#they do bite each other's faces in fights (that's part of how the face cancer spreads) but they are nowhere near as scary as they sound

[glasscatowl]

See, the thing I noticed the most about Tasmanian Devils when I met some irl is that they are, really, just sweet little guys. I mean, wild animals, do not touch, but they look and (within the scale of wild carnivorous predators) act relatively chill. (Emphasis on relatively, do not cuddle Tasmanian devils unless you are professionally trained in cuddling Tasmanian devils.) They have the strongest bite strength of any currently living land mammal, sure, and they eat like a horde of ravenous zombies, but that's not why they're called 'devils'. What gave them the name 'devil' is that they sound like demons emerging from hell. Look up what Tasmanian devils sound like and imagine first hearing that, with no warning, in a rickety motel in Launceston in the middle of the night.

So if we take this to refer to the real life animals, rather than the cartoon character, a Tasmanian Angel would be identical to a Tasmanian Devil in every way except that it would have a heavenly singing voice.

The Tasmanian Angel.

Just a sweet little guy

Feral monster that only eats bad people

Completely unchanged

Take your pick

[softspiderling]

illicit affairs - part nine

summary:

“You guys are totally in love with each other.”

You sneered, but your heart started beating a little faster at the chance of Rafe reciprocating your feelings. You tried not to let it show on your face though, as you rolled your eyes.

“What, he said that to you?”

OR; Topper offers you some unsolicited advice, Rafe and Kelce try to win your dad over, and you have another fight. Seriously, what is up?

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: actually very little rafe in this😭

word count: 2,1k

author's note: hi :) idk what to tell you😭 leave some love 🫶🏼 (I SAID LOVE) also pls see this post regarding future updates

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pt. nine: "leave the perfume on the shelf"

After sending Rafe out of the bathroom - not before making sure the coast was clear - you returned to the table, ignoring how Topper was side eyeing you.

It didn’t take long until they started serving the actual brunch and the four of you fell into easy conversation as you ate. Occasionally, Rafe would scoot some of his tomatoes over on your plate, and you rolled your eyes at him - he had a palate of five year old - but you didn’t say anything, piercing the tomatoes with your fork. By the time dessert was served, you were full.

“Yo that cake looks good, but I eat one more bite, I might actually explode,” Kelce groaned, sitting back in his chair. He had even gone so far to unbuckle his belt.

“That cake looks so fire, though.”

Topper careened his neck to look at the cake over on the cake stand, while Rafe sipped on his whiskey.

“Nobody is stopping you, Top,” he mused and you narrowed your eyes when you saw your father gather his friends, walking over in your direction.

“Head’s up.”

The four of you quickly straightened your backs and Kelce fixed his belt before the group of men arrived at your table.

“Boys. Sweet pea,” Your father said, kissing your head.

“Hi dad,” you said as the boys greeted your father.

“Are you enjoying yourselves?”

“Yes, it’s been really nice,” Topper said. “You’ve really outdone yourself with the planning.”

Your father laughed, shaking his head.

“I think that honor goes to my wife and my daughter,” your father said, placing his hand on your shoulder, inadvertently making Rafe take his arm off of the back of your chair. He only grimaced, putting his hand in his lap and you bit back a snort.

“Anyways, we were going for a quick round of cigars, get the digestion going, are you boys down to join?”

Your father looked in your round and you didn’t miss the fact that he had only asked your friends, and not you. Obviously, you weren’t joking to join anyways, but it’d be nice to be included every once in a while.

“I’d love to,” Rafe said, standing quickly.

“I’ll come too!” Kelce said, rounding the table, but you only pulled a face.

“Have fun increasing your chances of lung cancer,” you scoffed and Topper made an agreeing noise, throwing his arm around your shoulder.

“Yeah, me and precious will stay here. Smoke free zone.”

You only snorted out a laugh, throwing a dirty look at Topper and he only stared back at you with raised eyebrows.

“Kay,” Rafe said, glancing between the two of you before the group of men left.

An uncomfortable silence settled over you and Topper, and you tried to ignore him. Still, you could feel his eyes on you, so you slipped your phone out of your purse, checking instagram - anything to distract yourself. As you scrolled through the pictures, Topper leaned in closer, so close, you could feel his breath on your cheek.

“I’m not leaving,” he said. “You’re going to have to talk to me eventually.”

“Topper, you’re so fucking annoying,” you huffed, dropping your phone on the table.

“How do you not realize that this isn’t going to end well!”

“Why not?” you asked, exasperated, even though you knew exactly why it wasn’t going to end well.

“You guys are totally in love with each other.”

You sneered, but your heart started beating a little faster at the chance of Rafe reciprocating your feelings. You tried not to let it show on your face though, as you rolled your eyes.

“What, he said that to you?”

“Of course he didn’t,” Topper scoffed. “The only person he talks about his feelings with is you. And he’s obviously not going to tell you that he loves you.”

“Topper.”

“This is gonna backfire so badly and you’ll stop talking to each other. Just stop having sex with him!”

“Topper, thanks for the unsolicited advice but I think I’m good,” you said, frowning at him.

“I’m just trying to help you!”

“By breathing down my neck and making me feel like shit?”

Topper sighed and you only crossed your arms over your chest. He leaned his head on your shoulder.

“I’m not trying to make you feel like shit, okay? I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I just really think you haven’t thought this through. You need to talk to him, before all of it blows up in your face, because that is inevitable.”

You let out a breath, blinking as you refused to look at Topper, knowing he was right, but also hating how he was bringing up the points you yourself had been worried about.

“I need some air,” you muttered, pushing yourself off of the counter, leaving Topper behind as he called after you, but you’ve had enough of his nosy ass. You walked to the far end of the backyard, where the country club met the water, far enough to not be seen by any one, but still close enough to be considered on country club grounds. Taking off your heels, you sat down by the docks, inhaling deeply, hoping to ease some of the anxiety that was sitting in your neck. From this far out, you could only hear the music and chatter of the brunch faintly, slowly, you could feel your shoulders ease.

Your peace was short lived.

“Ah Princess.”

Great. About the last person you had wanted to see right now.

“I’m not in the mood, JJ.”

“Oooh, trouble in paradise?” he asked, taking the freedom to plonk himself down on the dock next to you like you were friends. You lifted your head to look at him as he tried to loosen his collar, grimacing a bit.

“I don’t remember inviting you to sit with me.”

“Sorry, is this not a public space?” he asked, still struggling with his buttons.

“Jesus, are you incapable of unbuttoning things?” you muttered, fed up with his jerking and slapped his hands away, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt. Your fingers brushed over his skin, which felt hot to your touch, his breath fanning across your hand as he watched you with a gleam in his eyes.

“I’m usually better at taking clothes completely off, and not only halfway, ya know?”

You rolled your eyes at him, pulling your hands away when you were done.

“There, you heathen.”

JJ let out a breath, as freed his neck, as if he had been suffocating.

“Thanks Princess.”

Scoffing, you turned away from him, looking out to the water. What an idiot.

“Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

“Hey, you’ve done plenty for me, I would never be able to afford fixing up my bike if you hadn’t gotten me this job,” JJ protested. “And you know I’m grateful for that.”

“Grateful?” you echoed, giving him a look. “And how are you showing that exactly? By starting shit with my friends while half of Kildare is watching?”

JJ winced, but he gave you a wry grin.

“Okay, maybe I need to work on that. But Rafe is just too easy to rile up, I can’t pass up an opportunity like that Princess.”

“See if I ever do you any favors again,” you muttered and JJ’s eyes softened.

“Look, I’m sorry if you got caught in the crossfire, okay? That wasn’t my intention.”

JJ sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll lay off provoking Rafe in the near future when any grown ups are around, okay? For your sake,”

“Gee, you’re such a gentleman,” you mocked and he snorted. “No wonder every girl is fawning over you."

“Don’t say I never do anything for you,” JJ said theatrically, throwing your own words back at you.

You rolled your eyes at him, begrudgingly and even though you knew he was still a dick, you bumped his shoulder with yours in silent thanks.

“Mr. Maybank, the tables won’t bus themselves.”

The two of you whirled around to see your mother stand at the end to the dock, her hands on her hips.

“On it, ma’am!” JJ said, getting to his feet. “Princess.”

He winked at you before walking in quick strides to the backyard. You envied him, because judging by your mother’s face, you had a lecture coming.

“Did you have to talk to him that way, mom?” You sighed, getting up and straightening your dress.

“We’re not paying him to sit around and ogle you.”

“Jesus,” you muttered. “We’re not even paying him. The country club is.”

“And who do you think is paying the country club for hosting the brunch?”

You rolled your eyes before you turned to your mom as she walked towards you, her eyes in slits.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the last minute request for JJ Maybank for the staff.”

“I wasn’t trying to hide it, mom,” you replied, not a fan of where this conversation was going. “He needed the money and the country club needed some extra hands, what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal?” Your mother frowned at you. “He embarrassed you, me and your father!”

“Mom, my friends and JJ had an.. Argument. It was over before anyone even noticed,” you argued.

Your mother only sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose before she glowered at you.

“Do you do this on purpose? Invite boys to fight over you to ruin my brunch?”

You raised your eyebrows at her, feeling a lump in your throat forming. Wow. Your mom never missed.

“Seriously, mom?. That’s a new low for you.”

Throwing your heels on the ground, you slipped your feet into it, before lifting your head to glare at your mother.

“If I’m such an embarrassment for you, maybe I should just leave.”

“Oh don’t be dramatic,” your mother exclaimed but you were already walking past her, throwing your hands up, knowing she wouldn’t follow you to avoid making a scene.

You more or less stomped past the country club and walked towards the main street, even though you had arrived with your parents and it was about a 20 minute walk back home, in heels maybe even 30 minutes.

Angry tears were brimming in your eyes, refusing to let them fall. Your mother always was like this, lashing out when she was upset before crawling back with an apology with empty gifts and a promise it wouldn’t happen again, just for it to repeat the next time you messed up in her eyes.

You weren’t walking long until a familiar sounding car pulled up next to you, the windows pulling him to reveal your best friends, each of them sporting a worried look on their faces.

The door opened from the inside and wordlessly, you climbed into the passenger seat, before Rafe pulled away from the curb. No one said anything, the car smelling faintly of cigars as you drove in silence.

“You can say something, I’m not gonna break,” you finally huffed and the tension broke, with Kelce reaching from the back to squeeze your shoulder gently.

“Sorry, precious.”

“You don’t even know what happened.”

“You were stomping away from the country club and your mother had that fake smile on when we came back from inside, doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together,” Rafe replied, glancing at you as he stopped at a red light.

“You okay?”

“It’s nothing new,” you answered. “Just my mom’s usual bullshit.

“Doesn’t make it okay,” Topper said and you only sighed, melting into your seat. The drive didn’t take long before you pulled up outside Rafe’s house, the four of you walking inside like it was second nature, taking a seat in the living room.

“Ugh I need a break from all this bullshit,” you said, rubbing the inner corner of your eye, careful not to smudge the mascara.

“Same,” Rafe sighed, throwing his arm over the back of the couch, pausing. “Ward, Rose and Wheeze are going to Spain on Friday.”

“Good for them?” Kelce said, confused and Rafe rolled his eyes.

“I’m saying that the house in the bahamas is free.”

You glance at him, frowning.

“Are you saying we should go to the Bahamas?”

Rafe shrugged with his shoulders. “Only a suggestion.”

“I could do with a vacation,” Topper said, tapping his knees excitedly and Kelce pulled his face in a grin.

“Bahamas doesn’t sound too shabby right now.”

All of three of them turned to you, each eyebrows raised higher than the other and you only looked at them with narrowed eyes, before sighing.

“Alright, let’s go to the Bahamas.”

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author’s note: what are your thoughts? :)

[reflectionsofneptune]

little things about the Venus Signs

abstract dreamy things I associate with the Venus Signs in Astrology.

Aries Venus

Risk. Risks you take because you know that something exciting is on the edge of it. A good time. Fire and desire, a flammable combination you can’t help but be drawn too. Dependability. Someone who has your back. Moments to remember. Legs dangling off a balcony because when the wind moves, you’re filled with freedom and empowerment. Less thoughts. More actions. Weekends away, just because. Kisses in public, just because. Laughter. Belly laughs which’ll have you crying. Experiences to remember. Eye contact. Daring you to look away. A look that just does something to you. Promises something more.

Taurus Venus

Stability. Stability in something we’ve nurtured and are proud to share together. Routine. Loyalty. You know where you stand. An unsaid declaration to show up, in the good times and the ugly. Someone you can count on. Delicious food. Shared. Eating in bed. Fingertips that mould to every curve of your body and incite a strong feeling in your core. Physical senses heightened. Your favourite scent. Tender, routine moments of care. A love that is a grounding force when life gets a bit too much. Gifts with you in mind. That heady feeling of pleasure. Can’t get enough. Don’t want to. Feenin’. Sharing what I have, with you.

Gemini Venus

Lightness. Love is light-hearted but sentimental. Akin to cold champagne, bubbles in your tummy and warmth in your head. Laughter. Lots of it. Hanging out with other people but my body language and eye contact is on you. Late night conversations with you. Pushing your buttons because I can, but my intentions are pure. Can you deal? A willingness to delve into the deeper emotions of life. Being charmed. Flirting back and forth. Lip biting. Feigning forgetting important dates to surprise you later and show that I pay attention. Smiling till your face hurts. It’s hard to be sad when I’m around you. A desire to know what you’re thinking. 

Cancer Venus

Coming home. My door is open and every meeting feels like the first time all over again. A love that follows you everywhere. Cleanses you. Breakfast in bed. A sensitive spot touched on your back. Just. Like. That. Emotions. Emotions on overdrive. Are these mine or yours? Emotional highs. Highs that sweep you up into the heavens where everything is fluffy and soft. Feels like you’re treading warm water, soft ripples glimmer in the moonlight. Devotion. Whatever you want, I can take care of it. Being fed. And then devoured whole by the intensity. It’s all you can feel. Sink or swim, I’m right there with you.

Leo Venus

Loyalty. I vow to ride things out for you. With you. Anything for my equal. Nothing but the best. Tender moments where eyes are locked and the inner spirit is visible, for a moment. Taking pictures in iconic places. Compliments. Affirming how good you look. Back rubs. Head rubs. Hand on my heart, I swear this feels too good to be true. Playfulness. Teasing. I wanna see what you’re about. Show me how I light you up so I know i’m not the only one feeling this way. Wearing my heart on my sleeve. Nights spent enjoying each other’s company. Messing around, just because. Letting you in because you recognise the inner child within me.

Virgo Venus

Little things. The things you overlook I cover. There’s little I wouldn’t do for you. I got you. Practical gifts. Soft nagging. Simple things done together. Grocery shopping. Your favourite treat in your bag because today is a big day and I believe in you. A connection that surpasses the body but is rooted within the spirit. Acceptance of all your flaws. Loving you even more for it. A mental connection that just flows. Dry jokes. You get me. Subtle touches. Gratitude. Feelings that run deep. Putting in work because I value this connection. Showing a different side of me when I’m with you.

Libra Venus

Balance. Sweet words. An even sweeter smile, with eyes crinkling. Matching our steps when we’re together because I like being in a groove with you. Sharing a milkshake with two straws. A fairytale romance where only true love is promised. Holding hands. Thinking of you. A sense of peace together. Taking turns splitting the bill because this right here is based on give and take. Tucking that stray hair behind your ear. Looking at you pains me a little. Yin and Yang. But in a good way. Nothing is perfect, but this right here, is real close.

Scorpio Venus

Bare. That’s how it feels. Seeing beneath the physical body but wanting more. Surrounded by people but consumed by your presence. Heat. A look. A smirk. Intense feelings. Intense feelings that you can either face head or back away, either way you’ll feel it. No sharing. But no prisoners, either. Ride or die. You’re guaranteed not to be the same after. Say goodbye to the old you. Secrets shared. Each day brings us closer and I’m fast getting used to it. Flying off the edge because something greater needs to be explored. Shadow emotions not shrinking away from the light but opening up to be perceived. Deep healing. An even deeper connection. 

Sagittarius Venus

Exploration. Exploration of your mind. A raucous kind of love. Play fighting. An acceptance of you and how I come together. Falling a lil bit deeper each time you express whats on your mind. Freedom. Introducing each other to new things. Living life on the wild side. Travelling together, you and I and two backpacks. Anything feels possible when I’m with you. Remembering how to dream. Questionable decisions that feel oh so good in the end. Having faith. In a higher power, in a higher calling. In you.

Capricorn Venus

A quiet declaration of love that doesn’t need outside confirmation. You know what it is. Weekends away in the countryside. Showing up for you. Playing house. Love is made a priority. Lunch dates. Settling down in the evening just us. Brushing our teeth together and sneaking glances in the mirror. An earthy kind of love. Feeling grounded, together. Helping you take the burden off of your shoulders. You can lean on me. Dinner and drinks. Privacy. Living our best life together. Taking things slow but an end goal is in place. Doing things for long-term results. Thinking of a future where you feature. 

Aquarius Venus

Acceptance. A connection that questions everything you knew before. Shaking your world up. How open are you to the unpredictable? I wanna find out. Making a fool out of ourselves because its 1AM and we’re up. Watching the sun come up. Netflix and chill. A series we watch together, just us. It’s our thing. Listening to your dreams but getting distracted by the pure passion emanating from your eyes. Finding humour in awkward situations. Shining eyes. Things we share together. Moments of time apart that we share which doesn’t feel impending of something bad, but more of a comforting reminder that what we have is something to come back to. Trust. Sending you this meme because I saw this and thought of you.

Pisces Venus

Unconditional. A connection that doesn’t exist on a 3D level. Love that filters through into your dream world. What separates us? Not much. Fantasies materialising. Taking place on a soul level. Dreamy eyes. Looking at you just because. Looking at you when you’re not looking. Talking to you but then losing track because you look so damn good. Tracing the curves of your face. Holding hands with thumbs circling that fleshy part where the thumb meets the index. Losing myself in you. Sharing things together that can’t be explained. We don’t want too. 

| little thoughts about mercury placements

| little thoughts about mars placements

| little thoughts about saturn placements

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: sorry for the wait yall this month really kicked my ass,, but also we reached part 20!!

tw infertility discussion

***

Gwyn: isn’t he beautiful <3

In the freezing February air outside the tea house, Nesta clicks on the picture attached to Gwyn’s text. It’s a distant shot of a man in his mid-thirties hunched over a library desk while working, unaware that there’s a camera on him. She’ll give it to Gwyn, though—he is a little handsome.

Emerie: the stalker levels are through the roof, gwyneth. seek help.

Gwyn: no i’m gonna marry him

Nesta doesn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned, but she types out a brief response before her thumbs fall off from the cold: Will give my opinion on him later. Got to go.

Gwyn’s crush will have to wait, Nesta thinks as she finally puts her phone away and pushes her way inside the exquisite tea house. Immediately, blasting heat thaws her frozen fingers and toes, and farther inside she spots the table she reserved for three. Right now, only one person sits at it.

Nesta grits her teeth and approaches the round table, heels clicking softly on the parquet floors. Elain doesn’t look up from the menu she’s reading. “This place would be nicer to visit in the spring,” is her only acknowledgment of Nesta.

“I like the winter,” Nesta answers simply, taking her seat across from Elain. She likes how the ice creeps over the garden outside until everything looks frozen in time, and she likes how the colorful flowers and trees become dulled by white snow. Not that her sister would understand or care.

“Of course you do,” Elain mutters, setting down the menu with all the careful elegance of a debutante. “I’m only here for Feyre, anyway.”

It almost saddens Nesta that she doesn’t feel hurt or offense at the words. She thought she would care more about Elain’s opinion than she actually does. “Where is Feyre, then?” she says, looking pointedly at the empty seat between them. “I thought she was coming with you.”

“I’m right here,” a breathless voice says, accompanied by the sound of hurried footsteps. Feyre appears, looking flushed from exertion and the cold. She sets her bag down and joins them at the table, scooting her seat all the way in. “Sorry I’m late. What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Nesta bites. “I was just about to order.”

“So was I.” Elain smiles breezily.

Feyre glances between the two of them, clear concern on her face, but she covers it up and says, “I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

It was Feyre’s idea, of course. After Nesta told her off for never being interested in what she wanted to do, Feyre actually listened. She asked if Nesta wanted to hang out, and then let Nesta fill in the rest of the details on her own terms.

Which brings them to the tea house. Unfortunately for her sisters, however, Nesta doesn’t really know where to go from ordering tea and biscuits.

“How is school going?” Feyre asks her after their drinks arrive.

Nesta sips from her tea, already bored. “It’s been fifteen minutes and you have yet to say anything of substance, Feyre. It makes me miss being alone with Elain and her mood.”

Feyre looks taken aback, and Elain levels a glare at Nesta. An unsurprised, of course you have to ruin everything like this glare.

So Nesta clarifies, “That wasn’t an attack. I just hoped that after driving out here, I would get something better than shallow small talk.”

“And how do you know it was shallow?” Elain steps in harshly. “How do you know she isn’t actually interested in how you’re doing at school?”

Nesta slides blunt blue eyes to Feyre. “If that’s the case, then I commend you. Personally, I wouldn’t give a shit if I was in your position.”

To her surprise, Feyre snorts. She looks resigned when she says, “No, you’re right. I don’t care about what’s going on at school, not if you don’t. What would you rather we talk about then, Nesta?”

Without hesitation, Nesta says, “Ask me something you really care to hear the answer to.”

Elain shuts her mouth and sits back at that. Feyre twists her lips, thinking her next words over carefully. “How is your therapy going?” she finally asks in a cautious tone. “What do you talk about there?”

