watches me—like he's already planning his next move—sends something dangerously close to excitement skittering through me.

We’re walking towards one of the large entrances to the castle from the courtyard— there are some more students around now to witness our little interaction. He’s still beside me, still too close, still too smug.

“So what I’m hearing,” he muses, tilting his head, “is that you like me exactly where I am.”

I roll my eyes, but I don’t speed up. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

James only grins, falling into step beside me like he belongs there. “Too late.”

— 3 —

The castle is cooler in the evening, the last remnants of daylight casting long shadows through the stone archways. The halls are quieter now, but not empty—the low murmur of conversation lingers, footsteps echo in different directions, and clusters of students drift toward their common rooms, pausing now and then to whisper as James and I pass. My footsteps sync with his, the weight of his presence beside me something I’ve stopped questioning. It’s been like this all week—effortless, natural, dangerously easy. And maybe that’s why I don’t notice her at first. Maybe that’s why I don’t realize we have an audience until it’s too late.

Lily Evans is waiting just inside the entrance hall.

She’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, posture relaxed, but there’s something unreadable in her expression. She isn’t blocking our path, isn’t doing anything at all, really—just watching. Watching us. Her gaze flickers between me and James, taking in the casual way we’re walking together, how close we are, the way his fingers brush against my wrist when he gestures absentmindedly.

She sees it all.

James notices her just a second after I do, and though his steps falter, it’s barely noticeable. I feel the shift in his presence, the way something in him tightens, like he’s bracing for impact. But when Lily finally speaks, her voice is light, almost gossiping, like she’s indulging a passing curiosity rather than confirming something she already suspects.

"You know," she says, tilting her head slightly, "you two make sense together. I see it."

And James—James preens.

I see it happen in real time. The way his shoulders straighten, the way his lips curve just slightly at the edges. It’s instinctive, automatic, like some deeply ingrained part of him just got the validation he never even thought to ask for. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t check my reaction. He just moves.

I can’t even react— his fingers tighten around my wrist, spinning me expertly into him. Somehow it feels like we’ve done this a hundred times before, like we’ve been moving toward this exact moment without even knowing it. His free hand settles at my waist, warm and steady, pulling me close in a way that leaves no space, no room for doubt.

And then he kisses me.

It’s not for show. Not a performance. His lips press against mine, sure and unhurried, like he’s settling into something that’s already his. Heat flares at the base of my spine, climbing fast, white-hot flames licking up through my chest. His fingers flex slightly at my waist, like he’s anchoring himself, like he’s making sure I don’t pull away before he’s had his fill of this moment—of me.

The warmth of him crashes through me, a spark to dry tinder, setting every nerve alight. His lips move against mine, confident but measured, and for a second—just a second—I let myself fall into it. I feel the way he’s leaning in, the way he’s holding me there, the way his breath mingles with mine, like we exist in a pocket of air separate from the world.

But we don’t.

The corridor isn’t empty. The world doesn’t disappear. Students slow their steps, voices hush, a ripple of whispers spreading like wildfire. I hear someone inhale sharply, catch the flicker of movement in my periphery as people pause outright, wide-eyed, watching like they’ve just witnessed something they shouldn’t have.

And they have. Because this isn’t a show. This isn’t a play. It’s real, it’s burning through me, and it’s happening in front of everyone.

I break first.

I pull away too fast, too obviously flustered. I’ve probably ruined everything. I should’ve just played along— like he said to me before, enjoy the experience. I could’ve done that. Now I lost my chance.

James doesn’t move right away. He stays close, his breath still warm against my skin, eyes searching mine for something I can’t name. The silence stretches between us, heavy, lingering, filled with something I am not ready to understand.

Lily clears her throat, but she’s smiling now, something small and knowing. She looks between us, her eyes glinting with something close to amusement.

"Yeah," she says, tilting her head slightly. "I knew it. You two are really cute together."

She doesn’t linger. She just gives James one last look—something approving, something almost pleased—before turning on her heel and walking away, leaving us standing there in the weight of what just happened.