Remembering that she’s in a formal setting, Nesta stops herself from crossing her arms. She settles on wrapping her fingers delicately around her teacup instead. “We talk about whatever I feel like talking about,” she answers honestly. Although lately her conversations with Lana feel more restrained than usual.

“And what’s that?” Feyre urges.

Nesta shrugs, fitting apathy onto her face like an old mask. “Recently? Childbearing.” But it isn’t her favorite topic of discussion, not at all.

“You’re pregnant?” Elain jumps in, leading Nesta to throw her an unamused look.

“No, idiot,” she says. “My therapist just has the idea that if I end up being infertile it’ll screw me up, mentally and emotionally and whatever. She thinks I should deal with that baggage now instead of saving it for later.” She rolls her eyes thinking about it. How many times does she have to repeat that she doesn’t care about her body’s reproductive abilities until Lana gets it?

Feyre chuckles, confused. “Why would you be infertile?”

Nesta forgot—she didn’t want her sisters knowing anything that has to do with her health. She even made Cassian keep her doctor visits secret from Feyre. But that was months ago, and the sisters are… not exactly in a better place now, but looking for the way there. Nesta thinks she can tell them without any severe regrets. “I have endometriosis.”

When she’s met with silence, she adds, “You know, with the tissue growing on my ovaries and stuff. It might affect all the babies I don’t care to have in the future.”

Elain is the first to speak. “You always wanted to be a mother.” Her voice is soft, almost mourning. It irritates the hell out of Nesta.

“No, I didn’t,” she snaps back.

“You did,” Elain insists. Feyre still hasn’t said anything. “You took care of our cat, Mittens, until the day she died. You taught Feyre her alphabet. You raised me when Mama and Papa were too busy to do it. You never carried dolls around in strollers or anything, but you loved being a mother.”

“I don’t remember any of this,” Feyre says, blinking. “I’m sorry, can we go back to the endometriosis part?”

Nesta sips from her tea, the bitter taste a welcome distraction from Elain’s words. “What about it?”

“How long have you known?” Feyre demands.

“It isn’t cancer. And I’m getting treated, obviously. I’m fine.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Nesta sighs, setting her cup down. “October. Cassian made me go to the doctor because he was worried about my periods, we had a big fight about health insurance, and now I use my salary from your boyfriend to afford medication so I don’t feel like dying every month. Is that everything you wanted to hear?”

Feyre only stares at her, for once revealing no emotion. “I keep forgetting,” she says finally, “that we’re not at a place to share things like that with each other. I keep being surprised every time I realize how much of your life you keep from us.”

“I don’t,” Elain huffs under her breath while she tears a croissant in half.

Nesta is still watching Feyre. “You remember how bad my cycles were? I would cry loud enough at night to wake the house.”

Feyre flinches at the memory, and Elain goes still.

“But no one ever woke up,” Nesta says. They never talked about it before, and she has no desire to keep speaking about it now. If they start to tally all the hurts they’ve dealt to each other, Nesta fears they’ll be here for hours. Worse, she fears she will lose.

She reaches for a lavender macaron and delicately pulls it apart, studying the cream filling inside. “Did you know they make these using the lavender flowers from the garden outside?”

“I hate lavender,” Elain says.

Spying her chance to shift the subject off herself, Nesta goes for it. “Because Azriel smells like lavender?” She pushes one half of the dainty cookie past her lips, chewing. “It’s an interesting cologne choice, I agree.”

“Wait, what are we talking about now?” Feyre looks around, unaware that they’ve moved onto another topic.

Elain’s innocent brown eyes turn into daggers pointed at Nesta, betrayal written across her face. Nesta feels no pity for her—especially not if they’re going to sit around judging each other for keeping secrets.

Feyre’s eyes widen and she turns to Elain. “Is it about your,” she lowers her voice and whispers, “crush?”

Nesta raises a skeptical brow. She doubts whatever Az and Elain have stops at just a crush.

“No, it’s not,” Elain answers determinedly. “God, do you have to bring men into everything, Nesta?”

“I think you’re projecting.”

“Quit it,” Feyre snaps at the both of them. “Or I’ll grab my things and leave.”

Do it, Nesta almost dares. But she has a feeling that Feyre means it, that she won’t submit to being taunted, so Nesta reins the words back from the tip of her tongue. After all, this tea is expensive.

The sisters take a moment to settle, and Feyre is the one to restart the conversation. “Either way,” she tells Nesta, “it looks like counseling is going really well for you. I’m glad.”

“Yeah, it really gives your skin a certain glow,” Elain drawls.

Nesta doesn’t rise to meet her sarcasm. In all seriousness, Elain and Feyre could probably use a therapist themselves. It might make Nesta’s interactions with them less headache-inducing.

“You should visit one day,” she throws the suggestion out without thinking.

“What, like a therapy session?” Feyre says.

Realizing the implications of her terrible idea, Nesta forces herself not to backpedal. “Yes,” she makes herself grit out. “If you’re interested, that is.”

Elain and Feyre share a glance of hesitation and concern. It’s a glance that grates on Nesta’s nerves, but she keeps her mouth shut and waits for a response.

Feyre answers first: “We’ll do it.”

Elain looks more doubtful, but seems to realize that refusing to go would paint her in a negative light. We can’t have that, can we? Nesta thinks wryly. She reaches for some macarons and starts stuffing them into her purse. “Sounds good. Great.” It is not at all great. Having her sisters in the same room as her and Lana might just be terrible enough to ruin Nesta’s next month or two.

“I’ll text you the details whenever I feel like it,” she tells Feyre and Elain as she rises out of her seat. Likely not for as long as possible.

“Where are you going?” Elain demands.

“I’m leaving.” Nesta pointedly drapes her coat over her shoulders, picking up her purse. “I have plans for the rest of the day, sorry.” Plans to get home and rate Gwyn’s work crush on a scale of one to ten. Maybe she’ll rewatch a sitcom if she has time.

“But it’s only been an hour,” Feyre protests.

Did Feyre think they would be spending the whole day together? Nesta wants to shudder at the mere idea of it, but she somehow… feels bad for her sister. “Maybe another time,” she promises vaguely. To provide some sort of reassurance, she adds, “I had fun today. Thanks for pulling this together.” The words are hollow, fake, and she’s probably a hypocrite for not being able to return the same sincerity she demanded from Feyre. But honesty isn’t going to get Nesta very far today, so this false politeness is the best she can manage.

Elain looks somewhat relieved, and Feyre looks disappointed but unsurprised. “Alright.” The girls nod at her. “Get home safe.”

She turns and leaves as soon as she’s given the green light.

A stale scent greets Nesta when she enters her apartment, reminding her that she hasn’t been around in days. In her defense, the winter months are easier to bear in Cassian’s heated cabin than in a poorly insulated basement.

Flicking the lights on, Nesta books it to the thermostat, her teeth nearly chattering out of her body. After turning the heat as high as it can go, she climbs beneath the covers of her bed without bothering to take her coat off. She doesn’t take out her phone to text the groupchat like she promised she would. She doesn’t even get her laptop to turn Netflix on. Rather, her focus is caught on the framed picture of her and Cassian sitting atop the dresser.

Everything was okay as she stepped out of the tea house. It wasn’t until she was inside her car that it came upon her: the whirlwind of emotions that had stayed so carefully hidden while she chatted with her sisters. All throughout the drive home, her mind kept returning to that one topic. Children.

Elain said that Nesta used to genuinely enjoy playing substitute mother when they were children, and she was right. But that was all fun and games, like playing teacher. What Elain left out was what happened after their actual mother died and their father went into debt, leaving all three girls in need of a parent figure. Nesta wasn’t a mother then—or at least, not a good one.

Now, she stares at the picture full of smiley cheeks and windblown hair, remembering the night that she realized she wanted to hold Cassian’s hand in hers.

She can’t imagine Cassian not wanting kids. They’ve never discussed it, but it’s so obvious to anyone who’s ever met him: he has too much love to give away to not one day end up with a whole brood of children. The thought makes Nesta’s stomach churn.

***

“Thanks again, guys.” Cassian shakes hands with his team as they file out of the conference room, all of them dressed professionally while he lingers in his hoodie. As soon as the last worker is out the door, he pulls out his phone, ready to shoot Nesta a message. She met up with her sisters alone today for the first time in a year, and he can’t wait any longer to find out if their brunch ended in a fight or not.

He clicks on his phone to find two texts from his brother, sent not too long ago.

Rhys: You’re in the office today for the monthly check-in, right?

Rhys: Don’t leave after the meeting is over. I’ll be there in an hour to introduce you to the new guy heading the Milan project.

Cassian frowns, confused. Rhys and the new guy are coming all the way up here to meet him? He didn’t know he was that important to the project.

While he waits for his unexpected guests, Cassian texts Nesta twice, and only receives a single short response saying she got home safe. Resolving to call and have a real conversation with her later, he gets up to change into the spare buttondown and pressed slacks he keeps in a locker in his office. If Rhys wants him to play the part of company boss, then he might as well look the part.

He’s adjusting the cuffs of his dark-colored shirt when the door to his office opens without warning, and Rhysand strides in followed by a stiff-looking young man.

Cassian eyes the stranger up and down first, trying to get a read on him the way he’s seen Nesta and Rhys read others. He doesn’t come up with a single thing, as usual, but he hopes he achieved his goal of looking intimidating.

“Cass,” Rhys greets him with a subdued nod, in full CEO mode. “This is our new hire, Keith O’Connell. I snagged him from right under Vanserra & Co.’s noses.” His near-violet eyes gleam with pride. “He’s going to be working out of Milan for us starting this summer.”

“Sounds good to me.” Cassian smiles lazily, and this is something he doesn’t need to fake—confidence. He reaches out to shake Keith’s hand. “Hi. I’m Cassian Madani.”

“Good to meet you.” The other man shakes back, but his grip is too tight, like he’s trying to break Cassian’s hand. Try-hard, a voice that sounds like Nesta tells him. Uses arrogance to cover up his insecurity.

Cassian takes it all into account as he pulls his hand away, seeing Keith through clearer eyes. His dark brown hair is slicked back with copious amounts of hair product, and a shrewd black gaze takes in every detail of the office. He stands like he’s attempting to seem taller than he actually is.

A typical white-collar worker looking for a way up the corporate ladder, Cassian concludes. Nothing he hasn’t seen before, but there must be a reason Rhys is so excited about him.

“Keith is starting here at your branch next week,” Rhys is saying when Cassian refocuses.

He blinks, unsure if he heard correctly. “What, all the way out here?” Away from Velaris in this modest mountain town?

“We agreed it was best if you two work together as closely as possible while preparing for the summer launch. Since you can’t come to Velaris, that means Keith comes here.”

Cassian looks at Rhys in astonishment. He thought that once he rejected the Milan position, he’d cleaned his hands of the job for good. Clearly he was wrong. “Just how involved am I going to be on this project?”

Rhys grins back at him. “You’ll lead from home base, of course.”

Cassian glares. Rhys responds with a look that says they’ll talk about this later.

Keith seems to find the idea of working alongside another person as distasteful as Cassian finds it unexpected, but he says anyway, “I can’t wait to start working together. I have a lot of ideas for the Italian outpost that I think you’ll appreciate.”

“I’m sure I will,” Cassian hums. “When do you start again?”

“Next Monday.”

“Then we should talk then.” Cassian gestures out the door. Keith looks taken aback, likely having expected more out of this meeting. But Cassian can’t meet with this guy until he gets a hold of what the fuck is going on. After shepherding Keith out of the office and shutting the door after him, he turns to Rhys with a raised brow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rhys warns. “Your role in this project is serious.”

“This project isn’t even part of my job description. What am I supposed to know about international business conductions?”

“You know enough to keep an eye on that O’Connell kid for me.” Rhys leans against Cassian’s desk as if it’s his own and crosses his feet. “He’s an asset to the company, but he also worked for our competitors up to a couple of months ago. I can’t trust him to manage this thing on his own, and I don’t have the time or resources right now to watch over him myself. That’s why the duty falls to you.”

“I manage security,” Cassian states, in case it wasn’t obvious. “What about Az?”

“Az has his own things to handle.” Rhys waves him off. “Just do what I tell you to, will you? Pay attention to O’Connell for the duration of the Italy venture and make sure he doesn’t steer our ship off course. You’ll get paid triple for the extra hours.”

“I don’t need triple,” Cassian grumbles, but Rhys is no longer listening. He’s typing on his phone and already heading for the door.

“Feyre and I are having dinner here before heading back home,” he calls over his shoulder. “See you later; I believe in you!” The door shuts after him, leaving Cassian alone.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies to the empty room.

Cassian leaves not long after Rhysand does, having no excuse to linger. Outside, he’s greeted with a surprise leaning against the hood of his truck.

Nesta pushes off the hood as soon as he catches notice of her. “Long day?” she asks.

He laughs for the first time all afternoon, the sound surprised and genuine. “I was just thinking about you.”

“That’s why I’m here. I heard your thoughts.” There’s a light in her pale eyes that only burns whenever she looks at him. It’s the same light that powers her ability to make jokes and let her guard down around him in a way she can’t with most others, and Cassian is especially grateful for it today.

Nesta reaches out and takes his hand into hers. He watches the way their palms fit together in endless fascination, his brown fingers a stark contrast against her white ones. He squeezes once and looks back up at her. “How did meeting your sisters go? You never told me.”

The light flickers so briefly Cassian wonders if it’s a trick of his eyes. But then Nesta is there again, at full brightness. She squeezes his hand back. “Take me home. I’ll tell you all about it.”

***

a/n: i love writing stuff related to cassian’s job i’ll just be throwing random words in there and calling it business jargon

tagging: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog

[justkending]

The Number One Rule. Chapter 16.

Series Summary: Y/N has always been seen as “Steve’s rambunctious sister.” However, she grew up, graduated, and moved to London to study abroad for 4 years and get her bachelor's degree. The girl that returns looks nothing like the teenager that left, but don’t worry the attitude is still there and stronger than ever. What’s to come of the two grown adults that used to push each other's buttons, but now have a lot more in common than they’ve ever realized.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Y/N Rogers (Steve’s little sister)

Word Count: 5700+

A/N: This chapter is going to give us quite a bit of background information and some throwback memories. I really enjoyed writing this one and creating a past for these characters. All of them. Let me know what you think! I’m so excited to share this one with you all:)

Chapter Sixteen:

“You know, I thought that we were close enough that you could come to me with this kind of thing. That you wouldn’t feel like you had to hide it from me. Y/N and you both,” he said with pursed lips. “Guess I was wrong.” 

With that he turned back and walked to his car. Bucky watched as he started the engine, pulled out, and disappeared. 

What the hell kind of mess just happened?

Bucky stood there for a second. He couldn’t wrap his head around what just went down in the slightest. Steve was no longer angry at him, he caught onto that. Or at least he thought that was the case. 

No, Steve was disappointed. That was far worse than hatred coming from your best friend. Coming from anyone really, but the person you’ve been joined at the hip to, for 26 years? Yeah. That punches you in the gut and knocks all the wind out of you.

Eventually, remembering Y/N was upstairs probably pacing the ground and biting her nails not knowing what was happening, he started moving to the back porch steps. 

He wasn’t even three steps into the kitchen before Y/N was around the corner rushing to him.

“What happened?” she said looking up at him and instantly putting her hands around his upper arm. “Is that blood? Did he hit you?” she said gently, but urgently as she grazed over the split lip. “Oh, I’m going to murder him,” she said through her teeth, immediately moving to the back door. 

Bucky caught her by the waist and pulled her back into him. 

“Don’t. Don’t. He’s not out there. He left,” he explained as he tugged her back into the kitchen.

“He left? He just punched you and left?” she questioned. A fire in her eyes swirling just as much as the storm Steve had in his earlier. The types of rage are completely opposite, but at the same time just as furious.

“We talked after he punched me, but can’t say I didn’t deserve it.” Disappointment dripped from his own words.

“You didn’t deserve it, B. No one deserves getting punched about something like this.” The fire started to dim as she focused her energy back on the brunette that still had her wrapped in his arms by her waist. His eyes downcast, looking as if in another world. “Hey, talk to me. What happened?” Gently she brought her hand to his cheek and convinced him to look at her. “Talk to me, please.”

They moved to the living room and sat on the couch facing each other. Bucky had almost seemed distant, as though touching or being close to her now was a crime. No doubt Steve’s words had an effect on him in the moment.

He explained pieces of what happened. Mainly just how Steve was upset thinking they were sleeping together, and when he cleared that up, he had just expressed his disappointment of the two. He was upset and deeply hurt that they felt like they had to hide this from him.

“Could he blame us though? He literally split your lip after finding out,” she motioned to him, scooting closer to place the ice covered by a washcloth they got earlier, to his lip. 

“I’ve taken harder hits, doll. And even if he got me pretty good, I could tell he was holding back at least some.” He placed his hand over hers and sent a sad smile before taking the homemade ice pack for himself. 

“This is going to be hard to come back from with him, isn’t it?” she asked, saddened by the pain she caused her brother. Bucky could see multiple thoughts running through her head as her eyes moved back and forth while looking down. “We aren’t going to end this though, are we?” 

Her tone broke Bucky’s heart hearing her say that. The pain, worry, and complete devastation of the idea was playing like a movie in her eyes. 

“What? No!” he said, quickly shutting that idea down as he dropped the rag and grabbed both her hands. “I love Steve and I would do anything for him, but I have to draw a line- Well, I have to draw a line when it affects my happiness.” She looked at him hopeful. “In the end, I know he’ll come around. I’m not going to lose you just because of this hiccup. Sure, I don’t really know how long Steve’s going to hate me, but we’ll work it through. Nothing can hurt us that bad. You know that.”

“I do, but it still worries me.”

“Don’t worry, Y/N/N. Really, he’ll come around. It’ll just take time.”

___________________

And boy was it taking its sweet ass time…

Two weeks had passed. Bucky and Y/N still went about their love life the same way. Not wanting to rub it in Steve’s face, they steered clear of Bucky’s shared home with him. Bekah had been talking to a guy herself, and spent a lot of nights over there, so they took advantage of her empty apartment when they could. 

Luckily they wouldn’t have to worry about that too long as Y/N was looking into renting a flat herself to get some of her independence back from coming home. Of course, she worried about her mom, but Sarah was sweet and said she understood and was excited for her. She was taking more shifts at the hospital anyway, so they rarely saw each other with their opposite schedules. Sarah did make her promise Sunday dinners to continue, as it was tradition. 

Speaking of, Steve had conveniently had a work thing come up each time, so he had missed the past two weeks. 

“This is so unlike him. He usually moves his work schedule around Sunday dinners, not the other way around,” Sarah sighed as she handed a bowl of a roast over to her daughter. 

“He’s not too happy with me, Ma. I think he’s avoiding me,” she mumbled. She was all happy to be over before her mom mentioned him.  

“Why would he do that? You just got home a little over 2 months ago. That’s barely anytime I would hope for you two to start a fight up. Let alone one that I’m realizing is going on two weeks,” she said with a knowing look as she sat across from Y/N.

“It’s hard to explain. He has a good reason, but he’s also being childish about it,” she said poking at the potatoes and beef on her plate. An old irish recipe. 

“Hmmm, I see.” Causally, Sarah went back to eating as if her understanding wasn’t questionable. 

“You see? What exactly do you see?” she asked tilting her head and raising an eyebrow at her mom. She knew that look. It was the, ‘mom knows everything, even if you think she doesn’t,’ look.

“It’s quite obvious to anyone who has eyes, but I’m not going to put my comments where they don’t belong.” Again, so casual as she took a drink of water and went back to eating. 

“Sarah Rogers, you little spy. What do you know?” Y/N chuckled. Her tone was joking, but deep down intrigued. 

“Why don’t you say it dear? I don’t want to have my foot in my mouth if I’m wrong,” she gestured. “Not that I’ll be wrong, but I’ll give you a chance,” she winked. 

She eyed her mom for a second. The two sending the same stares and telepathically talking.

Then it hit her. 

“Oh my GOD! You know?!” Y/N jumped almost out of her seat, but considering the table was in the way, she sat up straight and hit her knee. “Ow, shit.”

“Language,” her mom chided. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “But you knew?” her disbelief coming back. “How long have you-?”

“Lord, as soon as Bucky set his eyes on you coming home. I mean of course I wasn’t there when you saw each other for the first time after all these years, but when we had dinner that night? He was practically fawning over you,” Sarah shrugged, going back to her meal.

“He was?”

“Plain as day, Mini. Though, I wouldn’t put it past you to not notice, considering he acted almost the same when you two were in highschool.”

“What?!” Y/N jumped again. Her food was long forgotten. 

“Actually at that point, I think you both were blind to it. Bucky may not even known back then,” she tilted her head.

“Okay mom, you’re throwing a lot of things at me at once. I can’t keep up, can you elaborate some?” Y/N threw her hands up as if to stop her from moving forward anymore.

“Where to start?” Sarah put her silverware down and brought her elbows up on the table before interlocking her fingers and looking off as if watching the scenes replay in front of her. 

“Freshman year, you were part of the crew that was in charge of the cancer carnival to raise all the money for that charity. You had come home and were going on and on and on about all the different ways you had come up to raise that money. Photobooths, dunk tanks, crazy games, snowcones, and all that fun stuff. Bucky and Steve had just come in from playing basketball in the driveway and were getting something to drink. Steve laughed as you went on and teased you about how you should be put in the dunk tank, and Bucky just had this look in his eye. Pure admiration for your excitement for that specific cause. That and you told your brother off showing even more how dedicated you were.”

“That was oddly specific…” 

“Oh, I’m just getting started…” Sarah had a devilish amused look on her face. “But I guess I’ll just stick with one for each year.” She waved off. “Sophomore year, you were invited to prom from an upperclassman. Who was it?”

“Peter Quill. Ugh, I remember that. He ended up ditching me that night halfway through the prom.”

“Hmm mm, Steve had called saying they were leaving early to bring you home. You were upset and bored not knowing really anyone else there.”

“I honestly had only said yes because I wanted to go to the dance with another upperclassman and rub it in Brock’s face at the time. Bucky and Steve were seniors, so they were there too…” She thought back. Her chin in her hand as she listened to the stories. 

“Well, Steve brought you home and Bucky was with him. I guess Bucky’s girlfriend at the time had the flu or something and couldn’t go, so they went with a group of guys.” Sarah got a little sidetracked, but quickly reeled in it. “Anyway, when the night was over, they had already planned on going to Bucky’s for the night. However, I came around the corner after they dropped you off and were about to head back out, and I saw Bucky was convincing Stevie to stay here that night.”

“What? That’s why they were here? I remember that actually... There was an after party at another seniors house.” Sarah raised an eyebrow knowing what happened after parties, but not knowing that was where her son had originally planned to go. “Sorry, but you know how high schoolers are. Don’t act shocked,” she chuckled. “I remember them going, but they came home pretty early.”

“Wonder why…” Sarah sighed to herself taking another bite of food before it got cold. 

Not hearing her, Y/N went on. 

“Bucky and I talked that night at like 1 in the morning to like 4. We ran into each other in the kitchen getting a late night snack, and it turned into a whole deep talk,” she thought back. “One of the few times we had a conversation like adults instead of pushing each other's buttons.”

“Yes, and you were so stunned and surprised by it, you gushed about it to me later,” Sarah nodded. “Little did you know, you had woken me up at the time and when I came to see what all the noise was in the kitchen, you and Bucky were laughing about something on the kitchen floor with your backs propped up on the cabinets. A stash of junk food sitting between you two as you talked.”

“But what does that have to do with-?”

“I came in when you were going on and on about a new history topic that you had dived into that month. You didn’t even notice him with wide eyes and absolute fondness for how smart and passionate you were on the subject. You were too busy talking to notice, I’m sure,” she laughed. 

Y/N had to think back a little further for that memory, but it popped up. “Oh God, I was going on about the progression of execution styles in the Roman times,” she threw her head in her hands of embarrassment. 

“Yeah, crazy thing to be looking at a girl like that in that kind of conversation. Talking about chopping people’s heads off wouldn’t be something I see a boy fawning over, and he looked at you like it was the most amazing story to be told. But then again, there he was. Completely blind himself.”

“Wow… I forgot about that moment. I remember the night, but some details are a little fuzzy. Not that one…” she whispered. 

“And the way you talked about it the next day? You had the same look. Subtle and hidden, but deep down I could see the wonder in your eyes.”

Y/N smiled as she leaned forward like a child at story time. “What about Junior year?”

“Let’s see. By then Bucky and Steve had gone overseas. We didn’t see much of them…”  Sarah was slightly saddened. She was proud of her son in those moments, but the fear and worry that comes with sending a child into war isn’t that fond of a feeling. 

Y/N reached across grabbing her moms hand and giving her an encouraging soft smile. Clearing her throat she started again.

 “In saying that, there may have been a moment in person, but they only came back for a month that whole year. I didn’t like that year,” she shook her head. “Who sent you all those letters though?” She asked looking back with that same knowing look. 

“Steve… and Bucky. I wrote to them both, and I was surprised when Bucky asked me to write to him as well.”

“Didn’t expect that one, hmm?” Sarah smiled. “I don’t know what was written in them, for all I know he was just sending you jokes and teasing you from over the sea like your brother did here and there... But I have a feeling there were some personal things said too.” 

“I actually kept all of those. They are in a box in my room. I have Steves in there too,” she smiled fondly as if she had completely forgotten them. Though she could never actually do that. She remembers very well all the excitement of running and checking the mail in hopes of another one being delivered. From both of them. 

Her mom was right, there were a few teasing and goofy ones, but the longer he was over there, the more serious they got. There were some crazy terrifying stories and confessions to fear in those. He had mentioned he was only writing to his family and her, but she always wondered why he sent her things like that and not his family. 

She had asked Becca once about a letter they had received, and they were sweet, but they disguised the sense of fear and longing to be home. He didn’t want his family to worry. 

That’s when Y/N started taking their writing more seriously. She would practically let him vent and write out all his struggles and frustrations while over there, and Y/N would send back distractions of random history facts (which by the way, he asked for personally even if he jested her at home for them). Then she would tell him about her week, something else he asked for, and try to send words of wisdom and reassurance for his time. 

He appreciated those and Y/N appreciated him trusting her with those thoughts. It’s not like he could send them to Steve when Steve was going through his own war over there with him.

How did she not pick up on the rise of finding respect for the other during then? The start of full-on admiration. 

“Those letters stopped coming in the next year,” Y/N deflated in her spot. The next wave of memories contained her senior year. “Well, they came, but I never could get around to writing back with everything happening.”

“You’re graduate year… Steve came back home after we got the news. It took him a while to get approved, but they dismissed him from duty out of how much he had already served in his short time there. Brave man, your brother,” she says chuckling to cover the tears that were already forming in her eyes. Her daughter's eyes matched. She grabbed her hand again, this time giving it a loving squeeze. “That was a very hard year for all of us.”

“Steve came back, but Bucky had to stay. But he somehow got time off for a few weeks to come visit…”

“Remember his first visit?” Sarah said with a sad smile.

Thinking back to that time of grief and sadness, she really had to dig. She didn’t really dust off those memories often. It wasn’t really a time you would want to look back on.

“The hospital,” Y/N eventually said in a hushed airless whisper. “How did I forget that?”

“Those were moments one doesn’t really want to recall often,” Sarah said with a new tear falling. She had a smile on her face, but it was sad and soft. Nothing stemming from joy. 

“We had just got the word,” she gasped faintly, trying to suck back the air that had left her body thinking of the horrible night. “After the surgery, one of too many, the doctors told us…” Taking a second, she hadn’t said this in a while as the family was hush hush when talking about the last days. “We only had a few months with him.”

________________________

5 years ago: 

“He… He wha-?” Steve stammered out. “But he was in remission, not too long ago. He was fine!”

He was furious with the new information. He knew there was a chance of these specific results as his father had a new surgery every month for the cancer. Trying to locate it, trying to cut it out, trying to shrink it, trying to get rid of it with all their might. Every surgery you go in, you’re about to learn if it’s worse or better. And this? This was the worse they had gotten yet. 

“I’m sorry, Steve. You know I don’t want to tell you this news, but cancer is a horrible horrible demon we have to face in this world unfortunately,” the doctor said. He had been with them the whole journey so the family had grown rather close with Bruce Banner. Someone their father actually worked alongside with. “Just when you’re doing better, it changes things up. I will say with all the past surgeries, we probably got you a few more months then expected. We believe a few months ago, without the treatment he's undergone so far, he would no longer be here with us today.”

“So we bought him a few months. What does that matter for, if it didn’t fix it all?” Steve shouted. The anger wasn’t toward the doctor. He knew that and they knew that. But he needed someone to blame for the shit he was being handed. He couldn’t just yell at the universe. 

“Steven,” Sarah had said softly. Speaking for the first time since Steve had started his rant. “Calm down honey. Shouting and screaming isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

“Nothing’s going to get us anywhere apparently,” he hissed. His hand coming up on his head as he looked up. After a second, he harshly ran his hand down his face and looked at his mom again. He could see her guard start to fall and Steve couldn’t handle having to be strong for them right now. He was too hurt. It was too painful. He was going to break and he couldn’t let them see him do that. “Ugh, I need air. I need to get some air. I-I can’t-.” With that, he walked in long strides to the elevator and the exit. 

Sarah shook her head at the tears escaping without her consent. Turning to Y/N, she saw her youngest looking slightly downwards, frozen. Her nails were already being bitten from her nervous tick, and her eyes showing she was no longer on this earth mentally.

“Y/N,” Sarah said, taking a deep breath and standing taller. “Why don’t you go wait in the waiting room? Sit down, ok. I’m just going to talk to Dr. Banner real fast, hmm?” 

No answer. She patted her shoulder making him jump slightly as if she had never consciously been there to start. She gave her a nod and Y/N nodded back and started mindlessly heading to the waiting room with her arms folded tight across her body for comfort. Any comfort…

“Y/N?” 

She had been mindlessly looking at the ground in the chair she sat in. She couldn’t tell if it had been 5 minutes or an hour later from leaving the room with her mom.

“Y/N/N?”

That finally got her attention and she turned to see Bucky standing with his helmet in hand and jean jacket half-hazardly shifting off his shoulder from racing in from his bike. 

“B-Buck?” she said softly sitting straighter. 

Bucky sent her a sad smile as he walked to her, but he made it about 4 steps before she was running into his arms and clinging to him like he was air itself. 

“They can’t help him, Buck,” she finally said after crying for a few minutes while he ran a hand down her back softly and let her get it all out. “They said they can’t do anything further,” she pulled back enough to look up. Her arms around his middle and his around her shoulders. “We have a few months…”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky sighed, finally getting the news he was waiting to hear, but this wasn’t what he was ready for. He could feel her heartbeat get faster, and at first, he just thought it was the hint to another crying session about to erupt. 

In which case, bring it on. He wanted to help her like she had helped him with all those letters of support. But then he noticed her start to slightly hyperventilate. He knew what those two combos usually come out to and he wished he didn’t.  

He brought her to a chair he was planning on sitting her in, but instead she plopped herself on the ground. Bucky instantly moved down there with her and looked her over. 

“Hey, hey, sweetheart. You’re ok. I got you. Take a deep breath,” he said, bringing her to sit in his lap and hugged her as tight as he could. The feeling of pressure was a calming mechanism for anxiety attacks. 

“I-I c-c-an’t,” she stuttered out with hiccups that were forming from her lungs needing air. 

“Yes, you can. Focus, doll.” He started doing the breathing exercises himself as a way to guide her since their bodies were intertwined. She needs to sync to his breathing. 

She stuttered a little, but her breathing was slowly calming down. 

“That’s it… You’ve got it. In and out,” he coached, feeling with each sentence she relaxed more and more. “You’re ok. I got ya. You’re doing great Y/N.”

Eventually she was back to normal. Well, not really. An anxiety attack like that is the kind that leaves you winded afterwards. Completely draining you from energy. 

He sat there and rocked her gently in their spot. Her back backed up to his chest and Bucky’s legs spread out with hers inside them as he kept his arms wrapped around her torso. The pressure helps, it really does. 

He whispered reassuring words while he played with her hair and then she leaned back and was reaching peak calmness. She turned her head on his shoulder and he looked down at her with his crystal eyes. Their faces inches apart, but nothing other than sorrow in their body.

“They said to be glad we had that long with him as every minute counts. Make all the memories you can in that time...” She closed her eyes for a second taking another deep breath before looking back at him. “How can you make memories you would want to have not so sad knowing the exact day your father could die? What good memories come from that?”

Bucky physically felt her heart in her chest break as if they shared the same one. The emotion he was reading in her eyes this time was one of the few that Bucky could never pinpoint. It was fear, sadness, depression, and longing all rolled into a scared Y/E/C eye colored girl’s orbs.

“You’re allowed to be upset Y/N. You don’t have to fake happiness during this time. Your emotions are there to be felt... But at the end of the day, would you want to look back at more fake happy memories or true and real happiness?” Bucky said. 

She wanted to make the next days her unhappy ones and leave it at that. He was right, she should and could feel sad and mad now. This situation called for it. But she didn’t want them to take up the majority of her last memories with her dad.

“Hey, you got Stevie and I,” he whispered in her ear as she turned forward again. 

“Steve just yelled at our doctors for almost 15 minutes straight from deniel and then ran out the door like a sissy,” her voice monotone, but he could hear the upset nature behind her words. “Steve’s just as messed up as me.”

“One, you’re not messed up in the least. Two, you are human. Shitty things happen and we have to go through it in each our own way. Three, no grieving process is the same. You’re allowed to scream in your pillow cause you're mad. Or cry for hours on end because you can’t comprehend it. You’re allowed to go eat a whole pint of ice cream by yourself because you're sad. Hell, I’ll join ya,” he squeezed her hand that he had interlocked together on their right side. A light start of a chuckle came out and she squeezed it back. 

“As long as you don’t insist on Rocky Road.”

“Really? I’m coming to your cry session and you’re banning me from my favorite ice cream? Some cry party,” he faked hurt. 

She let out an actual laugh and turned back to him. “I may have a cry party or two…” He nodded, showing he was proud of her for feeling that was ok and agreed with it. Her eyes showed the actual sadness behind the temporary humor, it was still there swimming around. Her smile wasn’t masking anything. “I guess you can pick your flavor you want to binge on. I get to judge you though if it sucks,” she joked.

She was distracting herself and he was ok with that. He would keep in that direction as long as she needed. And right now, she didn’t want to think about the inevitable. Remember, more happy than sad at the end. 

“What brand are we going for?” she asked. He wrapped his arms over her shoulders as she laid back on his chest in their sitting position. Her arms holding onto them in the front like the anchor that he was acting like. 

“Um, is that even a question?” he gasped. “I have good taste, Miss. Rogers. What brand do you think I go for?” 

“I’m going to say with that pretentiousness, that it’s Ben and Jerry’s,” she grinned, raising an eyebrow. 

“Nothing beats Ben and Jerry’s,” he nodded proud in his choice.

“Ok, but hear me out… Halo.” He looked at her like she was crazy. “It's like low calorie ones that are really good and kinda healthier than regular ice cream.”

“Darling, if I’m bingeing on some ice cream, you bet your ass I’m going to go all out. No low cal, shit. I want all the brownie batter.”

“Geez, you really are an ice cream snob,” she laughed more. “Guess you’ll have to try mine though because I promise you’ll join the dark side.”

“Dark side?” he asked. 

“Yeah, cause you’re eating healthy while eating ice cream, one of the most sugared things to exist. Actually, get this, In the 1880’s they invented the sundae, and after that, the amount of sugar we started adding to our toppings every decade, just kept going up in sugar.” When she finished her little fact splurge, Bucky was looking down at like she was crazy, but still smiling. 

“You’re strange, you know that? What normal person memorizes random facts like the year the ice cream sundae was invented? Or, what was it the other day?” he thought back.

“Oh, how the entire earth’s population can fit inside Los Angeles,” she remembered. “Then that led to talking about global warming, and then-…”She began listing off all the random things that followed after another. 

Her mom had peaked out the curtain 5 minutes ago to check on Y/N, and found her wrapped up in his arms comforted and then eventually laughing. They needed a little joy that night. So she took in every laugh Y/n let out followed by Bucky laughing or joking. Every single one is what got her through that night…

________________

“That’s when you saw it?” Y/N asked awestruck. She did remember that. That was one of her core memories with Bucky. She always glimpsed back to it when she was sad. It was advice she took seriously. You choose how many bad days you have. Choose wisely. 

“That’s when I knew it,” Sarah corrected. 

“Knew it? I thought you were talking about how he looked at me differently. What do you mean, knew it?” she asked, confused. 

“I had seen it all the time, but that’s when I knew he was head over heels for you. Seeing these things warmed my heart, but knowing it, gave me a whole new hope. As long as Bucky was there, you would be ok. He would make sure of that.”

“I thought that was so much longer ago…” Y/N said. “I guess I repressed it.”

“Bucky was your rock from day one, sweetheart. As soon as the world got dangerous for you, he became a huge protector over you. He checked in on you when he came over, he made you laugh, he knows how to push your buttons, but you love it. He’s a good kid Y/N.”

“I know. Which brings me to Steve being an ass and throwing a hissy fit about it.”

“Your brother is in shock right now. It was something he clearly did not see a mile away. Learning about it made him a little upset. I’ll talk to him.”

“Ma, I don’t need you to talk to him. You do that and he’ll be even more mad and think I tattle taled on him. Child,” she huffed. 

“Fine, then you better tell him. Because like it or not, I’m going to have my family dinners on Sunday, and I want BOTH of my children there. Not just one every once and awhile. Plus, you’re moving out in just a few weeks so I need you to get this done cause I’ll miss you,” she smirked. 

“Ok…” Y/N groaned basically being told to apologize and make amends to her big brother by her mom. She wouldn’t put it past her mom to ban Y/n from late night reading for punishment of not fixing it. She’d done it in highschool. She’ll do it again. “I’ll talk to him as soon as I can corner him. He’s been avoiding Bucky and I like the plague.”

“Well, then let’s set a trap.”

“Mom!”

“What? You need to fix it sooner rather than later and I want my kids to not hate each other. So, I’ll invite him over tomorrow for a makeup dinner and say you’re going out and won’t be here,” she started planning. “He won’t say no because I won’t let him. So he’ll come and you stay in your room until we’re settled, and then ta-da! He’s trapped.”

“Did you have this already typed up or something?” Y/N pulled back curiously shocked. Shaking her head out at her crazy organized mom. “Who’s to say he doesn’t stand up and walk out? I could about 99% see it going that way,” she nodded. 

“Honey, I’ll be home. He’s not leaving. Not while I’m here at least,” she winked. 

“You should become a serial killer as a side hobby. They would never catch you with how well planned out you are,” she teased her mom. 

“I thought about it once, but didn’t go my way,” Sarah stood up walking to the sink, winking.

“Mom! You’re on a roll tonight,” Y/N laughed loudly, throwing a little pea at her. 

“Hey, you make my kitchen floor a mess, and I may reconsider that side hobby,” she said pointing to the pea rolling away. 

“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” Y/N chuckled.

(Tags for this series will be closing soon as it is getting pretty full, please send an ask if you want to be added:)

I’ll post on whatever chapter I decided to close it down here.

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[tazwren]

My two cents on the devolution of fandom spaces...

As a former mod of a fandom space and a woman of colour, I do not feel safe.

Seeing what has been done to so many in this fandom, by a particular group of white American women, in the name of moral policing is both abhorrent and demoralising. As it also is to repeatedly see the same narrative being shoved at everyone as the gospel truth.

A narrative that very conveniently either becomes about fic or has nothing to do with fic, depending on how people want to swing things. A narrative that will accuse a person of Jewish heritage of anti-Semitism, a person of colour of racism, a practising Muslim of being an Islamaphobe. A narrative that will define for you and me and all of us comprising this myriad of multitudes in the world what generational or personal trauma includes and what induces the same.

Those of you who know me, know what I’ve been dealing with the past few days & why I haven’t spoken up before now. Before I logged out a couple days ago, I saw what looked like more of the usual nonsense by the same group of people I’ve kept my distance from once their true colours were revealed. What I didn’t expect is that they would think themselves so above the norms of human decency and accountability that they would go after not one but two women of colour this time around in their rabidity. And many others who spoke up, as it turns out.

It hurts to see what these women, that I know of, have had to endure and to see the passivity of the community, save for a few voices, in sitting back and letting the circus rampage through town. It hurt when I was at the receiving end of it and it hurts now.

Why? Because it shows me a microcosm of the world that I don’t really relate to, that makes no sense to me with the values I was brought up with, and which reduces basic human decency to a commodity to be trampled upon and for you to be seen as weak for having. Because people who willingly laud you for your art / writing / wit, meet you with effusive claims of love and affection and friendship, who have no qualms in taking your help when it suits them, will throw you under the bus and let the wolves ravage you when it doesn't.

Before I get into that, let me talk a little bit about what has transpired over the past few days to a week, and what has been systemically taking place over perhaps the past year in this fandom.

One thing is that everyone who makes a statement about anything suddenly has people in their mentions demanding they show what gives them the right to hold that particular opinion. A critical thing people forget about fandom is that it is a place where people hide their identity for a variety of reasons, all valid, and this approach to fiction and conversations where everyone has to reveal every part of their past and identity as a means of establishing their "credentials" in order to present their views comes in direct contradiction with how fandoms operate. It violates people's rights to privacy.

The other is that there has been an increase in the voices that purportedly stand up to “speak for” the marginalised, the abused, those discriminated against and those who belong to minorities who “need to be protected / kept safe”. An admirable sentiment, to be sure. If it weren’t for the fact that none of these groups of people needed saving, speaking for or the protection of this particular group of voices.

Voices who only want to define and use these people as "model victims" to hurt other white women and establish their supremacy over both them and other POC. Voices that will present their "truth" as they see fit and sans context or present you with screenshots of snippets of conversations held in supposedly secure spaces that they have no qualms in violating in the interest of the "greater good" and claim offense / silencing if the misdemeanour is pointed out or action is taken against them, Voices that will conveniently categorize you as a "token POC" or "white adjacent" when you do not support or align with their narrative. Voices that belong to a predominantly white American group of women, whose real agenda, as is evidenced by their modus operandi, has nothing to do with real altruism or a drive for justice or indeed to right wrongs.

No, their agenda is purely power.

To hold sway over groups of followers, to shepherd them as though they are sheep who cannot think for themselves, and to set themselves up as white saviours who call out those who step out of line, or are deemed to be problematic and toxic and unsafe. To be the owners of the only "safe spaces" in fandom and to drive other groups and spaces to be boycotted or worse.

Now, I've long wondered, who indeed are these women to decide that for anyone? In a world comprising multiple cultures, religions, groups, subgroups, genders and which contains multitudes, who are these women and what gives them the right to foist their puritanical standards on everyone, very conveniently disguised as concern for the moral well being of everyone and the consumption, of all things, of fiction?

Certainly, there are many things in this world that people regard with justifiably equal dislike / horror / sadness. At the same time, there is much that is not shared, that is particular to a culture and to a person’s background. There is a multitude of perspectives that make the whole. And the white women of the United States of America have not cornered the market on what those are, or indeed even own any curatorship or censorship of the same. They cannot, because each person’s culture and background and joy and trauma is their own, as are their ways of dealing with it all.

That being said, let’s talk about their pack behaviour and the devolution I’ve witnessed on social media as basic human decency is bartered for clout.