I scramble for something to say, but my mind is blank, wiped clean by whatever the hell just happened. My skin is burning, my pulse erratic, my body betraying me in ways I can’t even begin to process.

I force a laugh, light and dismissive, as if my heart isn’t trying to claw its way out of my chest. "Merlin, James," I say, shaking my head, playing it off, forcing the act back into place even as my hands tremble. "You could at least warn me before you go proving a point like that."

James watches me carefully. Too carefully.

And then, just like that, the mask slips back into place.

The easy grin. The effortless charm. The one thing he’s always been good at.

"Where’s the fun in that?" he teases, voice smooth, casual, like he’s not still standing closer than he should be.

The tension in the air is suffocating.

I step back. I need distance, space, air.

"Right," I mutter, my voice too light, too forced. "Well, this has been fun, but I should go—"

James doesn’t say anything. He just watches me, his expression unreadable, like he’s waiting for something I can’t give him. The silence between us stretches, thick, heavy, a question neither of us is ready to ask.

And then, because I can’t take it, because my heart is still slamming against my ribs, because the ground beneath me suddenly feels unsteady—I run.

I barely register the students still watching, barely hear the whispers that are sure to follow me. All I know is that I need to get away, to breathe, to pretend for just a little while longer that none of this means anything.

Run run run.

But no matter how fast I move, I already know—there’s no outrunning this.

☀️🌻 requests are currently open!!

[k0nanharv3y]

Tim Is a Wayne AU. Part 3

///

And what they seemed to forget is that Tim is grieving too. They seem to forget that Tim, more than any of them, loved and knew Alfred, that he knew how he liked his tea, how he always made a tie, how to get blood stains out of a white sheet without fraying the seams

But that was the Alfred they thought Tim knew. But Tim knew the Alfred who told him war stories in a ridiculously British accent, who burned waffles with a laugh and a grimace, who spoke ill of the neighbors and their dead rose bushes. That was Alfred Pennyworth, Tim's grandfather

And Tim was mourning him. But... well, Alfred worked every day of every week to support the family. Tim won't let it be in vain

A part of him, the selfish part that was angry with everyone (the part that put the pieces together and concluded that if his family wasn't what it is, his grandfather would be alive) packed a suitcase and filled and emptied it hundreds of times, between tears and broken things, and that still keeps the suitcase in his room, next to his closet, watching him sleep and wondering if it will be filled one last time

But sometimes, when he wakes up to an alarm before everyone else and wanders from room to room checking the gentle rise and fall of the sheets, he feels his chest sink and his heart crush. Sometimes he closes his eyes and thinks about how nice it was to sit together at the table and how he wouldn't trade it for anything

Sometimes, with the sounds of bats in his head, he stares at the new calluses on his hands for a long time and thinks he sees Alfred's firm, calloused hands on his own

Tim wouldn't trade his family for anything, that's a fact, he loves his brothers, sisters and dad. But sometimes, when the mansion is empty and only his footsteps can be heard, he feels like he's back in Drake Manor, empty and silent

...

And one day, he doesn't know what he was doing, he doesn't know if it was muscle memory or if it was a sentimental impulse that made him open the door

Alfred's room was just a place you turned to when things were really bad, or when the comfort of rough hands wasn't enough. (Tim had been there hundreds of times, just because it was the best place in the mansion.) Alfred's room was small, always clean, and smelled like fabric softener and wine

Now the air was stale from the dust that had left everything as it was, so that any small change would have been noticeable. The suits perfectly ironed, the shoes polished and abandoned in a small shoe rack, a tie hanging from the door handle, the sheets a little disheveled and... and the armchair in a corner where Tim used to curl up while Alfred prepared to start the day or end it

He stood still in the doorway, as if... as if setting foot in it would destroy the frozen image of a past memory

Although it was a room that was empty most of the time, now it felt lonely... lifeless

Just Like Alfred

That night he pack his suitcase and leave it by his door, full and without the wheels locked. Waiting to be emptied in the same place or in a different one

Tim didn't leave

But the suitcase did

///

Hey, if you want me to tag u (in the comments) when I make a new post lemme know, plwase

[dandylion240]

Stress was building inside him to the point he felt like he would explode at any moment. He hated not knowing where his brother was. Not knowing if he was alright. Most of all he hated not being able to do anything about it. Sighing Casey picked up Eddie from his crib.

“Daddy sad?” Eddie snuggled into him sensing something but unsure what.

“Yes Eddie I am,” Casey looked at his son feeling his small arms slip around his neck, “not so much now.” Holding his son while thinking about Robert he wondered if he’d be able to do what Robert did to keep his family together. He wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to leave everything and everyone behind. He hoped he’d never have to find out.

While he waited for Lynn to arrive to watch Eddie his phone began to ring “Hello?”

“Mr. Bennett?” a voice inquired.

“Yes,” he replied.

“This is the nanny agency calling regarding the allegations of harassment that were filed several months ago.”

Heart quickening Casey fumbled the phone in his hands almost dropping it “and.” he nearly shouted.

“We have elected not to pursue the allegations further; however Ms. Matthews is no longer employed by the agency. We will be glad to send over another nanny to replace ….”

“What?” Casey yelled into the phone. “You can’t just fire her for no reason. Those allegations were false ….”

“It wasn’t our decision to dismiss Ms. Matthews.” The dispassionate voice continued “she gave notice ….”

No longer listening to the voice droning on Casey threw the phone across the room. She quit. How could she quit? Quit and not told him. Falling to his knees as the room spun around him. ‘No she can’t leave.’ He wouldn’t let her leave. Taking a deep breath he pulled himself off the floor. He went to get Eddie dressed and for the first time in Casey’s carefully scheduled life he didn’t give a second thought to his responsibilities or obligations.

Storming into his parents house, carrying Eddie in his arms he yelled “Lynn get your ass out here.”

William looked at his son and down at Eddie, wide-eyed and scared, he got to his feet and took his grandson and nodded Casey towards Lynn’s room. It was about time his son acknowledged his feelings for her, he could only hope it wasn’t too late.

Taking several deep breaths before he barged through the door without knocking. Stopping short as he saw Lynn calmly packing her suitcase. She looked up “what do you want?”

“I want … I want ….” Casey stammered trying to draw up words from his befuddled brain that had gone completely blank. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m leaving, isn’t it obvious?” she said waving her hands at her things in various states of being packed.

“I can see that, but why?” Casey moved closer, hands clinching. “The agency dropped the charges and told me you quit. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s none of your business,” she snapped at him, her green eyes sizzling.

“Is this some sort of punishment?” he ran his fingers roughly through his hair. “You’re the one who said no not me. I’m the idiot who wanted to marry you.” She turned away grabbing more clothes from the dresser. Casey reached for her trying to get her to turn around “Lynn please I love you.”

“Love! You don’t love me. You like the idea of taking care of me.” Getting close she yelled in his face “I don’t need to be taken care of. I can take care of myself.”

“Is that what you think?” Casey stepped back releasing her “you’re not some project to me. Lynn I love you, no strings attached.” He turned and walked towards the door. Stopping he looked back at her unrelenting demeanor. He shrugged “if you don’t know the difference between love and obligation, there’s not much I can do to convince you.” Shaking his head he muttered “why do I even try? “

With a heavy heart he went in search of his son. Finding him in the nursery “dad can Eddie stay her for a few days?”

“Sure son we have plenty of things he can wear. You don’t need to worry about bringing anything for him,” William suggested.

Smiling Casey nodded grateful his dad knew he wouldn’t want to come back and run the chance of seeing Lynn again. “Thanks dad. I’ll call when I’ve had a chance to clear my head.

“Son I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had asked her to marry you. I thought she was upset because you hadn’t told her how you felt about her.” William looked at him with concern “if you need to talk I’m here.”

“I know dad I appreciate it. But I’ll be ok. I just need time to clear my head.”