I’m all for standing up for someone who doesn’t have a voice or a platform, or maybe afraid of repercussions to voice dissent. I’m all for being there for our fellow human beings as they face struggles of often unconscionable and unfathomable proportions. I’m all for holding people accountable for their negative behaviours as they impact the larger community.

What I am unequivocally NOT for is treating such situations as an opportunity to preach, to virtue-signal, to shame and to put on blast the alleged wrong-doers. I say alleged because that’s what most accusations are on these platforms—allegations to do with things that disturb our sense of balance or make us wrinkle our noses or that we deem bad, and therefore make the accused deserving of the full force of the community’s misbehaviour and censure.

I ask you if you were found guilty of a crime in real life—you know, the one away from your phones and keyboards—would you not have an opportunity to retain a lawyer, to plead your case in a court of law, to acquit yourself? Or, if found guilty, would you not have the opportunity for correction and rehabilitation? Yes, you say? (If you say no, then that explains the spate of state-perpetuated injustices across the USA, but that is a different matter).

Why then are people treated so abhorrently in this court of public opinion? What gives you, me, any one of us the right to judge people so vilely and with a metaphorical gun to their heads? What gives anyone the right to say you better agree with everything I say, retract everything you said and grovel for it or we will eviscerate you in public, shame you, force you to change or delete the content that offends us and still ostracise you and in some cases even threaten you with bodily harm or death, or doxx you?

Why is there no grace in how people are approached or dealt with? Whatever happened to allowing people to learn from their mistakes, where applicable, or hearing them out and giving them a chance to explain their side of something we may not fully understand?

Why is there no accountability for such behaviour on the part of the accusers?

What makes the rest of you sit back and allow this to happen? What makes you think this is in any shape or form okay to watch? Today, it is a virtual stranger at the receiving end, one you can distance yourself from quite conveniently saying Oh, she just mods a group I am in, or I only read their fics a couple times or I only followed them for their art or jokes or whatever flavour of excuse you choose. Tomorrow, it will be one of your own - or it may very well be you. And you'd better hope there's someone left to speak up for you.

The irony is you will have allowed it to happen by letting the wolf in the fold. By letting these white women manipulate you, and the community you claim to be a part of, so unapologetically, so maliciously and so unashamedly that before you can do anything about it the cancer has taken hold.

If this was happening in the world outside of social media, they would have to follow due process, to present real evidence based on facts (not based on emotions, rumours or perceptions) and would have to allow the person they are accusing to present a counter-argument, to defend themselves or be defended. Failure to do so is a miscarriage of justice and, depending on whether this is a professional or legal proceeding, they would either seriously risk their jobs or have the case thrown out of court. If not face action themselves for attempting to derail the process of justice.

Why then are they permitted to range so freely through the landscape of fandom, snarling and biting at who they please, or who displeases them?

I have no shame in saying I was at the receiving end of their behaviour for defending a friend they put on blast and I will tell you right here and now, I am a woman of colour who feels unsafe and attacked by these so-called self-appointed white saviours of your social media experience, these so-called upholders of the common morality—whatever that means—who will fight for you the evils of problematic and toxic writers who dare to have an opinion not aligned with theirs and who do not bow to their clout. Not that they care, so long as they can ignore this fact since it doesn’t fit their narrative. So long as they can ignore what has just been done to so many people in the name of cleansing the fandom.

If any one of these women were truly interested in alleviating the troubles and pains of the discriminated, the marginalized, the trauma-affected, I invite them to please come roll their sleeves up and help in the multitudes of troubles that wrack this world, not just in the backyards of their minds. My country is amidst a struggle for the basics of human life in this horrific pandemic and, prior to that, for basic constitutional rights for religious minorities. Do not patronize me and lecture me on trauma and racism and discrimination. Do not marginalise me in your attempt to pontificate and set your pearl-clutching puritanical selves above the rest, or assuage your white guilt.

A largely American audience or fanbase in this fandom is purely a function of access and interest—other cultures have vast followings for things you couldn't begin to fathom—and it doesn't mean you are entitled in any shape or form to be spokespeople for the rest of the world. We have no interest in being colonized again by white oppressors.

If you disagree with what I have said, I congratulate you on being a part of their coterie and wish you much joy in being the sheep in their fold. Kindly unfollow or block me on the way off of this post.

[capesandshapes]

Yours (Ladynoir)

Summary:

Marinette is crushed when Lila shows up to lunch with a matebite of her own, insisting that it's from Adrien. The shock finally leads her to make a decision, one which her kitty is hesitant to agree to.

“You’re an alpha,” she said, voice shaking as she crawled closer, admitting the facts that they’d long ignored. “I’m an omega.” “I know,” he replied miserably. “You need to start pulling away, you’re starting to warm up and I can almost scent you.” "Bite me."

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

Cold.

She wasn’t sure if it was her or the slow breezes rolling through Paris that night, lifting stray strands of hair and depositing them in her eyes when she needed them the least. She brushed them away, securing the hair behind her ears as she pulled herself daringly closer to the edge of the rooftop she sat upon, eyes glimpsing momentarily out to the city before her arms wrapped around her knees, pulling them in so that her chin could rest upon them.

Inwardly, she cursed the effects of biology, hot tears biting at the corners of her eyes that likely wouldn’t exist if DNA had assigned her any other role. Alpha or Beta, she could have lived with those, she could have fought through this if it were one of them-- but Omega? Of course she had to be born like this, of course she had to have that building sensation gnawing at her stomach that made actual rational thoughts a haze.

And of course Lila freakin’ Rossi had to claim to receive his mate mark, the telltale purple ring of teeth marks making it undeniable. Adrien wore scent maskers for his own sake, but it made sense that the overwhelming smell of Adrien branded cologne would have been crafted from him.  

What was supposed to be another normal lunch date with Alya had quickly devolved into her walking away alone, Lila repeatedly reassuring Alya that she gets it because, you know,  Omegas are just so emotional sometimes ! Lila might have been a Beta, but she was also a Cancer and that made her extra empathetic.  

Marinette was not a fan of astrology… or Lila. Or, as of half an hour ago, Adrien Agreste.

How could he mate  her ? Out of all the people, why Lila?

Was Marinette really that blind?  

And now she was the last one! Everyone else had already gone around biting each other-- and even if her parents said that things don’t always happen quite as early, Marinette was sick of it! Sick of being alone, sick of shivering in her nest with nothing to hold and no one to hold her-- of waiting again and again for someone to see her--

Of sitting in black and red alone on rooftops alone, because that was the only way she could even hope to escape the pinkened haze that overcame her. At least when she was Ladybug, she could think. At least when she was Ladybug no one gave her pitying looks, smelling the oncoming wave of heat approaching her and noting the perfectly pale and unmarked skin on her neck. At least when she was Ladybug, she was never really alone.

“Hey bug,” a voice from behind greeted her as if on cue. His body easily slid into the space beside her as his arm ran around the small of her back in greeting, head falling against her shoulder as he very clearly took in her miserable expression.

She didn’t speak. There was nothing really left to say, not in this situation. Instead, she let her head slump on top of his, hand finally relinquishing the grip on her knees if only to respond to him.

She was expecting him, though she wouldn’t say it. She always expected him at moments like this. She wouldn’t tell him that, or even admit it to herself but, that was the reason that she came out there half the time.

She knew, and he must have been aware as well, exactly what her partner was. She knew it from the way that one touch never felt enough, the way that he always knew the exact moments she needed him the most, and that desire that kept coming in waves over and over again to just have something-- just a little bit of him-- to keep as her own.

Chat was an Alpha and she was another blushing Omega trying to fight the tides of nature.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked, thumb drawing long, gentle strokes just below her ribs.

“No,” she lied, the hint of a sob immediately betraying her. God she was pathetic, crying over the matebite of a boy that she never had any claim to to begin with.

“Mhm.”

His disbelief was evident, coaxing out of her, as it always did, the truth of her misery. She tried to bite it back, but it came tumbling out as usual, every little thought that she didn’t want anyone to know. “Do you ever feel like we’re falling behind? Like everyone else is onto something and they’re moving on, and you’re just dragging on behind them. Everyone has someone, absolutely everyone now, and here I am just struggling to get by.” Her eyes drifted to his neck, momentarily eyeing the pale, unmarked skin there, “well not everyone, but--”

“You feel alone,” he summarized, voice sounding like he knew about being alone in the seemingly endless ways that she did.

“Very alone,” she confirmed, allowing her knees to fall to the side and her body to slump further into his with a sigh of defeat. “Someday you’re going to have an omega and I’m not going to have this anymore, and I’m going to have to learn to get by. You’re going to be in love and I’ll be happy for you, but miserable at the same time.”

“I’m not going to have an omega,” he laughed, pulling his head out from under hers with a grin. He leaned further into her vision, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes at her. “How would I get the time? I told you, I’m a college student and I plan to be a college student for many years more. There’s no way I can balance that, being a superhero, friends, and work all at the same time. By the second week she’d be wearing turtleneck sweaters around me in case the thought so much as crossed my mind.”

“You say that now…”

“I say that every single time you bring up that ridiculous idea,” Chat shook his head, settling back in beside her. “Besides, I told you, I have a lot to get over before I can so much as think of meeting someone new,” he said pointedly, eyes trained on the city but a hint of a smirk still on his lips.

Right.

“What if it was me,” she began. It was normally a hypothetical statement, one which he responded to with grandiose visions of moonlight nights, well-padded nests, and an insistence that he would wear the mark on his neck as if one of honor. She loved when he responded like that, when he gave her all those fantasies to fixate on later in the night. That night it didn’t feel so hypothetical.

“You’ve gone delirious from heat,” Chat said, his eyes dropping back down to his lap.  

“I’ve not,” she said, though her heart had begun to beat like she was already gone. Too much excitement, too much want. Chat, chat, chat, chat-- how could she ever imagine Adrien at her side when Chat was the one who was always there?

Mating didn’t have to be about love-- but could she deny that she loved him just a little bit?

“Ladybug,” he warned.

She wouldn’t listen to him, wouldn’t let herself be swayed by things such as logic and reason. “Ladybug and Chat Noir, we’re two halves of a whole! It makes sense!” She insisted, grabbing his hands as he began to pull away, hoping that the clarity in her eyes would convince him of how overwhelmingly present she was at that moment. “Chat, I--”

“What about the other guy?” He interrupted, pulling back.

“He has someone,” she replied, the immediately flinched at the way that his eyes widened. Before he could pull away, she lunged forward, face just inches from his as she tried to keep his gaze. “It’s not like that, we’re not like that. I mean maybe I realized because of that but you’re--” She exhaled, hands tightening around his as an overwhelming need to pull closer gnawed at her. No doubt he saw her pupils grow as she looked at him, really looked at him.

It was biology, plain and simple. They’d been sidestepping the boundaries of desire through suits and determination, now she was really looking at him and she couldn’t fight back the blood of an omega loudly begging for more.

“You’re an alpha,” she said, voice shaking as she crawled closer, admitting the facts that they’d long ignored. “I’m an omega.”

“I know,” he replied miserably. “You need to start pulling away, you’re starting to warm up and I can almost scent you.”

She was, wasn’t she? She was starting to feel miserably warm, miserably close to the edge of the cliff known as heat-- a place where logical thoughts and awareness went to die. She didn’t want to drop it, to lose herself to desire and have him write it off as a onetime moment of insanity. More than that, she didn’t want him to give in and the moment to be lost to her in the haze of need. “Bite me,” she half commanded, half begged him. A part of her was terrified that he wouldn’t agree, that she was so terrible an omega that he no longer wanted her.

His eyes clenched shut, hands desperately clenching down onto hers as he tried to inhale and gather enough air to hold his breath. Unfortunately, there was too much of her lingering in the air for him not to recognize.  

His eyes snapped open, body jerking back as the scent of vanilla and cinnamon lingered in the air, her wettened eyes staring back at him. She knew from that motion alone, a hint of a sob escaping her as doubt, the kind bred by those awful hormones, began to overtake her. He knew, he knew exactly who she was now.

His hands pulled away from hers and a sob racked her body, the fear of rejection overcoming her. It wouldn’t be because she was Marinette, Chat liked Marinette for who she was, it would be because she’d waited too long. It would be because he’d actually already done the moving on thing, he’d just lied to placate her.  

His body turned to face her wholly and it was worse, so much worse than knowing Adrien had chosen Lila. It was worse than sitting alone, worse than looking at the mark on Alya’s throat and being reassured that it would happen someday, worse than every single time he vanished at an Akuma’s hands and she had to worry whether he would come back or not.

No, with this he would change it all. They’d still work together but there wouldn’t be moments like this. He would pull away, he would--

His lips gently touched the tip of her nose, bringing her back to reality.

“Do you hear me, Marinette?” he said, checking that it was still here, that she was not lost yet. His face was close, far too close, and her lips fell open in awe at the way the gold of his hair caught the moonlight. “I said yes,” he explained, thumb brushing a stray tear from underneath her eye. “Only if you’re here, but yes.” A beautiful smile crossed his lips at her ragged exhale, his forehead brushing against hers. The smell of apple, cheese, and that little bit of sweetness was overwhelming, so much better than the expensive cologne she’d once inhaled. “I need to hear you say it, I’m not going to mark you if you’re gone.”

“I love you,” not at all the words she meant to say but looking at the deep green in front of her, she couldn’t say anything else. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know who was under the mask, or that someday she’d have to explain the mark to someone else. It most certainly did not matter that Lila had Adrien’s mark because, looking at the man in front of her she knew; it was Chat, it was always Chat.

And to him, it was always Marinette.

One bite, and that was all it ever would be.

There was nothing comparable to his responding smile, she was almost disappointed by how suddenly it was taken away when his lips brushed against hers, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth. Her eyes closed as he moved to her neck, exposing that juncture between throat and shoulder to her so easily. One inhale, the pressure rising in her chest and…

“I love you too, Marinette.”

The world flashed as teeth collided with flesh.

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Hi there! We're changing things up a little this week :)

Not Yet Wed Questions

Note: Great Scott! This week, we are going back in time to MC’s intern year. Think of Ethan’s relationship with them at this point and answer the following questions accordingly. It is entirely up to you when in year 1 this takes place (pre/post Miami, pre/post CH 15, etc). Feel free to answer with dialogue or pictures or both :) Have fun!

No worries. All of this is off the record and HR will never know!

The setting for this answers is:

For Both

When I first saw them, I thought__________

What is your coworker's most used swear word?

Quick: What color are their eyes?

Three people at work your coworker hates?

What is your coworker’s strangest or most endearing quirk?

If they had a crush on anyone at work, who would that be?

(Bonus round! Feel free to skip.)

Never have I Ever:

come into work hungover

had a fistfight

been kicked out of a bar

gotten a tattoo

broken someone’s heart

been in love

For MC (Ethan is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

What do you find the most impressive about him?

Last thing he texted you?

If he asked you out on a date, what would you say?

For Ethan (MC is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

What specifically do you find attractive about her?

Last thing she texted you?

If she asked you out on a date, how would you respond?

Alright, post Book 1 but pre-Ethan fleeing to South America Ethan x Naomi coming right up! I feel like that time would have maximum tension because they’re trying to find their footing again after fucking the souls out of each other’s bodies and sending them into orbit, and lowkey falling in love sleeping together, while maintaining professionalism.

~v~

For Both:

When I first saw them, I thought__________

Naomi: I thought “thank God someone else is here!” I was in over my head with that patient, and I didn’t even notice that The Ethan Ramsey was the one assisting me until much later.

Ethan: I thought she had guts. You don’t see too many first day interns that are ready to jump into the fray like she did.

What is your coworker's most used swear word?

Naomi: He says Christ and any iteration of the word damn. Dammit, goddamn, goddammit, you get the gist.

Ethan: She says fuck.

Naomi: You’ve never heard me say that.

Ethan: She says fuck a lot, especially when she’s...*Ethan trails off and catches himself before he finishes that sentence. It’s a moot point all the same because now all he can think about is the young intern in front of him, hands pulling his hair, nails raking down his back, moaning the obscenity into his ear, into his pillows. He awkwardly clears his throat* Just trust me, I’ve heard her say it. Multiple times.

*and now he’s mad at himself*

Quick: What color are their eyes?

Naomi: Blue. They’re kinda hard to miss.

Ethan: Her eyes are brown.

Three people at work your coworker hates?

Naomi: He hates everyone, except for me and Naveen.

Ethan: Except for you? You think pretty highly of yourself, Rookie.

Naomi: Am I wrong? *Ethan doesn’t deny it, instead staying silent and Naomi smirks* Exactly

Ethan: I don’t think she dislikes anyone. I’ve never met a person like her, she makes friends with everyone.

What is your coworker’s strangest or most endearing quirk?

Naomi: He fiddles with his glasses a lot.

Ethan: She’s constantly biting her lip, especially when she’s really focused.

*she’s actually surprised that he picked up on that* Naomi: You notice that?

Ethan: I notice everything...about everything. It’s the nature of the job.

If they had a crush on anyone at work, who would that be?

*they both share an awkward glance before looking away and declining to answer*

Never Have I Ever...

Come into work hungover

Ethan: When I was younger, yes. But now that I’m older, I know my limits.

Naomi: No, because I don’t get hangovers due to my magical hangover cure.

Ethan: That god-awful drink is...surprisingly effective.

*the interviewer asks Ethan to elaborate on the time Naomi gave him whatever her hangover cure is, and he adamantly refuses*

Had a fistfight

Naomi: Yes, but in my defense I was drunk.

Ethan: *snorts* How is that a defense?

Naomi: I’m the daughter of an attorney, I usually try to resolve my issues with my words. But drunk Naomi is a little feistier.

Ethan: You mean you have a level of feistiness that I’ve yet to see?

Naomi: Oh yeah. Anyway, I was in college, I was drunk at a bar, someone spilled a drink on me, and it escalated. I think I broke her nose.

Ethan: An arrest record wasn’t on your file when we hired you.

Naomi: Like I said, I’m the daughter of an attorney, and the granddaughter of a DC judge. That has its perks.

Ethan: Yes, I’ve gotten into a fist fight before. I punched Nash in the face. And before that, i fought my old med school roommate.

Naomi: Ooh, what did he do?

Ethan: That’s not a story I’d ever divulge while sober.

Been kicked out of a bar

Naomi: Yes. Circle back to the previous question.

Ethan: No, because I’m an adult.

Gotten a tattoo

Ethan: Absolutely not

Naomi: I have a tattoo of the Cancer symbol on my left hip. It’s my zodiac sign.

*this stuns Ethan into silence because he’s seen her naked on more than one occasion and been...very well acquainted with the body parts below her waist, and for the life of him cannot remember a tattoo*

Broken someone’s heart

Naomi: No. At least, I don’t think so. I’ve had my heart broken, if that counts.

Ethan: Same as Naomi. I don’t think I have.

*they make a pointed effort to not make eye contact with each other, and Naomi bites down on her lip, letting the silence hang in the air. The alternative would be informing Ethan that he has indeed broken someone’s heart, and that just won’t do.*

Been in love

Naomi: I don’t know. Maybe? I thought I was in love with my med school boyfriend, but now that time has passed, I know that wasn’t love. At least, not the good kind. And there was a near miss after him, but nothing came out of it. The emotions were a lot stronger the second time around though, and i think it’s the closest I’ve come to it this far. I’m a hopeless romantic, so I hope I find it someday.

Ethan: No. Call me a cynic, but I just don’t see love as something that’s feasible and attainable. Putting that much trust and dependency in another person is not realistic.

For Naomi (Ethan is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

Naomi: I don’t know what’s left for a man like Ethan Ramsey. He’s already done so much in the field of medicine, unless he reinvents the entire wheel and turns it upside down, which I can see him doing. I can see him writing more, publishing more research, and of course winning more awards. If he wasn’t so anti-administration, he could be running this place. Or maybe he’ll start his own non-profit.

Naomi: As far as his personal life, I don’t know. You heard loud and clear that he doesn’t really believe in love. I hope one day he changes his mind or finds a companion, because underneath his extremely prickly exterior, he’s one of the best men I know and he has a heart of gold. He deserves the chance to let someone take care of it for him.

What do you find the most impressive about him?

Naomi: From afar, Ethan seems very larger than life, but I think the most impressive thing about him is his dedication to not just medicine, but his patients. I’ve never seen him not go above and beyond for someone he was treating.

Last thing he texted you?

Naomi: “Please consult Diana in HR regarding your official diagnostic team fellowship application. I know this year has been unorthodox to say the least, but there are still some steps that must be taken before the start of your second year. Thank you.”

Naomi: I’ve never received a text message that long.

If he asked you out on a date, what would you say?

*her cheeks heat up furiously and she pulls her bottom between her teeth before answering, her eyes bright and watery*

Naomi: Am I a total glutton for pain for saying I’d jump at the chance?

For Ethan (Naomi is not there)

Where do you see her in five years (both professionally and in her personal life?)

Ethan: Dr. Valentine has so much potential and she’s going to be one of the greats. She’s going to be running the diagnostics team if she chooses to stay at Edenbrook, and I can’t see Naveen not trying to keep her here. She’s going to win awards, have awards named after her, publish research, lead trials, whatever. I hate to sound banal and cliche, but the sky really is the limit for her. I chose her for a reason, and I plan her helping her reach all of that potential.

Ethan: As for her personal life, I don’t know. Hopefully she finds someone that’s good enough for her.

What specifically do you find attractive about her?

Ethan: A-attractive? *the word comes out in a squeak, but he coughs to cover it up* Why on earth would you assume that I’m attracted to her?