Hugging Eddie “you’re going to sleep over for a while with Suzie and Anthony.” Eddie nodded his head excited to spend time with his playmates. “Be good for Grandpa.”

“I will daddy,” smiling Casey handed Eddie to his father and slowly left the room.

“Casey?” a soft voice called to him. Looking up he saw Lynn standing outside her room. “Can we talk?”

“Haven’t we said everything there is to say?” he shot back at her “or have you changed your mind?” He leaned against the wall refusing to show the hope that filled his heart.

“No I’m sorry,” she shook her head. “I just …. I don’t know ….. can’t we be friends?”

“Friends?” he scoffed “I don’t want to be friends. I want you to be my wife. Not out of some misguided idea of taking care of you, but because I love you. I want you. Heart, soul and body because we complete each other.” Eyes shimmering he looked at her hoping she would change her mind.

Looking away she mumbled “I don’t know I …. I …. need time.”

“Fine take all the time you need. Run away see if I care.” He pushed off the wall and stormed out of the house. Slamming the door behind him.

He had no idea where he was going just that he had to put as much distance between him and her as he could. Tires squealing as he rounded the corner. He fought the urge to let the momentum slam his car into the passing trees. Oblivion would be nice. Block out all the pain. The anxiety. The worry. Stomping on the brakes he missed the tree by mere inches. Throwing the car into park, he leaned against the steering wheel. Heart racing he closed his eyes to black out what almost happened. How could he have been so reckless? For a split second he thought he was going to do it. He almost did do it. At the last moment Eddie’s face flashed before him, the moment he stomped on the brakes.

Shaking his head he dragged himself out of the car. Trembling he leaned against it. Shaking he wrapped his arms around himself, what was he thinking? He had always thought Gene was a coward for attempting suicide. Now on the other side of the darkness that could drive a person to it, he had a new perspective. He had a new respect for what his brother must carry around inside him.

He really needed someone to talk to before succumbing to something stupid. Patting his pockets, then searching the car he mumbled “where did I put it? I never leave home without my phone.” Overwhelmed with the sudden urge to either laugh or scream he remembered his phone was lying in pieces on his living room floor where it had collided with the wall.

Punching the steering wheel he screamed. Throwing the car into gear, he knew he should turn around. He had every intention of turning around instead he found himself stopping in front of Roberts abandoned house. “Where are you brother? I need you.” Giving up all sense of time and propriety he gave in to his pent-up emotions.

He must have cried himself to sleep as tried to stretch the kinks from his body. He had woke up laying across the front seat with the middle console digging into his side. Moaning he rubbed the soreness in his body. Looking at the dash 11:00. ‘Good thing I left Eddie with dad,’ he thought. Staring sullenly at the dark silent house he wished his brother was there to give the advice he needed or a shoulder to cry on. Lost and alone he had a desire to punch Robert for not being there for him. Guilt quickly replaced the anger. Getting out of the car he knew he should go home or at least back to his parents house Neither place held any appeal as Lynn’s face intruded into his thoughts. Why wouldn’t she say yes and marry him? Why did she insist he was only asking out of a misguided need to protect her? Why did all the women in his life not love him back? What was wrong with him?

He drove, not knowing or caring where. Eventually he stopped in front of a building. Getting out he walked to the door, upon entering his senses were assaulted by loud music, vibrating deep within him. Wrinkling his nose at the alcohol stench as someone belched in his face. ‘This is a bad idea’ he told himself as he approached the bar. ‘I should just turn around now,’ he said as someone knocked into him on their way to the bathroom. What was he doing here? This wasn’t his scene at all. He should just go home but home was dark and lonely. Sighing he sat on the stool as the bartender placed a drink in front of him “I didn’t order this.”

Shrugging “you look like you can use it. Drink it don’t drink it. Your choice.”

Casey eyed the drink ‘one won’t hurt’ he sighed as he took a sip. It had a fruity taste with ahint of alcohol, not bad. It was gone before he knew it and another replaced it. As the night wore on he felt his anxiety lift and he was finally able to relax.