*he goes on a ridiculously long tangent about how inappropriate it is to be attracted to your coworkers, especially your subordinates, and how he would never jeopardize Naomi’s career on something as trivial as attraction, and anyone with an ounce of common sense can tell that he doth protest too much*

Ethan: But if I absolutely had to pick something besides her good looks, it’d be her spirit. She’s warm and empathetic and optimistic, and I’ve never seen someone care as much as she does.

Last thing she texted you?

Ethan: “👍” I sent her a message about her upcoming fellowship and she sent back a thumbs up. Just that. I was a little annoyed.

If she asked you out on a date, how would you respond?

Ethan: As um...flattering as that might be, I would say no. I am an attending, she’s an intern, my soon to be fellow. That is crossing too many ethical lines, lines I refuse to breach.

Ethan: And I would say no because Naomi is...just a good person. And maybe I’m being biased, but I don’t know if anyone will ever be truly worthy of her. But I can say without a shadow of a doubt that she deserves so much better than me or what I could give her.

[spiltscribbles]

you did the mini fic way i loved you (which was amaaazing) but how about champagne problems where remus says no to sirius' proposal because he gets spooked by a couple of purebloods :(

~Notes: Nonny babe! I can’t believe you made me write such angst😩😩😩 This isn’t quite that but I hope you like it anyways🥺🥺 ILU!!!

.-

A Reblog Is Worth The Sexiest Bottle Of champagne!  |  The Way I Loved You FIC  |  Send Me A Prompt/Song??💜

.-

“I’m afraid of a lot of things, but mostly, most sincerely, I am afraid of being completely unraveled by you, and you finding nothing you want in here.”

—L.M. Dorsey 

.-

When Remus’s father leaves for the final time three weeks before his tenth birthday, his Mam spends only two days in bed before she drags out an old bottle of Dom Pérignon and pops it open,  pouring them each a glass with a smile the wrong side of worn as she beckons him forwards with an indulgent bend of the knuckle. “Come along, mon amour. Just this once, just to say farewell.”

As he thumbs the skinny tumbler bubbling with the amber liquid that’s been his mother’s favorite ever since growing up in her Northern French town on the outskirts of Paris, Remus wonders if he’ll ever forget the words his father spewed before leaving— the declaration that they must be cursed if their first child turned into a monster and their second came out stillborn. Wonders if he’ll ever forget the livid, borderline murderous expression that spilt over his mother’s delicate features before she screamed at him to leave for the final time. Wonders if he’ll ever not feel so weary— So destitute.

“’S all just champagne problems mon petit lapin,” she says in that airy way of her’s that somehow still radiates a knowledge beyond his reach.  “None of  it ever matters, not truly. Not ever.”

Remus eyes the dark circles smudged against her pale skin, and the way her caramel curls fall limply from her bun. She’s always been the most beautiful woman in the world  through his eyes but he now thinks she might be the strongest too. So strong that she’s sitting there, right in front of him in their small kitchen— and she’s pretending that her tiny son, her first and only born, hasn’t brought absolute ruin to her life that should’ve been buoyant and lovely for such a pretty, quick witted Muggle girl.

“Yes, I know Mam,” he says instead of the truth, because if he’s being at all honest he’s always been a bit of a coward and a bit too desperate for some semblance of normality.

.-

It becomes a mantra of sorts to Remus as he stumbles into adolescence. He calls every inconvenience in his life,  champagne problems, and drinks the hurt away in a secret nook off the astronomy tower that he purposefully left off the map he and his friends had created with a sheer pulse of brilliance and adventure and a need to leave their marks on this stupid sodding castle.  A castle that’ll inevitably kick them out on their arses from it’s relative safety with such cold indifference. A castle that will soon be brimming with a new generation of students sullying the same spaces, same corridors   they once spent their days laughing and jeering and frolicking about— creating mischief in it’s hallowed halls. The one and only time that Remus was able to hold his breath and wrap himself in warmth he never knew and will never know again, not ever in the same sort of youthful ignorance— One that he only feigns to hold when around his friends because he thinks he’s never been young, not the way they are. Remus reckons he  aged a century and a half after the bite and a century more after his father had left, and then a millennia when his mother was diagnosed with third stage breast cancer when he was a fresh fifteen.  A death sentence dressed up in bows of apology by the doctors and shiny wrapping-paper of potential hope if the aggressive treatments they employ  make a difference. And soon enough the ever green that was his juvenescence will turn brittle and gray and awash with memories of hopelessness, only adorned sparingly by  memories of Peter’s  quiet companionship and  James’s affable grins. Lily’s easy laughter and Sirius’s searing snogs. Instances of respite that were eventually drown out by the shitty Wizard champagne he’s able to finesse after sucking off the twenty something who works night shifts at the Hog’s Head.

But it doesn’t matter.

All of his issues are inconsequential at the end of the day; from a paper cut, to his worst transformations to the time his first boyfriend sneered at him with pure distain after he had snubbed his wanting to go further subsequent two months of furtive touches and inconspicuous dates. It’s all just a load of shit, a collection of champagne problems just like his Mam had said all those years ago.

 Even that incident the morning in fifth year when he found out that his best friend— the boy he would’ve done just about anything for, anything only  just to see him smile— had weaponized his most hated form. When Sirius nearly made him into a murderer, into a beast, when he nearly proved true the self fulfilling prophecy that every werewolf is as dark as creatures can become. The charms of veelas, combined with the insatiable cravings of vampires and the wily natures of goblins.  When Sirius had nearly turned Remus inside out, made him everything he hates.

But no. That doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. Because paper cuts heal, and the full moons set, and James hexes a legion of boils to sprout up all along Quintin’s face. And at the end of the day, he’ll always love Sirius first and last and the very most. He’ll always forgive him any indiscretion because when Sirius’s hand— soft palms and callus fingers— caresses his side, Remus feels close to whole, close to alive, close to something real. And God Remus loves him so much it aches in his chest and creeks in his bones.

So when he comes back to Hogwarts the night after his mother’s funeral— two months divorced of that incident, two months of painful quiet and empty arms and heart wrenching need— Remus lets Sirius collect him into his embrace, and lets them cry together under the canopy of night fall, and when Sirius begs him to come back to them, to forgive him, to let him inside the most protected nooks of his mind  once more, all Remus says is “yes,” and “All right,” and “I never stopped.” He doesn’t tell him that he doesn’t think he’s ever ben there’s in the first place, doesn’t think he’s ever been here or anywhere. He doesn’t tell him that sometimes it feels like he’s some faded sepia photograph come to life in the form of his too skinny body and too large eyes and too gangly limbs. He doesn’t tell Sirius that he doesn’t think he’s ever been anything meant to last on this plane of existence, but he does let Sirius kiss him and hold him and fuck him because it’s the first time since Sirius left Grimmauld back in December the he looks something close to at peace. And Remus knows that he never wants to be someone who makes him frown with that protruding vein on his temple. Someone like Sirius— Someone so beautiful, so vivid, so alive— deserves a life painted in technicolor. And Remus refuses to be the person to drain the vivacity from his every breath. To scuff out his lust for life.

.-

The first time Sirius asks Remus to stop gulping down the champagne and gin and Ogden’s finest by the fist fulls, it’s their final night of their final term and after Remus barbs a little too forcefully that their dingy little dormitory is the one place for him after Lily jokes that it’s a madhouse. 

“It’s gonna bloody kill you Remus, it’s already doing it for fucks sake. You can’t even walk straight most mornings damn it!” He shouts in the quiet of their room while James and Lily are ensconced in her own bed on the other end of the tower and Peter is off snogging his Hufflepuff girlfriend in some deserted third floor closet.

“All right,” Remus tells him after swallowing down the last of his champagne, words pouring out his mouth like warm molasses and arm slugging languidly when he tosses the empty bottle to the side before patting the empty end of his bed for Sirius to lie down besides him. He doesn’t want to fight, doesn’t have the energy for the shouts and accusations and hurt that they always fling at each other during these more heated moments. He supposes he doesn’t have much energy for anything at all anymore.

Sirius stilts from where he’s looming above him, tongue poised for another verbal lashing. But he must see something in Remus’s face, or probably just feels exhausted in similar ways, because he only breathes in— tension melting from his shoulders— and slinks off his jacket before shuffling into the comforter besides him.

And in the future Remus will wonder whether if he remembers it correctly that it felt like everything was standing on an axis as Sirius rode his cock— slow and steady and minutes that feel like decades. Or maybe he’s just recalling it differently because he realized for the first time that night that  for every inch of him that loves Sirius, the other boy feels that same sort of enthralling passion. Only difference is that Sirius’s always been the greedy sort, the once and future king of all or nothing. Remus is the contrary of that. He’s lived with nothing before and he’s perfectly fine with living that way again, had never really expected much from his life anyhow. But Sirius deserves to have everything and Remus knew then—  will always know, that he could never give him that.

.-

The year following their graduation is beautiful in that way that transitional periods always are. A turning of an age eclipsed by sunlight and laughter and kisses that makes Remus feel like they’re melding into one another, becoming indelible parts of each other’s very skin and bones.

But it’s also a time when Remus realizes just how helpless his condition has made him, how despite his top marks in no less than seven NEWTs, he’s always just a werewolf in the eyes of the Wizarding world. So while Lily studies in St Mungos and Peter takes up post at the ministry and Sirius joins James in the Auror’s academy, Remus works days at a quaint bookshop with a doting elderly woman who makes him soup when she thinks he’s looking peaky, and a gay night club with a handsy boss that leers at him with an intrusive air and asks regularly if he’s still with that boyfriend of his.

Remus feels like a fraud.

So when he gets that letter from Dumbledore sent to the flat that Sirius insists is their’s but Remus only ever calls his— he replies with a hasty scrawl on the back of some spare parchment, telling him  that of course he’ll do anything to help the Order. Tells him  that he understands the discretion that’s required of such a mission. He tells his past headmaster that he grew up collecting secrets like school children collected friends, so this won’t be an issue. He doesn’t tell him how it’s a practice so ingrained into him that sometimes even he doesn’t know who the fuck Remus John Lupin is most days, doesn’t know the seams that string him together like a pair of tattered trousers. He doesn’t tell him that he’s only afraid of one thing and it’s his boyfriend’s dedication,  because Sirius is the sort who loves unadulteratedly and without conditions. Sirius doesn’t yet understand that the boy who he’s let inside the most intimate parts of him, the boy who he shares a bed with night after night is the same monster a younger him— in a spur of passion—  had planned to deploy as a means of destruction.

Sirius doesn’t understand how foolish it is to intwine his life with Remus’s, even if he thinks it’s some sort of challenge, if he looks at it with the romantic lends that he could love the monster out of someone. And it’s positively idiotic to think as much, like Sirius’s tender hands and sweet whispers can be Remus’s cure. 

It’s so fucking stupid! And occasionally Remus wants to bash his head into a wall, but instead  kisses him with devouring intent before he could.

The owl nips at his finger for the last remnants of the stale biscuit Remus had offered it in thanks and he watches it soar away like he could never do.

.-

The first time Sirius tells Remus he loves him, it’s in the bathroom of the Longbottom’s small cottage— amidst panting breaths and thrusting hips and grappling hands as they try to get one another off as quick as possible before someone finds them in such a compromising state.

Remus has just spent three weeks in a werewolf camp in the south of Glasgow, and came here to find Sirius as soon as he can home. And while they get lost in one another in this cramped loo he forces himself not to think of how Sirius had been chatting up and chuckling with Emmeline Vance.

Emmeline Vance,  who is a beautiful blonde witch with vibrantly green eyes and a full smile that isn’t even slightly crooked like Remus’s own. Emmeline Vance who is the pure blooded daughter of the Swedish Minister of magic, and who came here to London because her country has never discriminated against half bloods or muggle borns— even if they brand their dark creatures with tattoos and lock them up in cages whenever they try to speak up against their lack of human rights.

Emmeline Vance who is the perfect complement to Sirius’s dark brooding and pale eyes and charisma that radiates off of him like the leading man in a novel written during the generation of disillusioned artists who had survived the first great war in the Muggle world. And Remus sometimes feels like Sirius’s gaze is trained on him like Gatsby towards  the green light he watched every night thinking of his beloved. And sure Lupin and Daisy might be a pair of flowers but one is poisonous and the other is bright with life and Sirius has always been the sort to pick the worst option because he’s a glutton for punishment, and sometimes Remus thinks that’s all he is. Sirius’s warped way of punishing himself for being born into such a fucked up  family— fettering himself to a poor, halfblooded, halfbreed, as some sort of declaration that he’s not the heir of the House of Black any longer, that he rebelled against them with every fiber of his being. That he’s the precise antithesis of their values even if he shares the same eyes and imperious air and steadfast beliefs on top of his  effortless genius— even if they are beliefs that juxtapose against his family’s blood supremacy.

And Remus hates these sorts of contemplations, hates how they make him feel like a trader to the love between them. But he forgets about it all when he remembers how Sirius glanced up and caught his gaze when he first stepped into the living room, amiable expression morphing to one of pure wanting the second he spotted him,   coldly disregarding an extremely glum looking Emmeline, as  he strutted towards  Remus and dragged him to the only empty spot and kissed the moonbeam scars that litters his skin and calls him beautiful despite it all— Maybe even because of it.

.-

The eleventh  time Sirius asks Remus to marry him, it’s the night of Regulus’s funeral, when his limp body was found slashed against the grounds of  the Hampshire woods after three weeks of being declared missing.

It’s spoken in a voice that’s so raw and primal and demanding that it makes Remus curl into himself when he hears it, getting lost in the sensations all around him— Sirius’s hot breath skirting the back of his neck, and Sirius’s large hand clenched around his dick, and Sirius’s length pounding into him with such force that their headboard smacks against the wall. And when they’re done, Sirius slides out of him amidst a round of peppering kisses along the ridges of his spine and expanse of the shoulders and on the hinge of his jaw. It feels like not an apology so much, but a plea. And Remus knows that the last year has been rough on them, on their relationship. Knows how difficult it is that Remus has been spending nearly as many nights spying on the wolves as he has in the flat. That Sirius wants to know where the fuck Dumbledore is sending his boyfriend, that he hates Remus only slightly because he’s so tight lipped about it all.

He’s argue that James tells Lily what he’s up to, and Remus would remind him that they’re married, and then Sirius would get a look on his face that’s so betrayed and so pained and so furious that Remus spends the night on the sofa instead— Well he would if Sirius didn’t have a habit to coax him back into his arms with mumbled apologies and gentle caresses and barely their kisses before the night ends.

So Remus lets him do the same now, and he ignores the questions about where he was all this time and shrugs off the way Sirius tries to reason that none of them know how long they have left living, how he wants to spend the rest of his days as Remus’s husband. And he watches Sirius flutter his eyes closed and waits for his breath to even out.

He never tells  Sirius that he wants to wed him  so badly that it’s cutting against his heart like a knife licked with flames,  even if he’s been in love with Sirius for practically half his sodding life.  Ever since he had jauntily invited him to sit in the cart with him and a  bespectacled lad, along  with another that was a bit plump and eager looking.

No. Through all the shouts and begging and sneers of tonight, Remus never dared tell him that. Remus knows Sirius, and if he had said as much,  then that would’ve been it for him. Sirius would have fought for Remus with every inch of his being. He would’ve made sure that Remus excepted his love, that he would have utilized the ferociousness and ferocity and indignation that breathes in his every vein and what makes up the marrow of his bones as the beautiful and brilliant and incandescent scion of the ancient and most noble House of Black— would’ve done so until Remus gave into his demands. 

Remus promised himself a long time ago that he’d never be the one to scuff out the light that shone in Sirius’s very soul. He’d never watch himself turn Sirius into  a  burnt shell of anything bright and fluttering and lively that ever existed in the spaces of his ribs and the valleys of his chest. Not like what he did to his Mam— eventually killing her. Not like how he drove his father away because the dread was too heavy of a burden to carry.  

Remus would rather Sirius hate him then watch him suffer through that.

Anything but that.

So Remus quietly packs his few belongings in the same trunk he’s had since first year with a flick and swish of his wand. And he pens Sirius a missive that he just doesn’t feel the way he had when they were in Hogwarts. And he tells him that his missions have him traveling all over the continent and it’s too much work to constantly be coming back home. Tells him that he knows about the brunette Muggle boy he had fucked back in August when he thought Remus was fibbing about his whereabouts and he lies  that it’s all right because he tells him that he’s been shagging a professor from Beauxbatons named Benjy for the past six months whenever he was sent to France under duress of Dumbledore. Even if the truth is that he refuted his every advance because his love for Sirius will always sing the loudest in his heart.

He sets the goodbye on the dresser that is only piled with Sirius’s things now, and doesn’t let himself sneak one last kiss while Sirius continues to doze. Tries to imprint the image of him— so gorgeous and so so human— in his mind’s eye, hopes he’ll recall the precise slope to the small of his back and the flyaway strands of his ink black hair and how he breathes in two beats longer with every third exhale. Knows that he’ll never memorize just how jutting his cheekbones really are, or how his lashes kiss the top of them with such grace that it’s close to angelic. And he’ll never again  feel the neediness Sirius could evoke with his fingers and tongue and cock, but maybe that’s all right. Maybe Remus got his time in the sun and now he has to repent for steeling that snatch of heaven for all these years.

Nothing could’ve kept the flame between them flickering for long, and that’s a truth Remus knows as inherently as his knowledge that Sirius was the great love of his life— But  Remus was always destined to either spare him or burn the golden tapestry that made up the picture of Sirius Black until it was nothing but ash.

So he leaves and he tells himself that it’s the right decision for both of them.

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist~

[shadow-assassin-blix]

Parent Trap

Part 1

A/N: It’s here yall. The Marcus Moreno x Reader Parent Trap AU. There are some swears. Some point of view switching but I note it in bold. 

‘Thoughts’ “Speak” 

The Hero:

Marcus Moreno was in the middle of meeting with the Heroics. Going over assignments, and potential threats to be on the lookout. He was listening to Miracle Guy talk about something ridiculous when his cellphone went off. He glanced down, and his eyes widen in surprised. It was Missy’s school.

He quickly answered it, saying, “Hello?”

“Hello, Mr. Moreno? This is Principal O’Shaughnessy. If you could please come down to the school, as soon as possible. There’s been an incident involving your daughter and two other students,” Came an older male voice.

“I’m on my way,” Marcus got up and rushed out, not caring that he left in the middle of a meeting.

The Artist:

Y/N Graves was a simple woman. She worked as artist, which meant she was often home, elbow deep into whatever project she was working on currently. That was where she was when her phone rang.

She dropped her paint brush to answer it with a cheery, “‘Ello?”

“Miss Graves, this is Principal O’Shaughnessy, your daughter Artemis? Was involved in an incident at school with two other students. If you could please come as soon as possible,” Came a man’s voice.

“Be there soon,” She hung up, quickly cleaning her brushes before she left.

She hopped into her car and drove to the school; thankful it was only a couple blocks away. She made her way inside and to the principal’s office. She stops short when she sees her daughter standing near another little girl, with long curly black hair and dark eyes. Before noticing the third kid, a boy, who was sitting in a plastic chair, with a black eye and tissues up his nose to stop the bleeding.

“What the fu—frick?” She whispered taking in everything with slight horror.

Artemis giggled softly at her almost swearing. She goes to say something to her when she felt someone crash into her from behind. She stumbled forward trying to regain her balance. She turned around to yell but stopped.

“Marcus?” She asked staring at a face she hadn’t seen in years.

“Shade?” He parroted calling her by her nickname, one she hadn’t heard in years.

She then asked, “Please tell me that one is not yours,” pointing at the boy.

“No. The other one behind you,” Marcus said with a chuckle.

Before they could say much more a woman with dyed hair, lululemons and a tank top came in, her voice high-pitched with outrage at the sight of her kid.

“What happened to my baby!?” She screeched out.

The Principal cleared his throat at that time, to gain everyone’s attention. Shade moved over to stand by her daughter, as Marcus did the same.

“Mrs. Delaney, it appears that your son was bullying, Miss Moreno here. Miss Moreno tried to walk away from him several times, but your son continued to follow her, and even began shoving her. That was when Miss Graves stepped in, and punched your son,” Mr. O’Shaughnessy explained reading off an incident report.

“Or at least that was what stated from the teacher’s watching. Miss Moreno, would you like to tell us what happened?” He directed his attention to Marcus’ daughter.

“Tommy was teasing me about not having active powers. He kept saying mean things like ‘oh your dad must be disappointed in having a lame daughter.’ And stuff like that. I tried to walk away from him several times, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. Artemis came over and told him to go away. When he didn’t, she punched him, telling him to leave me alone,” Missy recounted staring at the ground.

“What lies! My Tommy would never! I hope you plan on punishing them!” Mrs. Delaney exclaimed angrily.

Shade rolled her eyes to the high heavens and stared at this dramatic woman, pointedly.

“My daughter defended her friend. Against a bully. If anyone should be punished, it should be your kid. It’s not our fault you raised an ass,” Shade sassed, crossing her arms.

Mrs. Delaney gasped in exaggerated horror, even going so far as to covering her son’s ears. The girls giggled quietly at her, and Marcus was trying not to laugh.

“Mrs. Graves, if you could please refrain from the foul language. Mrs. Delaney, I have warned you multiple times about Tommy’s behaviors. This is the last straw. He will be suspended for 2 weeks. As for Miss Graves, seeing as this is your first offense, you will get a warning. I do not tolerate fighting on school grounds, got it?” Mr. O’Shaughnessy cut in.

Mrs. Delaney grabbed her son, muttering something ‘I have never..’  and left.

The kids still have a couple hours left of class, but the principal gave them permission to leave early if they wished. The girls went and got their bags and whatever assignments they were going to miss for the day. Marcus and Shade stood outside by the entrance waiting for them.

The Kids:

Missy looked over at Artemis and asked, “So. You saw our parents act weird when they saw each other right?”