Something was scratching his face as he groaned causing his head to ache even worse than it was already. What happened? Prying open puffy red eyes he blinked from the sunlight peaking through the broken shades. Where was he? The scratchy surface beneath his face smelled of stale smoke and vomit. Pushing up he nearly fell off the couch he had been sleeping on. Head swimming, bile rose and he added his own vomit to the already putrid smelling couch.

Rolling off the couch he laid his head down as tried to piece together the events of the night before. Maybe it would give him a clue as to where he was. Closing his eyes he heard someone clear their throat behind him “good you’re awake.”

He knew that voice, the bartender. “Wh … where am I?” he croaked through cracked dry lips.

“Room behind the bar. You were too drunk to drive last night,” she laughed behind him. “Gene would love to see you like this.”

Casey squinted his eyes at her, groaning as he recognized her. She was the girl who had given Gene drugs for the first time back in high school. “Great, just great,” he mumbled.

“How the mighty have fallen,” she laughed again “too bad Gene has turned to the other side. He used to be a lot of fun.” Kneeling down she said loudly “now get up and get out.”

“Don’t worry I’m going,” Casey struggled to get to his feet.

Sighing she grabbed his arm and pulled him roughly to his feet and shoved him towards the door. As he staggered out her wicked laugh followed him. Making it to his car he breathed deeply of the fresh morning air. Of all the luck, why did it have to be her to see him at his worst? He never drank led alone get drunk. “Never, never again.” he mumbled even as he said it he knew he had liked it. Liked the feeling that all his cares and worries couldn’t touch him and he wanted to experience that feeling again.

Previous/Next

[ud4wn]

he's so hot i actually need this man in my bed RN. josh washington HMU. anyways

josh is definitely good at dirty talking.

you two were making out in his room and you had to be quiet or you would be caught you wouldn't want that, would you? his hands roaming over your body, purposely trying to get a reaction out of you. gripping your hips, his fingers getting dangerously close to the hem of your jeans, in between your thighs.

once he did that he earned a soft whimper from you, falling from your lips before you could even think. and he continues as the kiss becomes faster, messy. he keeps touching that area.

"fuck-- josh." you mumble against his lips, gasping out an almost loud moan but you have to hold back so it gets stuck in your throat.

he pulls away, a grin slowly forming on his lips. of course he loved hearing you saying things like this, hearing you making these types of noises, because of him. "you're such a fucking slut" before pulling away, leaving kisses in the spot on your neck that was close to your ear "you don't want to get caught do you? do you want everyone to know how much of a slut you are, hm?"

you let out a soft whine, fingers entangling themselves into his hair. "mmn.. no- no." but the idea of getting caught was exciting, even for something as simple as making out. it made your mind go fuzzy, weak in the knees.

"awwh baby" his tone was practically mocking you as he touched you. his touch of course not being enough to get you off, but enough to leave you in your own thoughts for a bit, the way it was close enough but not just there, and how he was touching you through your clothes. god he was so fucking hot, the way he spoke to you in this belittling tone.

"do you want me to touch you?" fuck. yes of course you wanted him to touch you, to fuck you senseless, but there was people outside of that room. you couldn't, your face flushed at the idea of it.

"yes please- please, i want you-" the words fumbled out of your mouth quickly, quicker than your brain could comprehend "i want you to touch me .. please??" he couldn't help but watch you beg for him to touch, of course it boosted his own ego, aroused him a bit. and he wanted to fulfill your your needs, but there was something fun about just leaving you there all hot and bothered.

and that's what he did. he gave you one more long kiss mumbling the words "maybe later baby" against your lips "can you handle a bit waiting? "

you nodded quickly and you look at him dazed "and you don't get to touch yourself." his tone was assertive, and there was definitely an obvious warmth between your legs that you couldn't deny, and he knew.

but as he left you there. standing alone, you let out a frustrated groan, wanting to so something, anything. but you couldn't so you left the room, acting like nothing happened. and now all you could do .... was wait

[beef-brisket]

Adam: A month, sir.

Lucifer: Look at that, right off the top of his head! Adam, why don't you wait here and make friends while I sort us some rooms?

Adam: How did you know that was my favourite pass time, sir?

Lucifer: Just a guess! Charlie, hun?

Charlie: Rooms! Coming right up, dad!

As Lucifer and Charlie and Charlie went off up the stairs, Adam stepped off to the side. Lifting his robe up his leg, he sheathed his knife in a small holster before adjusting himself.

Angel: ...Hot.

Adam smiled: Is it? Or is your attraction to violence slightly problematic?

Angel: Dunno, Baby, why don't you come over here and find out~?

Adam: Or you could come over here? Unless you're all talk.

Angel glared: You motherfucker-!

Husk grabbed Angel's shoulder and held him in his seat: Hey! He's trying to rile you up, just calm down, alright?

Looking over the cat sinner, Adam tilted his head: And what's your poison?

Husk glared: Mind your own fucking business.

Adam: Ooh, touchy. And you, radio demon. You look like you want to skin me~.

Alastor narrowed his eyes, his smile tight: You're not good enough to walk on.

Adam laughed: Damn, cutting deep. It's amazing how aggressive sinners get when faced with their issues. Hellborns are the same, of course, but to a slightly lesser degree. You three must have it rough up here.

Alastor laughed: Rough?! Perish the thought!

Adam: Hm. No~.

Angel rolled his eyes: Fine, if you love analysing everyone so much, then do Charlie.

Adam: She's a people pleaser. Has rejection issues, and his a tad delusional in her dreams. But as long as she has heart! Right?

Angel: ...Fucking prick. Think you know us so fucking well.

Adam: She also has a codependency issue. She's either reliant on her partner, mother, or father to make her decisions for her. Or, to at least praise hers and hype them up. She's even ignoring all the flaws and holes in her redemption plan.

Angel: Oh, let me guess, "we don't deserve it!"

Adam smirked: Well, you're not wrong. All of you scum shouldn't be getting into Heaven, no matter how many classes on manners you do~.

Alastor: Hm. Now, do the king.

Adam: Where to begin...? We have over one hundred thousand years of trauma to go through. First, his time in Heaven, then Eden, them his fall. The king is prideful, rude, arrogant, selfish, and self-absorbed. But that comes with the territory, doesn't it? Everyone down here has done some horrible things. But that's Hell. It doesn't mean everyone doesn't have wants. Desires. You're allowed that. It must be exhausting being someone else everyday.

Angel: The fuck are you looking at me for?!

Adam: You're contracted with Valentino, correct?

Angel: ...Yeah?

Adam: Well, that's enough to cause psychological damage. No wonder you put thos act on. It's to protect yourself. You're not the only one who does it, Angel. You'd be surprised how many people you think you know, but really, you have no idea~.

What about a Satan x Yogirt!au, but it's Adamsapple!

(Now, keep in mind, I've never seen Helluva, so I'm sorry if I have Yogirt's roll completely wrong 😝)

Adam works as Lucifer's pride management officer. And helps Lucifer during meetings or in social situations (news flash, he doesn't help at all).

And you know he's cunty as shit.

I feel like this could be a short and sweet rp 👀👀

You haven't seen Helluva Boss!? Tsk tsk. That is your homework this weekend lol

You totally got his role right no worries!

LMAO Adam trying to keep Lucifer's pride in check 😆

-

Adam sighed as he followed his boss to another meeting, this would make the fifth one today.

Normally all of the sins meetings would be held together, but since Mammon made a big bitch fit out of the last one it was decided that they would do individual meetings three times a month and one group meeting once a month.

Those individual meetings took all fucking day.

Lucifer: Keep up Adam, we're nearly done.

Adam: Yes sir.

They were going to see Bee and then lastly Bel. Something about the times just working out.

Lucifer slumped when they reached the meeting room door: Remind me again why we can't space these meetings out through the week?

Adam: It would be all you did everyday.

Lucifer: Right..... Best to get it over with.