Artemis nodded as she grabbed her jacket and bag. “They clearly know each other. Did you see the way they looked at each?”

“All goo-goo eyed? Yes! I haven’t seen my dad look like that since…” Missy trailed off, thinking in her head, ‘since before my mom passed away.’

Artemis, who had made fast friends with Missy when she moved here a month ago, knew what she was thinking of. Artemis reached out and held her hand, giving it a small squeeze. Missy smiled at her in response and the 2 of them walked out to their parents.

Artemis looked at her mom and Missy’s dad and got an idea, “Mom, can we go get ice cream? I know that fighting is bad and all, but I was defending my friend.”

Her mom sighed, and looked at the two of them, with squinting eyes. She turned to Missy’s dad and said, “What do ya think? Think they’ve earned a treat?”

The Hero:

He looked at the kids and then back at Shade, who had a soft smile. “Sure. Why not?”

The girls cheered and rushed to the cars. “Uh. Pops on 15th St. sound good?” He asked.

“That place still exists? Damn,” Shade chuckled looking off to the side. “Uh. Yeah. Pops sounds good to me. See ya there in a minute.”

Marcus smiled, lightly biting his lip before making his way to his car, as Shade did the same.

Missy was already in the backseat, buckled up and ready to go. The drive to Pops was a quick 10 minutes, and as they made there way inside, they noticed Shade and Artemis hadn’t arrived yet, so they took a seat in a booth. Missy insisted that she sit on the outside, and Marcus complied with a shake of his head.

He heard the door opened and looked up to see Shade standing there and he was thrown back to all the times he took her here on a date. She was still just as beautiful as he remembered her.

The Artist:

As Shade stepped inside, she was hit with a wave of nostalgia. Pops still looked the same as it did when she was a teenager. She finds Marcus easy enough; he too looked a little dazed at being back here.

Her and Artemis go to join them, Artemis insisting to sit on the outside as well. Shade rolled her eyes and allowed it this one time.

The waitress came up and took their orders. 15 minutes passed and soon 4 milkshakes, 2 large and 2 kids sized in to-go cups, were set in front of them. The girls grabbed theirs and ran off to sit at another table, giggling.

“I feel like we are being set-up,” Shade whispered with a raised eyebrow.

“Possibly,” Marcus agreed, before clearing his throat.

“So. How.. How have you been?” He asked awkwardly.

“Been pretty good. I see you’ve been busy,” She quietly teased nodding to his wedding ring.

“Oh! Um. Yeah. But… uh… not,” He stammered trying to respond.

Shade gave him a look of sudden realization, “How long?”

“About 6 years. Cancer,” He answered lowly not wanting Missy to hear.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I bet she was wonderful,” She said with a sad smile.

“She was. Umm. Ahem. What about you? Ever get married or got someone special waiting at home?” he asked trying to redirect the attention off of him.

“Nope. Uh. Had a boyfriend for a couple years. He left the day I told him I was pregnant. So. It’s been just the 2 of us ever since,” Shade explained after taking a long sip from her milkshake.

“Then he didn’t deserve either of you,” Marcus replied, his voice soft.

Shade smiled, looking down to hide her face.

She cleared her throat and noticed out of the corner of her eye, Missy and Artemis were watching them intently.

“Marcus… I think our kids are trying to set us up,” She muttered. “Glance over at them casually.”

Marcus does so and sees the two of them trying to act nonchalantly but were very much keeping an eye on them.

He chuckled, “No. They’re just.. Concerned. They’re best friends who want to make sure we get along.”

“Mh. I don’t know. My kid can be quite devious. Her favorite movie is The Parent Trap. Well. Next to The Mummy,” Shade wasn’t convinced.

Marcus laughed at that and stared at her softly.

“Not gonna lie… I’ve missed you,” Marcus admitted.

“I missed you as well. Maybe um.. Maybe we can set up a day to catch up?” Shade offered hopeful.

“I’d like that, maybe Saturday? We can leave the kids with my mom for the day. We can… go to the park or that café you like so much? Well. If you still like it that is,” Marcus rambled slightly.

“I do. Sounds like a date,” Shade said confirming the idea.

They exchanged numbers and finished their shakes, before rounding up their kids.

She waved goodbye to him as they parted ways.

Artemis was bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Clearly, you are having a sugar overload, guess we need to work that off,” Shade stated, shaking her head.

“No. Just happy. How do you know Mr. Moreno, mama?” Artemis asked as they began to drive off.

“We dated in high school, and through a good portion of college,” Shade explained glancing back at her through the rear-view mirror.

“Oh. Why did you break up?” Artemis asked curiously.

“He was becoming a pretty famous Heroic and I was making a name for myself in the art field. We drifted. We hardly ever saw each other and when we did, we argued a lot. So, we figured it was better if we broke up,” Shade acknowledged with a sad sigh.

“But… you still like him? And he clearly likes you?” Artemis questioned, looking confused.

“Yes. I do still like him, and how do you know he likes me?” Shade countered with a grin.

“He stared at you like Rick does when he sees Evy,” Artemis said matter of factly, referencing The Mummy.

Shade laughed at how seriously she said that. ‘Kids.’

The Hero:

Missy looked at her dad and smiled at the dreamy face he was making.

“You like her?” Missy asked with a silly smile.

“I do. Does that bother you? Me liking someone?” Marcus asked worriedly.

“Dad. I don’t think mom would be mad if you moved on. I just want you to be happy. You work so much to make me happy and when you’re not with me, you’re saving the world. I think you deserve to be happy too,” Missy assured hugging him.

“When did you get so smart?” He asked, returning the hug.

“I learned from you, duh,” She answered cutely.

“Now you’re just sucking up. C’mon. Let’s go home. I have a lot of explaining to do for running out in the middle of a meeting,” Marcus said as the two of them hopped into the car.

“Also. I hope you know… I have never been disappointed in you not having active powers. You’re my daughter and I love you so much. Your power is far more special than being able to fly or run fast.” He mentioned looking back at her.

Missy nodded her head muttering, “I love you too. Thank you.”

The Kids:

That night, Missy and Artemis texted one another, concocting a plan to get their parents together. Their plan was slightly devious, but it was their parents own good. They just hoped it would work.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: F*@k The Chef {One Shot}***

Ransom Drysdale x Family Chef Reader

Warning: NSFW, SMUUUUUT, Cursing, Hard Dub-Con, DARK Creepy Ransom, ALL STARS ON NSFW METER

***DO NOT READ AT WORK!!! TAKE THE WARNINGS SERIOUSLY***

Words: 4k

Summary: HA! Nope.

Note: So, my first attempt at Ransom and more importantly Dub-Con. I don’t know about you, but Ransom does not scream anything but dubiousness. That means consent is given but by dubious means. I hope this is even a fraction of good. Was this dark? Thank you guys for reading!! 

Also, this was not written to offend anyone.

**Loosely Edited/Proofread**

***Gif Not My Own***

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

When you got the call that you’d been chosen for an in-home chef position, you were happy. You’d hit bottom when you’d tapped out all of your savings trying to help your mother when she got her diagnosis. Cancer—stage three Cancer. It was a death sentence, your mother said. She was hell-bent on not fighting it, but you wouldn’t hear a thing about it. She’d birthed you a fighter, and you’d go down as a fighter. The cancer didn’t waste any time progressing. Before long, she went from no symptoms to every symptom in the book. She said she’d made her peace with death, but you weren’t ready to face a world without her.

 You drained your bank account with her meds, her care, and funding the portion of treatment her insurance refused to. After six months, you were broke. The call that you’d be chosen for a live-in position automatically garnered a refusal. You couldn’t leave your mother. Then the offer got even better, not only were you requested but the salary was better than any personal chef had ever seen. There was no way you wouldn’t take the job.

 When you rolled up to the address, your jaw dropped when you realized where you were—the Thrombey estate. You weren’t an idiot, you’d heard about the Thrombey Dynasty, everyone had heard the rumors. They’re the wealthiest family, they controlled serious portions of the business world and even that the family was seriously weird. You’d even heard the torrid tale of the black sheep of the family, Ransom Drysdale. You’d heard about his arrest. The release of information was interesting. The whispers said he’d killed his grandfather and the family housekeeper, but the official story said the family was a victim of insufficient evidence that pinned the murders on Ransom. It was safe to say the family had secrets, and though you’d never met Ransom, he looked dangerous.

You couldn’t believe your luck. Upon speaking with Linda Drysdale about the position, you knew this would be an interesting position. Linda told you what you needed to know to do your job accordingly, and you took detailed notes. It was clear that everyone in the household and the family had particular tastes that had to be paid attention to.

 Six months into the position, you’d learned a lot and developed on the job skills it took to survive working for the Thrombeys as well as living with them. You considered yourself an expert now. That was until you walked into your kitchen one day and saw a set of shoulders that looked ripe for the touching. He was bent inside the fridge, and it gave you a good view of his backside. It looked nice—toned. You got lost looking over the muscles you knew were underneath the brown sweater they wore that you didn’t even realize when they looked over their shoulder right to you.

 “Holy Shit,” you gasped.

 Ransom Drysdale stood a few feet away. His body straightened and came to full height. He was huge, or bigger than you. You were clearly the omega, and he looked every bit the vicious alpha.

 “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” His mouth remained relaxed, but there was a playful but dangerous glint in his eyes. “Or maybe you do entirely different things with a mouth as pretty as that.”

 Unexpectedly, butterflies filled your belly. You usually were immune to pick up lines like that, but that was a blatant pickup line, one that was dark but for some reason, affected you. As he sauntered toward you, you caught dangerous vibes coming off of him. You backed up with every advance he made. When your heel hit the threshold of the kitchen entrance, panic set in. You were alone with a man who’d quite possibly killed two people, one of whom was his own grandfather. He stopped mere inches from touching you and smirked. Goosebumps flooded your skin.

 “Yeah, you do entirely different things with that mouth. Care to share?”

 You were stunned silent; his eyes were an intense shade of blue you couldn’t help but admire. That, coupled with his perfectly coiffed dark hair and chiseled jawline, it would have been an honest assessment to call him beautiful. When you didn’t answer, his smirk widened and sent chills down your spine. Leaning forward to your ear Ransom took a deep inhale then groaned.

 “One day.” With that, he walked off, leaving you dazed and slightly shaking. You didn’t know what it was you were shaking from fear or excitement.

 You thought to render your resignation after that encounter, but you couldn’t convince yourself to pass up on the clearly over-generous salary, not when your mother was still in treatment. After an all-night debate with your door securely locked and bolted with a chair underneath the knob, you decided to keep the job but tread carefully, especially when it came to a one Ransom Drysdale.

 For the next four months, you put up with a lot more than an average family chef would have had to. You stomached the catcalls, the whistles, and the demeaning sounds Ransom made every time he saw you or was close to you. You just steeled your spine and pretended you’d heard nothing at all. Every time you were left alone in a room, you made an excuse to leave. When you had to bring his dinner to his room because he hated his family so much that he refused to eat with them at the dinner table, you kept it simple. Rather than go into the lion’s den, you left it on the floor in front of the door, knocked, and made a mad dash to get away before he opened the door. You skated by for four months.

 As time went on, his advances became more and more blatant. What started as catcalls or whistling turned into sly comments about your uniform and how it should be shorter and how the fit did wonders for your waist and breasts. That escalated to outward attempts at getting to you. On the off chance your eyes met, he’d bite his lips, lick them obnoxiously and wink at you. When that had no effect, he found ways to touch you slyly. He’d squeeze past you sliding his body against yours, take plates or other items from you while ensuring his hand grazed yours. A few times, he’d even grabbed your waist. Each time it produced a loud yelp that could be heard throughout the house.

 After months of you not reciprocating or opening up to his advances, his delivery became even crasser. It was a little strange to you. You knew from the sounds that came from his bedroom that he had no shortage of women that would do whatever, whenever he wanted. You didn’t know why he had this fixation with you. Part of you said it was the draw of breaking someone—something. He possibly wanted to break those around him that were put together, and you were just the closest target. Whatever it was, you didn’t want to provoke him.

 One night, Ransom must have been lying in wait for you. When you approached his door with the tray of food, he swung open his door, startling you half to death. He smiled like the Cheshire cat if the Cheshire cat was a convicted murderer.

 “Funny meeting you here,” Ransom said, leaning one brawny shoulder on the threshold.

 “I—I have your dinner.”

 “You have my dinner who?” Clenching your jaw, you swallowed the smart comeback that nearly slipped from you. As if sensing it, Ransom smiled as his eyes darkened. He tilted his head to the side, quietly reminding you he was waiting.

 “Sir,” you filled in.

 He nodded and breathed out. You saw his eyes lazily travel over your body. He wasn’t even being coy about it; he was doing it outright like he wanted you to know what he was doing. Doing your best to ignore it and not say something reckless you’d regret in the trunk of his car as he took you to some abandoned part of the estate to kill you.

 “Bring it inside,” Ransom ordered. You hesitated. Going inside was a stupid idea, anyone with half a brain knew that. You also thought what other option did you have? He didn’t even bother repeating it. It was as if his privilege told him you’d obey.

 Cursing to yourself, you slowly stepped into his room and looked for a place to put the dinner tray. As you walked across to the small table up a few steps on the other side of the room, you did your best to slow your breathing and calm your nerves. Once you placed it down, you began walking back to the door. Before you got near it, Ransom shut it and leaned against it. Your stomach fell.

 “Uh—what’re you—what’re you doing?”

 “Whatever the hell I want,” he gruffly said. His eyes didn’t look clear tonight. He’d taken something. In your time working there, you’d learned a few things about Ransom. He liked women, alcohol, good food—rich food, and drugs. You suspected he did them all, but you knew for a fact he liked weed and molly, otherwise known as ecstasy. He must have taken one tonight, you though.

 Ransom rubbed his nose and sniffled as he did it and zeroed in on you. “Come here.”

 Instead of listening, you backed away, trying to create distance between you. “Come—here!”  It was said more loudly. He meant business. Panic set in and a feeling of dread. Before he moved, he growled then pounced. You yelped and got ready to scream, but Ransom’s hand clasped over your mouth before he pushed you against the wall on the other side of his room.

 “Let’s not go doing something stupid, sweetheart,” he drawled his voice dripping with wickedness and sin.

 “Tell me—sweetheart,” Ransom began with his face just inches from yours. “What would you do to keep your job?” You felt his finger trail your throat. It inched lower and lower until it was at the rise of your breast. “One word from me, and you’ll be out on your ass faster than you can say Cancer treatment.”

 With those words, your eyes widened. He knew about your mother. When he saw you realized it, he smiled sinisterly.

 “That’s right, sweetheart. I know you need this job. The question is, what will you do to keep it?”

 Moments passed where he kept his hand clamped over your mouth. Only when he was sure you weren’t going to scream did he remove it.

 “The next words out of your mouth better be anything, sweetheart,” Ransom warned. Glaring at him, you hoped to convey all the hatred you had for him at this moment. Ransom didn’t look like he cared, his smile said it didn’t faze him one bit.

“Haven’t you heard the rumors? Hate turns me on. I’d be careful how you look at me, Y/N. I just might bend you over that table and have my real dinner.” Your eyes bugged with his threat, but your belly did cartwheels. What the hell was wrong with you, you wondered.

 “So—again, what will you do—to keep your job?” He said it in a sing-song voice this time. He was enjoying this. The sick fuck was enjoying this.

 “What do you want?”

 As if he’d been waiting for you to ask him that. He smiled and got so close his nose touched yours. You tried to press your back even further onto the wall hoping it would suck you in. That didn’t happen though; instead, ransom’s hand tightened on your hip and pulled you to him. Your body was now crushed flush against his. Even dressed in the teal-colored wool sweater, you could still feel every muscle underneath. He was athletically built.

 “You.”

 As if for emphasis as soon as the word left his mouth, you felt his erection poking against you. Again, your belly did backflips as you were filled with strange feelings; fear was the least of them.

 “I’m tired of waiting for you to throw yourself at me so I can take what I offer. You are the only one who has resisted this long. Why resist? Just give in. Give me what I want,” Ransom spoke through clenched jaws as he ground his crotch into you. A small moan escaped your lips, one you instantly regretted. His lips touched your ear before he spoke.

 “You want me. Give it, or I will take it.” Ransom then bit your earlobe, but it wasn’t gentle. It was forceful. His teeth relinquished their hold before he bit your neck. He wanted to mark you.

 Suddenly a loud knock broke the heady aura in the room.

 “What!”

 “Where is Y/N! She’s needed now. Have you seen her?” It was Linda. You’d never been happier to hear her voice.

 Ransom’s anger was evident, and it grew when he saw relief in your eyes. He looked like he was thinking of all the things he wanted to do to you, and none of them ended with you clothed and unmarked. Ransom then begrudgingly scoffed and went back to your ear. “Soon.”

 After he spoke, he released you. Quickly you scurried to the door and out. You didn’t even bother to shut it behind you. You just ran.

 For days you looked over your shoulder. For days you lived on edge. You kept your door locked with the chair underneath and even pushed one of the nightstands against it in case he was strong enough to barge in. Night after night, nothing happened. Day after day, Ransom was on his best broody behavior. The catcalls stopped, the whistles were a thing of the past, the touches nonexistent. He’d gone one hundred to zero overnight, and it confused you.

 You were relieved the first few weeks, but that relief turned to doubt. You were convinced he was working some twisted angle. You were sure he would sneak out from every corner and push you over whatever furniture was nearby and have at it. It was a constant worry. After four weeks and nothing, you began to relax, especially when you found little things lying around at your door either early in the morning when you rose to get breakfast ready or late at night when your day was done. The items weren’t huge things; they were things such as your favorite flower, or your favorite dessert. There was one time you found a diamond necklace in your favorite color. You knew who it was from. You didn’t acknowledge them, though. That must have been encouragement, every so often you’d find pieces of jewelry, earrings, bracelets, rings, all items that looked like they cost more than an average weekly paycheck. You didn’t wear them, you kept them in a drawer and tried not to think about them.

 His behavior was erratic and confusing. You couldn’t figure him out. One morning ransom was waiting in the kitchen for you. You nearly tripped over your own two feet. You couldn’t walk away because he’d already seen you. Cautiously you walked into the room, taking the path that left enough breadth between you and him. You wanted to get to the fridge, but the action meant your back was turned to him. You didn’t want to turn your back on him.

 “Don’t bother. There is no one here today—no need to make breakfast,” Ransom informed.

 “Uh—what—

 “I have breakfast already.” He nodded to the pink box sitting on the island. Your eyed dropped to it and caught the aroma of pastries. You recognized the box.

 “I made coffee,” Ransom informed. Shock filled you.

 “You?” He scoffed, got up, and walked to the fancy espresso machine. He then poured the dark liquid into a mug and approached you. The scent of the exotic coffee beans teased your nostrils. He stopped a few feet from you and held out the mug. It was the mug that read “my house, my rules, my coffee.” You couldn’t help but think of the stories you’d heard of Marta. Marta who was now strangely gone without a trace.

 “Take it. I promise I didn’t do anything to it.” You slowly reached out and took the mug and sniffed it hoping to be able to smell if he poisoned or drugged it.

 “I didn’t poison or drug it. You have entirely the wrong idea about me, Y/N.” He chuckled and walked back to the espresso machine to get his own mug. He then came back to you and leaned on the island while facing you.

 “I want to apologize,” Ransom began. You almost dropped your mug.

 “Apolo—huh?”

 “I know, it is not a concept I’m familiar with, but neither is forcing myself on the help. I don’t have to force anyone to fuck me,” Ransom crassly explained.

 “Nice. Lucky you.”

 “Meh. I didn’t mean to—I was high. I didn’t have full control.”

 You studied him trying to assess if he were being sincere or if this was yet another ploy.

 “Come, I got your favorites.” Ransom walked away to the stool and sat then opened the pink pastry box.

 It was filled with your favorites, madeleines. It was a box of an assortment of them, and they smelled delicious. Ransom waited for you to approach. When you did, it was a slow stride, and you took the stool that was farthest from him. The two of you ate and drank in silence. You could feel his eyes on you the entire time, though. You tried to keep your nervous ticks to a minimum, but it was difficult. The longer you sat across from him, smelling his cologne, the more you felt temptation. It was confusing. Though you hated him, you were strangely intrigued by him, inexplicably attracted to him. It was one of those things that you felt ashamed of. When the last madeleine was eaten, Ransom stood and walked out of the kitchen without a word. Your head was spinning from this three-sixty.

 That wasn’t the end of Ransom’s peculiar behavior. It all continued as did the wayward glances. At times they were soft, and other times they were hard and intense. You were convinced the man had bipolar disorder or even multiple personalities. Several more weeks passed with him giving you the hot and cold treatment, the psychopath and sane citizen act. Though you tried to talk yourself out of it, you found yourself with mixed feelings for him.

 You were minding your own business preparing the lunch for the household. You’d just finished putting a freshly kneaded loaf of bread in the oven and checked on your pot of stew on the stove slow-simmering when heard the clink of metal. Your curiosity won out, making you look behind you to the nook in the kitchen, and there stood Ransom. He was dressed in his favorite white cable knit sweater and dark pants. Your eyes immediately dropped to those pants to see his belt undone, and him slowly zipping down his pants. You were frozen in place. The slowness of his moves was like torture. You knew you should have looked away, but you were interested in knowing just what had countless women compromising their morals. When his cock flopped out of his pants, you gasped and placed your hand at your throat. He was long and thick and completely ready.

 You heard a growl from him, and in seconds, he was across the kitchen and in front of you, pressing you against the fridge.

 “Looks like soon is today. When we first met, you showed me a glimmer of how dirty your mouth was. That was just a fraction though Y/N. Get on your knees and show me more,” Ransom demanded. His eyes were again dark similar to the way they’d looked the night in his room.

 “Ransom pl—” Ransom grabbed your throat, but he didn’t squeeze.

 “What did you call me?”

 “S—sir,” you replaced. His top lip rose in a devious smirk.

 “On your knees. Or we can call this your last day working here.”

 You knew he was serious. Linda was wrapped around his finger, and she didn’t even know it. All he had to do was say he hated your food, and you’d be out on your ass, and your mother would suffer for it. After quick calculation of your options and the fall out from them, you slowly dropped to your knees. Ransom’s thick cock was right in front of your face. The violent veins were protruding to give you an idea of just how engorged he was.

 “I’ve dreamed of this for months. Open your pretty mouth, sweetheart.”

 You opened your mouth, and without warning, Ransom thrusted forward, sending his cock down your throat. You gagged, but Ransom kept it nestled in the tight confines of your throat. You groaned, hoping to relay your panic from your lack of oxygen intake, but either Ransom didn’t understand, or he didn’t care. You were sure it was the lather. He pulled his hips back, allowing you to chough and gasp for it. The reprieve was only momentary. In seconds, he shoved his cock back into your mouth and held the back of your head where he wanted it as he fucked your face.

 You did your best to remain conscious. With every thrust, Ransom shoved his cock further and further down your throat, suffocating you in the process. Soon slobber and thick globs of mucus dribbled from your chin and down to your flour-covered uniform. Ransom didn’t slow his actions or take heed to not break your throat with his cock. He fucked your face viciously. His only concern was his pleasure. When his thrusts became so fast you couldn’t keep up; you gagged with every forward thrust. Your struggle must have been a turn on for him because the sounds coming from him were animalistic but also vulnerable.

 “That’s it; sweetheart suck my cock. You take me so fucking well. swallow me!” His hands loosened their grip from behind your head, and he caressed your cheek with the back of his hand. It was out of character.

 “Use your hands!” you wrapped both your hands around his shaft and worked his length as he continued to fuck your mouth. Ransom dropped his head back and groaned loudly.

 “Yes, that’s it, sweetheart, swallow this cock! show me how bad you fucking want it!”

 When you moaned on his length, you were shocked. You couldn’t believe this; you were turned on. Ransom must have known it too because it was then he plowed into your mouth with reckless abandonment. The moment before he came, you saw his intention. When you felt the hot splash of his cum shoot against your tonsils and down your throat, Ransom clasped his hands behind your head again and held you in place so not one drop escaped your mouth. His grunts were loud and forceful. From the look of him he was in ecstasy.

 “Swallow every drop!” It wasn’t a suggestion. You struggled swallowing and attempting to breathe. It felt like his cum was coming through your nose. You began to feel lightheaded and woozy as Ransom swished his cock around your throat, nudging it against the walls. The sensation fiercely triggered your gag but thanks to his cock in your mouth, there was nowhere for anything to go. Gulping, you swallowed what he deposited, and that action had your eyes rolling to the back of your head. It was then Ransom pulled himself from your mouth, finally allowing you to chough and gasp for air.

 After a few moments, Ransom stooped down before you, his cock still out and slowly coming back to life. Your eyes met, and he had a smile on his face.

“There, there sweetheart. You did good.” Ransom used a dish towel to dab at the corners of your mouth before he wiped your messy chin. “Could be better, but don’t worry, I’ll train you proper tonight.” He leaned to your ear and whispered. “Let the big bad wolf in Y/N. I promise I’ll fuck you right.”

When he said it, he stood and walked out of the kitchen, leaving you on the floor in complete shock at what just happened and the fact that you liked it—a lot. 

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

[dishonestkilla]

Hate Me

This is a very short headcanon I thought of while listening to the song below.

TW: Angst, language, NSFW, 18+ content, mentions of violence, smut, toxic relationship, nasty smut it's nasty so read at ur ownnnnnnnn risk

Pairing: Drug Dealer!ReaderAU × Dabi

words: 3k

There was a thick silence in the dark alley where they stood. The only sound being the sound of tobacco burning on the other side of the cancer stick that was placed between her plush lips, the smoke she inhaled being freed the moment she breathed out, letting the toxins out towards his furious face.

Teal eyes burnt through her soul, shooting daggers at her. If a gaze could kill, she would've been long dead.

"So, that is all you are? A petty criminal?" The question was more rhetorical than something that actually needed to be asked. Dabi never knew what she actually did, hell, he now wanted to know if he ever actually was aware of who she was..But now, all that he could feel was a slice of anger blinding his sight.

"Yeah," She shrugged, still unfazed by his shaking figure and in one second, she could've sworn that a blue flame sparked on the surface of his scarred face but being the stubborn woman, the warning sign of his rage was ignored.

To her, his wrath was not justified nor was it plausible. This was her life, it had always been. Just because she let him spend a night here and there, caressed the side of his rough face, kissed his lips tenderly and loved him dearly, holding him close whenever she felt like breaking, it didn't mean that he could interfere in her business life.

"You have been lying to me all this time? Staged working at Kurogiri's bar for what? To get your hands on some filthy money?? Is that it? Money? Is that all you care for? Don't you think that our world has enough problems, wouldn't you like to be part of something that is actually worth a thing?" Dabi's voice raised slightly at the end, his hands flying up in dissatisfaction as he eyed her, but the sight he saw was anything but pleasant.

Her face had been contorted into a crooked smile, head tilted go the side just a little, orbs darker than usual. That grimace made him so mad, he could've sworn a vein in his neck popped from how tense he had become.

"Listen to yourself, acting all big and tough. Fucking hell," Y/N blurted, a big puff of smoke leaving her throat as she laughed out, "So what if I am not the Messiah. So what if I am not like you, a saint, a chosen one. I have been doing this ever since I left home, if you don't like it, you don't have to be going out with me." She continued, face turning serious, her orbs now igniting a new flame in themselves.

"You don't have to love me, if you don't want to accept me," her voice was barely audible when she said that but knowing Dabi, Y/N was sure he heard her.

"Why don't you let me help you then? Because I do love you, fuck, I love you so much, isn't it proof enough that I'd put myself as a villain at risk to be exposed to some junkie that would die to sell me to the police? Just to be able to he-" before the real eyed male could continue, he was interrupted, Y/N now also tensed up, lips quivering, she was mad and it was evident.

"I don't need your damn help, you bastard!" And in the next second, her hand had made contact with the surface of his face, leaving a red print behind.

"I owe you nothing and don't want to either," she hissed, jaw clenching, hands balled into fists as her gaze was now hunting him down.

"Owe me? Who in the fuck told you that in a relationship people owe each other things?!"

"Who in the fuck dated you, so that you know now?!" Her words weren't little knives into his hearts, no, it was like her ever so soft hands wrapped around the organ itself, crushing it inside of his chest. Just like that.

"You don't mean that," He whispered, now suddenly vulnerable, hurt and saddened.

"Yes, I do. I do, because you always claim to know everything, mess up my business, try to tell me what the fuck to do, and then dare to teach me on relationships. Reality check, Dabi. You're a villain, a burnt, brutal, scary villain. Nothing more." She yelled at this point. Tears welling up in her eyes, entire body shaking in frustration as her voice made it's way to the ears of the black haired man.

His lips were shaking, and now it wasn't only anger and sadness inside of his guts, it was something much worse.

Dabi wanted to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze. Hard.

But no, not like one of the times where he had her against the wall, hips plowing into hers, one nipple between his fingers as she moaned loudly at his ministrations, head against the concrete. Not like those times where he let out his steam on her, ravaging her body, leaving purple marks on her satin alike skin that he had adorned with love bites moments before.

It wasn't one of the many moments in which she submitted to him with a mewl because of how roughly his digits burned her as a sign of affection alongside of his length caressing her velvety walls, bruising thrusts being the source for the nasty clapping and squelching noises that filled the room of the empty bathroom stall in some random club.

This was different, he wanted to cut her oxygen supply for good, watch as her face started to grimace, eyes rolling back as he took her life ever so slowly before burning her perfect body in his flames, feeling her warmth one last time before extinguishing her.

Without even noticing, he had moved forward, trapping her between the brick barricade behind her, caging her between his arms while holding her down with his own weight.

The way she looked at him caused a low growl to erupt his chest, a rush of heat running down his spine as he watched her with intent eyes.

Now, it was his turn to smirk twistedly at Y/N as the girl gulped. It wasn't like she was weak, the opposite, her quirk was one to be feared at least to say, after all, she could manipulate other people's nerves to bend at her own will, if she wanted to, she could cause him severe pain, but instead of that, she let him pin her down with his eyes. Despite of being powerful, she was fairly aware of Dabi's high pain tolerance as well as his immense strength. Y/N wasn't stupid enough to try and fight the male when she was intoxicated at that.

"Let me show you what you do to me.."

Before she could even protest, his lips had been attached to her sweet spot right below her right ear, a meal leaving her plump lips, melting at his touch and the way his calloused hands traveled the surface of her body. Arms now around his neck as she pulled him impossibly closer, causing Dabi to snicker against her throat while leaving wet kisses on her neck, marking her in his wake.

"Look at you, already a whimpering mess and I haven't even started yet," he rasped, now standing up straight again to meet her desperate gaze.

"Shut up," the girl retorted with sass, now it was her turn to tease him.

Lips colliding with his own, the taste of nicotine and whiskey flooding her senses, everything a blur and the reason on why they had started to banter long forgotten, the only thing mattering being their lust and desire for one another.

While his fingers tugged at the strands of her locks, her own had started to fumble with his belt, haphazardly ripping away the leather piece before she slid down the wall to kneel in front of his growing erection.

The heels of her shoes now meeting the wall as he had granted little space so she could do whatever she wanted to.

Soft pecks placing themselves against his restrained bulge before his hands wrapped themselves around her hair, making her look up at his gaze, "Get to it," he ordered and Y/N didn't have to be told twice before pulling his pants and boxers down to below his thighs, just enough to grant access to the angry tip of his cock, precum already leaking down the slit.

Experimentally she licked a stripe from his base to the tip, tasting his slightly pineapple flavoured release.

Yes, pineapple. She had forced him to eat the fruit regularly, if he wanted her lips around his length and his shaft down her throat.

One hand wrapped around him, thumb and index finger not able to touch, she started to jerk off the tall individual in front of herself, eyes focused on his leaking tip, paying attention to the area with kitten licks.

"Did you forget how to suck dick? Do I have to remind you?" He snapped at her, a sneaky smirk on his face.

Not wanting to play his petty game, the female let her head down till her nose met with his pubic bone, irises blown wide with lust at the sight of him groaning, his head lulled back at the immense pressure of feeling the walls of her throat inviting him.

Repeating the action a few times she then proceeded to suck down his erection with quick yet impactful bobbing motions, cheeks hollowing around him, practically milking him for whatever he was about to give her.

The two were fighting, they hated each other at times and probably had been at the verge of killing the other more than just once, however, they also knew each other more than anyone else did and not only physically but also emotionally. Now, the knowledge of one another's body and sweet spots were the advantage of their frankly scandalous little escapade in some dark alleyway where she had been dealing some of her 'happy pills' and 'devil's lettuce' the latter being what she was high on herself. The only difference being the passion and burning desire that fueled her intoxicated mind to wander even more. 'Test the waters and play with fire', as she liked to say.

One of his scarred hands darted out into her hair, nimble fingers digging in as he took a fist of her locks into his palm, pulling her head down his entire shaft, the intrusion causing a soft gag to escape her throat, eyes shooting up to meet his mischievous gaze upon her, the sight of his lazy smirk yet fiery orbs sending a jolt straight to her core.

He had regained control of what was going down, his hips now ramming into her mouth as if it was a fleshlight for him to abuse. The mere sight of how her pretty lips wrapped around his tip just to be parted more whilst he forced her down onto his length, the way she salivated all over him, drool now dribbling down onto her exposed cleavage that was peeking up from underneath the flimsy top she wore, her eyes slowly watering as she laid her hands on either side of his thick thighs. It was mesmerizing, if he could he would take a picture of it.

Finally satisfied with one last thrust into her sloppy cavern, the male didn't wait any longer before pulling her up to her wobbly legs, turning her around, he pushed her face into the wall behind herself, moving behind her as his lips latched onto her neck again, leaving bite marks here and there while his hands made quick work of her leather pants, pulling them down her thighs hastily, groaning at the sight of her lacy panties, "Seems like you've expected this, yeah? Getting fucked by no other than your man in a nasty alleyway." Making her sneer at him, she was quick to reply to his comment, "My man? Darling, you're not even a man in the first place!" That was it.

That was what caused his next moves to be crude and rougher than usual.

Pinning her arms behind her back as he bent her over against the wall, hips plowing into her, intruding her insides to spread for him, grunting as her wet, spongy walls clenched around him.

Without further do, he started to slam into her with slow, yet deep thrusts, the force of each thrust causing her entire body to jolt forward, pushing her against the wall even more.

His moves never faltered as he pulled out of her so merely his tip was coated in her juices, forcing his entire dick into her repeatedly before he set a steady pace of in and out.

Dabi was taking his time judging on how he dragged out the moment by changing between steady thrusts and reckless ramming.

One hand that supported her hips whilst she moaned and mewled at her insides being rearranged by him over and over, lifted, igniting a fire for a second before raining down onto each ass cheek of the girl in front of himself, leaving red hand prints that would stay for quite some time, marking her squeal at the force, the rough treatment being painful yet so pleasant that she couldn't help but moan out incoherent words as his hips sped up to an erratic pace, knocking the air out of her lungs.

"Yeah? What was that? Who isn't your man, huh? Say that again, I want to hear you say it." The way his voice seemed so unfazed caused her to roll back her hips like some sex-crazed animal, whimpering at the lack of treatment when he suddenly pulled out just to forcefully pull her flush against himself.

However, Y/N wasn't that fragile, with that being said, a smirk crept onto the female's flushed face, "Not you-" Her answer caused a low growl emit from the male, as he pulled her back by her hair, now back arched even more as he groaned against her ear, voice raspy, the hand that held her wrists wrapping around her throat, cutting the air supply of the girl, hips assaulting her again, the sound of skin slapping filling the quiet alley.

As her walls clenched yet again caused by him abusing her cunt for more than half an hour without letting her release, each time pulling out just to make sure she'd get the message of who was in charge. At this point she was shaking, her jaw slack while tears ran down her cheeks, staining her face.

"Come on, baby, tell everyone here who your man is and I will fuck you until you cum all over my cock, little slut," He could swear that he felt her grow even tighter around his length as he degraded her yet again.

"D-D-Dabi.." her voice was a mere whisper and not enough for the hot headed man, shaking his head as his hips came to a halt again. Denying her release all over.

"What, princess, I couldn't hear you and I bet no one else could either. Use your pretty brain if you want to cum."

Those words finally pulled her trigger as she started to beg the wanted villain, "H-hah~ Please, Dabi, I am yours, all yours and - you're my m-man, please make me cum.." She pleaded, voice desperate and in a hoarse tone.

Pleased with her begging, the black haired criminal picked up his recklessly rough pace again, one hand creeping to her front as he started to rub her clit in circles, and all of that combined to the low growl and grunts coming from him while biting her neck was enough to make white flash in her vision, body trembling as her release gushed out of her abused hole, screaming out his name.

Vigorously shaking in his arms as he worked her furthermore until he released his seed into her, painting her walls white whilst she milked him.

"I've got you, I've got you." The man cooed, caressing her body as he slowly let her calm down before pulling out of her, helping her redress as he pulled his pants up himself, watching her lean against the wall, hair tousled and mascara running down her eyes as he held out a hand, wiping away the black streaks lovingly, her head automatically leaning into his touch.

"I hate everything about you," she mumbled, making him chuckle, cocking an eyebrow at her as he watched her put a blunt between those lips of hers, lighting up the piece before inhaling the toxins inside of it, eyes rolling to the back of her head in comfort.

Moving forward he took the piece from her, he grabbed her jaw after she took another big hit, kissing her softly, tongues and smoke mixing together before he took her hand and lead her to his nearby apartment, with her just strolling after him like a lost puppy just to be cuddled up on his chest moments later upon her arrival in his shabby little space, arms around him while smoking yet another blunt.

Looking up at his turquoise eyes that held so many unreadable emotions, she let out a huff, pouting at him before laying her cheek flat against the surface of his sternum again.

"I didn't mean that," She slowly admitted, looking up to see him smirk a little, man if she could've just punched him. Well, she could..But shouldn't..Unless..

"I know that you were just Dic-"

"Don't say it, I swear to god, do not say it!"

"Dickrived,"

"Ugh! you're such a dork."

Both laughed at the silly comment Dabi made proudly, his entire chest puffing up before he embraced her with his arms, "Am I really such a monster?" He suddenly asked before she unexpectedly kissed his lips with passion, in an attempt to quiet him down.

"Shush, no you aren't. And even if you were.. You are my monster." Those were the last few words he heard before they both drifted off to sleep, never knowing what would expect them next.

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

A/N: This took longer than I thought, phew. Hope y'all thirsty ones liked it hehe.

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

On Days Like This (part 5)

Carwood Lipton x Reader

Warnings: survivors guilt, comfort, a disgusting amount of fluff, a sick and sad mother of Easy Company doing his very best, some random dialogue, a lack of forward progression but I’m still proud of it for some reason

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You wake up to the smell of cigarette smoke and for a few moments you think you are back in the makeshift hospital you’d been taken to in Foy.

It’s the feeling of Carwood’s heartbeat against your cheek that brings it all back for you- how you’d snuck out from under the aggressive nurse’s nose during her shift change and managed to bully your way onto a supply truck headed to Hagenau, dressed in a combination of pilfered wool sweaters and a set of fatigues you’d collected from the bodies of fallen soldiers. 

You’d stolen some boots from the supply truck, and when they’d threatened to tell your superior officer you’d informed them that they were more than welcome to do so, as long as they were prepared for your SO to also be told that the supply truck had been delayed a day because it’s drivers wanted to engage in one last sexual encounter with the nurses who’d welcomed them into their beds.

The two men hadn’t bothered you after that.

The moment after you’d reconnected with Nix and Sink, you’d gone to find Car.

Just from the way he’d broken down upon seeing you again, you knew that he’d lost some sense of himself in the time you’d been apart. It broke your heart. It had taken everything in you not to cry as well.

But Carwood had needed you to be strong, and you had decided long ago that you would do anything for him.

If that meant holding him as he cried himself back to sleep in the first mattress you’d shared since your time in Georgia, then so be it.

 When you allowed one eye to peek open, you found that the smell of smoke wasn’t coming from somewhere outside the room- but rather from Carwood himself.

You watched for a moment as he lifted the white stick he’d once called a cancer tube to his lips and pull from it like he’d been doing it for years, a memory of him chastising you for lighting one up beside his cot after he’d been wounded in Carentan flickering in your mind’s eye.

Taking a deep breath, you allow your ribs to expand as you arch your back in a creaking stretch, the movement alerting Carwood of your wakefulness.

“Hm, never thought I’d see the day Clifford Carwood Lipton would willingly smoke a cigarette…”

His light chuckle is warm against your ear, the arm that he’d wrapped around you pulling you close into him and his fingers prodding your ribs playfully until you yelp and attempt to roll away from it.

Car leans over the side of the bed to stamp out the cigarette and set it down, shaking his head slightly as he exhales the remaining smoke in his lungs through pursed lips.

Before he can reply to your teasing, a body-racking cough has him sitting up and trying to catch his breath, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and bracing his elbows on his knees to combat the force of the hacking.

You frown, pushing yourself up to sit behind him and wrap yourself around his back, pressing a kiss between his shoulders once his coughing subsides before resting your cheek there.

 “Got the black lung already?”

He sniffs, clearing his throat a few more times before sighing deeply.

“Doc says it’s pneumonia. Not much he can do.”

You hum at that, closing your eyes as you listen to the strong thud of his heart again.

“You should’ve told me you were hurt.”

Opening your eyes, you lift your head from his back, furrowing your brows at his admonishment.

“Huh?”

 Lip turns enough that he can face you side-on, his tired eyes looking even more exhausted as he nods his head guilty at your arm.

Looking at your right arm, you take in the large lump of bandages wrapped around your bicep, the gauze beneath the sleeve of your sweater making it look almost comically swollen. The three bullets they’d pulled from your arm still remain in a pouch, buried near the body of your knapsack.

 “Car,” you sigh, ready to assure him that you’re perfectly fine and that it’s nothing and that he doesn’t need to worry about you. But, judging by the way he narrows his dark eyes at you, you decide it’s best not to argue the point any further.

“I could’ve hurt you, Y/N! You should’ve said something, shouldn’t of let me grab at you like that—”

“Well, sorry that I was so excited to see the man I love that I didn’t think to give you a full medical report.” you snap, shaking your head and rubbing a hand over your face. “I’ll be sure to remember that from now on….”

 Lip clenches his jaw and curses under his breath, raking a hand through his mussed hair before mumbling your name softly and taking your hand from your face to hold it between his.

 “I didn’t mean it like that, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

When you continue to stare at a point over his shoulder Car sighs and turns to face you further.

You allow his hands to come up and hold your face, eyes flickering to meet his remorseful ones and biting the inside of your cheek.

 “You’re right, I’m sorry...Hey, c’mon.”

The press of his forehead against yours is sweet, despite the fact that you can feel the fever radiating from his skin.

“I just get worried, you know. I missed you so much—”

 You shake your head, pulling your forehead back from his so you can press a kiss to his hairline.

“I do. I know. I’m sorry, too.”

With your uninjured arm, you brush your cooler fingers across his cheek, feeling a bit guilty for snapping at him.

You wondered if a day would come when the two of you would stop having to worry about each other. These days, it was hard to imagine a life consisting of anything other than loss and pain and heavy exhaustion.

 At the feeling of tears rolling over your fingers, you pull back to look at him with concern.

“Lip?”

“I’m so glad that you weren’t there.”

Your throat feels tight, immediately knowing what he’s referring to.

 Your torment at the hands of the German army was nothing compared to the horrors you’d heard occurring in the forest Lip had been in. whatever earth-shaking fear you had experienced second hand couldn’t ever hold a candle to what it must’ve felt like to Easy and Dog Companies.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, ignoring the slight twinge of discomfort in your other arm and bringing your other hand to his face to wipe the tears from his eyes. “I’m just….I’m so fucking sorry, Sweetheart—”

 He’s apologizing again, and you know that he’s not simply apologizing to you for crying in your arms.

With devastating sobs, he tells you about all of it- of Buck and Toye and WIld Bill. you pull him to lean against you when he cries for Muck and Penkala, the other eighty-two lives that had been snatched away from this world while he’d ‘cowardly hid in a hole’ the whole time.

You don’t interrupt him, tears of your own welling in your eyes but unwilling to let them fall.

He needs this, he needs this, I can be strong for him

When he does pull away from you, he’s red-faced and his eyes are swollen, weakly repeating how sorry he is. You kiss him as softly as he had kissed you for the first time in Toccoa, inhaling sharply when he pulls your face closer and smashes your lips to his almost painfully.

You stroke at his face when he pulls away, letting him catch his breath in his own time.

 When he starts coughing again you reach blindly around his feet until you find his canteen, giving him an appreciative smile when he helps you sit back up again.

He drinks dutifully, closing his eyes and letting his head roll from side to side as he swallows.

As you bring his once abandoned cigarette to your lips and relight it with the lighter you’d also managed to find, Lip looks over at you and sighs a weak laugh.

 “You shouldn’t do that, young lady,” he jokes hollowly, taking the cigarette from between your fingers and taking a puff before putting it out again. “It isn’t good for you.”

 Smiling at the ridiculousness of it, you blow the little smoke you’d managed to get into his face.

“You’re lucky I like you, otherwise I’d hit you, you handsome hypocrite.”

 With a soft groan, you swing your legs around so you’re sitting beside him, your thigh pressed against his as you mirror his pose. Car brings your hand into his and laces your fingers together.

 “In the interest of being candid, I should probably tell you that I’ve lost three toes since we’ve last seen each other—”

“What?”

 His head whips to the side to look at you in surprise, gaping at the casual shrug you offer in explanation.

 “Frostbite is a bitch….”

 Carwood opens his mouth to protest your nonchalance, before seeming to think better of it and shooting you a glare.

 “Well, as long as we’re being honest, I might as well tell you that I’ve been promoted.”

 You feel your face drop in surprise for a moment before you grin like an idiot, bringing his hand to your lips and kissing it excitedly.

 “Lieutenant Clifford Carwood Lipton,” you murmur, liking the way the title tastes on your tongue.

“Just wait till my mother hears that I’ve snagged myself a Lieutenant—!”

 When Car rolls his eyes you press a quick kiss to his cheek.

The dead may always hang over your heads, and maybe they’re meant to.

But, for right now, the two of you have never felt more alive.

 And that was more than enough.

~ ~ ~

( ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ here we be, kids. I love you bbs and will fight for your honor any day of the week (just not Mondays at 11am, bc Mama has therapy)

Taglist: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain​ @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​ @teenmagazines​ @liebgotttme​

[rhysismydaddy]

Feysand Pregnancy Fluff

From an ask! Heavily influenced by the fact that I am ~super~ on my period right now and in a mood myself lol. In Feyre’s POV. 

I’m working on cleaning out my box rn and then will be starting After Midnight :)

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Am I aware that I’m acting like a psycho? Yes. 

Does it change my mood, and thereby psycho tendencies? No. 

“I just think it’s funny, honestly.” That’s a lie. I didn’t find it funny at all. 

Rhysand sighs, because after four years of marriage, he knows he’s in pretty deep shit. 

“You smiled. Someone compared your wife to a beached whale, and you smiled.”

He’ll either stick to his story or admit that he’s a horrible human being. 

He chooses the first option, unfortunately. “Feyre, darling, I didn’t smile.”

“Well then you should be a goddamn ventriloquist or something, because I could’ve sworn I heard you chuckle, too.”

Like the complete asshole he is, his lips twitch. “That wasn’t me.”

“You are such a bad liar, Rhysand De’Luca.”

He turns into the driveway of our house in the suburbs and rolls his eyes. “It must be from all these years living with you. I used to be a better one.”

“So you admit you’re lying!” I exclaim, half in victory, half in anger as I waddle from the car. 

I’m well aware that our neighbors, the Havenshims or something, are staring at our little exchange with raised brows, but I still call my husband a filthy liar. And a horrible person. And a snake in the grass.

Where I even learned that last phrase, I have no idea. 

Rhysand bites his lip, but I see the edge of a smile form anyway, and it makes the temper spike even worse. The fact that he shrugs to our neighbors doesn’t help, either. 

Stomping to the front door, I unlock it, walk inside, and close it in his face. I don’t bother locking it though, since he learned a month ago to keep a set of keys on him. 

I toss my shoes off, barely resisting the temptation to turn around and throw one at his head, and walk up the stairs. “In case you don’t remember, it’s your fault I look like a beached whale anyway. And you had the utter audacity to laugh!”

Once I’m up the stairs, I take a few moments to catch my breath, gritting my teeth in annoyance. 

Did you know male babies burn more calories than female babies? Guess which one I’m carrying. 

Or should I say ones. 

Because my stupid, lying husband somehow managed to knock me up with twins on our first go. Male twins. 

I think I hate him. 

“Pretty sure it took the both of us, although I did probably put in more effort.”

Nope. I know it. 

“I want a divorce,” I tell him as I attempt to slide the side of my dress zipper down. Of course it gets stuck on my ginormous stomach, which doesn’t do much for the mood I’m in. 

Before I can grab a knife and just cut it off, Rhys’s hands replace mine and tug, and I watch in the mirror as he pushes the fabric off my shoulders. 

Leaving me rotund and naked before him in the mirror. 

And just like that, I start to cry. “You know, I’m tried my best to look good tonight, okay? I did my hair, even though it’s dry and hasn’t been cut in three months, and I put on makeup, even though I was sweating so much it took an hour.”

Said makeup is being destroyed by the sheer amount of tears streaming down my face, but who cares. I’m a whale anyway. 

“You look beautiful. You always do.”

That just makes me cry harder for some reason. 

“And I didn’t laugh at what Cassian said,” he informs me, wisely refraining from repeating it himself. “I laughed at how hard Nesta punched him when he did.”

I sniffle. “Oh.”

Gentle hands on my shoulders turn me around, and then he tsks and wiped the tears on my cheeks away with his thumb. “You’re gorgeous. Makeup or no. Nine months pregnant or no.”

Pushing my head against his chest, I’m glad he wears so much black, because my mascara’s probably running everywhere. “Okay.”

“We’re only five days away now,” he tells me, and I can hear the smile in his voice. 

I’m about to smile, too when another horrible thought occurs. 

“Oh, gods. I only have five days until I have to push two bowling balls out of my lady parts,” I wail, and he sighs against the top of my head. 

I almost fall when his chest suddenly disappears, but he comes back quickly, wrapping my fluffiest robe around me and leading me to the bed. I’m about to protest when he just holds up a hand. 

Still crying, I ease onto the bed. It takes about eight pillows--one of which belongs to my husband--but I finally get comfortable. 

Giving up on being sanitary tonight, I sniffle and wipe my nose on the collar of my robe. Rhys is up and about, pulling off his pants and shirt to reveal the stupidly perfect body underneath. 

He should be fat, too. 

He should be fat and disgusting and have people make fun of him. 

Life is so unfair, I think as he pulls on an old college shirt and goes to the bathroom for something. 

When he comes back, sits on the bed, and murmurs, “Close your eyes,” I have to amend my statement. Maybe it’s not so bad. 

Because even if I am nine months pregnant and an emotional wreck, I have a husband who takes off my makeup for me at night. 

He gently wipes the foundation and lipstick and mascara away, then unclips the earrings I forgot I was wearing. I peer up at him, and he just looks back at me, beautiful eyes full of patience and love. 

“I don’t know if I can do this, Rhys,” I whisper, mentally building a dam to hold the tears back. 

“Oh, Feyre, darling.” 

He crawls over me somehow and lays on my other side, careful not to disturb my mountain of pillows as he leans on an arm to hover over me. 

His lips softly meet my cheek, then my forehead, then each eyelid, before landing briefly on my mouth. 

“You may not know, but I do. You’re the strongest person I know. You’ll probably curse me to hell the whole time, but you can do it.” 

“Probably,” I laugh. 

He puts a hand on my bulging stomach, smiling when one of the babies kicks against his palm. “Five days until we get to meet them. What do you think they’re going to be like?”

“Loud. Smelly.” 

Rhys rolls his eyes and settles down further in the bed, not even mentioning his lack of pillow. “I think one’s going to be really athletic and tall. You’ll want him to play something safe like baseball, but he’ll choose hockey. And he’ll have your blue eyes and blonde hair and charming personality, so we’ll have to give him the birds and bees talk when he’s four.”

I smile at the ceiling. “And the other?”

“He’ll be smart like you. Probably will come out knowing how to read. And he’ll definitely get along with Azriel and Elain, so we’ll have to fight for his attention.” He yawns, hand going still on top of my belly. “But it’ll be worth it, because he’ll cure cancer or something, and we’ll be in the paper and they’ll praise us for creating such a stand up guy.”

“As long as the whole article’s about us,” I reason, putting my hand on top of his and interlinking our fingers. 

“Of course.”

Turning my face to his, I press a kiss to his forehead. “I love you so much. Even if I’m crazy. Even if I curse you to hell when I finally have your babies.”

His violet eyes open, and he kisses me softly. “I know. I love you, too. I can’t wait.”

“Me either,” I whisper back, eyes drifting close as I fall asleep, hand still atop my stomach, intertwined with his. 

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@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[holylulusworld]

Alpha mine

Summary: A bad blind date, you not being a prostitute and hurt balls. What can go possibly wrong?

Request: Can I have Alpha Dean? I don’t have a specific idea. I just want Alpha Dean and some angst. Maybe smut too. Happy ending please.

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

A/N: This is an AU setting.

Warnings: language, arguments, smut, unprotected sex, knotting, claiming, true mates, blood, use of handcuffs, hurt testicles (it’s painful, poor Dean), awful names for balls/a dick, fun, crack!fickish, mentions of medical eximinations, A/B/O

Sequel to: Omega for rent

“I am going to knot you good…god…” Dean needs to stop walking as the pain in his groin becomes unbearable. “I think you made sure I’ll be…” Choking Dean has the feeling his stomach fights the breakfast.

“What’s wrong?” Walking out of your bedroom you must watch Dean whine again. He keels over, curls up in a fetal position as you kneel next to him. “Dean?”

“My balls feel like the little pup-producers are bruised.” You want to hold back a chuckle but seeing the tall alpha whimper and curse at the same time let little snorts escape your lips.

“Sorry. I’ll help you, Dean.”

Carefully helping Dean to get up you take small steps to help him sit on your bed. He hisses in pain, whining again as you help him lie onto your pillow.

“Okay. I’ll help you out of these tight slacks. I think your balls need more space. Hang free and all…” Giggling at your words you hold back the snorts.

“That’s not funny.” Dean grunts. “I wanted to knot you…”

Ignoring Dean’s words, you remove his shoes. “Breathe slow and even. I will open your pants now and try to be as careful as possible. Just relax.” A smirk on your lips you unbuckle his belt.

“I won’t kick you again, alpha.”

“You ruined my dick…” Watching you drag his pants and boxers down Dean gasps as he sees a tiny bruise at his left testicle.

“Oh—crap! You ruined leftie!” Now you cannot hold back the snort as you have a close look at his balls.

“Dean, that’s a fuzz.” With skilled fingers, you removed the fuzz and the tall alpha sighs. “Looks good to me. I suggest you lie flat on your back, cover your body with the blanket and I’ll bring you water. We need to replenish your fluids.”

Dean eyes you warily, not trusting you at all. “You want to make little Dean fall off. I know it.” Eyes narrowed Dean looks around your room. “I’ll sue you if I lose my dick!”

Giggling you sit next to Dean to pat his chest. “I know what I am talking about, okay. “

“Why? Do you kick a man in the groin every day? How many balls did you damage so far? You hurt leftie. I am not sure rightie will forgive you.” Lips pressed into a hint line you try to suppress the giggle bubbling up, but you can stop it.

Pressing your face into Dean’s neck you peck his mating gland before you burst into laughter.

“Honestly, you are the second guy - no wait the third. The first was a boy in high school. He tried to grab my tit and I kicked him.”

“That’s justified…” Humming you check on his balls. “What are you doing? Do you want to ruin me some more?”

“I am checking on your balls, now be silent. I said that I know what I am doing. That’s my job after all.” Dean’s eyes narrow again as you look at his crotch.

“You have a thing for my balls…” While you try to cover Dean with a blanket, he’s busy giving you one of his cocky smirks.

“I am a proctologist, Dean. Now let me…” Dean shoves your hands away, shaking his head furiously as you try to help him.

“You are one of the guys shoving a finger into a guy’s ass?” Face pale Dean clutches, the blanket to his chest to protect his anus for dear life.

“We are not doing this all day, Winchester. Now let me get you something to drink and some painkillers. Relax. I won’t kill you, idiot.”

“How can you do a job like that? I mean…” Choking on his words Dean scratches his head. “…Why did you choose a job which includes poking a guy’s ass!”

“Dean, we do not slide a finger into your ass to have fun. It’s a needed examination to check on your well…anus…” Not convinced Dean scrunches up his nose. “I know men do not like it, but we save lives.”

“By fingering my ass?” Throwing your hands up in surrender you take a deep breath. “Cancer, Dean. We do this to help people. Do you believe I like poking my finger into random guys assholes?”

“I do not know you long enough to answer your question.” This time Dean needs to hold back a chuckle. “You look like a kinky chick.”

“Gosh, you are one of those idiots making fun of my job. I chose it as my dad died of cancer. If he would have gone to see a proctologist before the pain became unbearable he could be still alive. Now shut up and let me help you…”

Grumbling you storm into the bathroom to wash your hands and get painkillers for the annoying alpha on your bed.

“I…I am sorry, Sweetheart. Uh—it’s just.” Chortling Dean bites his finger. “Imagining you shove a finger into my ass…”

“Did you forget my name again?” Poking your head into the bedroom you give Dean a dirty look. “Winchester?”

“Y/N. Your name is Y/N and I’d like to knot you again, even though you hurt leftie…”

“You’re unbelievable, Dean. One minute you whine about your hurt balls and the next moment you want to knot me. Hell, you are a rollercoaster of nonsense…”

“You forgot charming! I am adorable and charming!” Dean insists as you place the painkillers onto the nightstand.

“I will not encourage you, Winchester. Now stop wiggling your naked ass on my silky sheets.” Leaving your bedroom, you hear Dean purr into your direction. “Won’t get you any…”

“You will fall for me sooner or later.” Laughing you shake your head as you walk back toward the bedroom. Food, water, and a sports drink in your hands you watch him rummage in your drawer.

“Uh-huh! Dirty girl, kinky too.” Holding handcuffs, a vibrator and lube in his hands Dean looks like the cat that got the cream. “You will not need that tiny thing any longer, but we can keep the handcuffs and lube.”

“Can you not make fun for a few minutes? You need to drink a lot, take some painkillers and then we will have lunch.” Lower lip trapped between his teeth Dean looks at the food on the tray.

You warmed up some Chinese leftovers and he can barely hide the rumble of his empty stomach.

“You know how to get the guy. Naughty sex, perfect scent, and food. You want to bribe me…” You would roll your eyes, but Dean looks up at you, a soft smile on his lips and you remain silent.

“Drink, Dean and then give me a break.” Humming Dean gulps down the sports drink, not taking his eyes off you as he follows your advice. “I hope your balls feel better soon…”

It’s a restless evening as Dean didn’t stop to hit on you. Followed by a restless night as he tries to rut his aching crotch against your ass, whining as it still hurts.

“Dean, give up. I am tired and tomorrow is Sunday. I want to sleep without an  alpha keeping me awake.” Not giving up Dean ruts closer to you, rubbing his cock against your ass, ignoring the pain.

“Want you…”

“You’re a needy bastard, Winchester. If you stop keeping me awake, I let you knot me when you are better. Now let me sleep.”

Dean’s arms wrap around you as he is nuzzling his nose into your neck, but he stops to rut his cock against your ass.

“What’s that green rubbish?” Shoving the broccoli off his plate Dean retches as he spits parts of the healthy vegetable into his napkin.

He is residing on your couch, two pillows stuffed behind his back, feet propped onto your couch he watches you narrow your eyes.

“Winchester! I do not believe you one bit that your balls are still hurting! I know you are lying to get my attention. Needy bastard.” Humming to himself Dean looks at the food you cooked for him.

“You are taking good care of me.” Dean’s voice is barely above a whisper when he looks at you. “I’ve missed someone taking care of me.”

“Dean, we barely know each other. All we know are certain body parts. You can’t occupy my apartment for longer than needed.” Your fingers slide through his hair and you need to hold back a purr as he sighs every time you touch him.

“I…I don’t want to leave you…”

“How about a deal, Dean. Playing with his short locks you press a soft kiss to his ear shell.

“If you can walk, you can knot me, Winchester. You can stay till tomorrow morning and then we will see where this will lead us to…” Dean’s eyes darken, and you feel his hand cup your tit as he smirks up at you.

He’s wild, loud and full Alpha again.

Your face pressed into the cushions; hands restraint behind your back with your handcuffs you can only take what the man you barely know offers.

“Such a good girl now…” Purring the words Dean smirks as he can feel your slick cover his dick with every thrust. “I could fuck you for days.”

“How’s leftie?” Giggles leave your lips, but Dean does not seem to care. While you try to push back onto him, he grips your cuffed wrists.

His brows are knit together as he watches his cock disappear inside of your slit. He can read your body; can sense you are close to your high.

“You feel perfect around me, Sweetheart. I think…” Pushing against your shoulders Dean causes your body to fall flat onto your mattress.

Helpless you wiggle against him as he holds you down with his weight.

“Dean…I want to cum.” You would scratch or bite him, even kick the cocky alpha again but the handcuffs around your wrists and his hands holding you down, bending you to his will, make you immobile.

“Sweet, so sweet for me…” His tongue slides over your mating gland and you shiver, knowing what Dean is up to. “Going to make you mine.”

Before you can give him a snarky comment his hips start moving again and your body gives in. Walls clenching tightly around him, sucking greedily at his thick length you can feel his teeth sink into your neck.

“Fucking asshole…” Dean does not care about your insults or that his orgasm hits him hard.

He will not let go of your neck, even holds you down to mark you as his omega.

“At least you can fuck like a stallion…”

“Love the way you say, ‘I love you’.” Dean grins before his tongue soothes the light sting. “The wound is already closing, Omega. Looks good on you. Perfect bite mark.”

“I guess this means your cute alpha ass is all mine now, including leftie and rightie. Now release my wrists and let me have a look at the mark. I dare you if you ruined my look.”

“It will heal completely and looks good at your neck.” Dean cannot take his eyes off the mark, wants you to not put a band-aid on it but you slap his hands away.

“Let me put a sterile band-aid on it before I kick your balls.” He is looking at his mark one last time. “Barely any blood. Did you do this more than once?”

“No…I swear, Y/N. You’re my first…” Your hand slides over his naked chest and you look up at Dean, a dirty grin on your lips. “I was your first, lover boy?”

“That is not what I meant, Omega. Now be good and behave.” Face straight, eyes focused on the mark at your neck Dean tries to play the dominant alpha, but you simply pat his cheek.

“Oh, sweet alpha. I think there was a failure in our communications from the beginning. It’s more that you alpha are mine now…” Amused Dean drops the towel around his waist, gives you a dirty grin before he steps closer.

“All yours, Y/N. Now - where do you want me?”

Tags in reblogs.

[livingmybestfictionallife]

A Cobra’s Eros | 2

2. "It's a stick shift, you know." "Hardly my first."

Chapter Summary: Althea makes the acquaintance of a drunk man she knows only as ‘Johnny’ by stealing his car keys and insisting she keep him from killing himself. The pair find themselves together on the beach late at night and Althea decides it’s time to be selfish for once in her life per Johnny’s advice. See warnings below.

Warnings: Alcohol use, cursing, NSFW content towards the end. Don’t read if under 18 or if it makes you uncomfortable--you will be able to see things heating up. You won’t miss anything in terms of plot other than (SPOILERS) Johnny’s insecurities about his age and the fact that Althea and Johnny hook up.

A sigh of relief escaped Althea's lips as she glanced down at her phone to see her brother decided to get dinner with a friend. She was glad Demetri was responsible enough to send her the address of his friend's home, as well as their parent's phone number, but shame continued to swell within her as she sipped from her vodka-Sprite. Within ten minutes of her arriving at her mother's side, a nurse came in to administer pain medication and informed Althea that it was not suggested she stay given the possible negative side-effects of the medication.

Althea had always done everything in her life by the book, and in spite of doing everything 'the right way' life's cruel and unfair nature had crawled under her skin and attacked her heart. Without a second thought, Thea ordered a Lyft, placed herself in the back of a stranger's car, and made her way to the one place she could think of where it was acceptable to be this emotionally low in public: a hole in the wall, dive bar. She let the liquor burn against the walls of her throat and remained motionless as the bubbles from the carbonation in the drink scratched on the way down. Slowly, her vision began to blur again as her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away before anyone could notice her pain. With another long gulp of her drink, Althea tried to numb her heart and mind from the world.

The bell above the door jingled to signal another patron had entered, but Thea remained focused on how cold her fingertips were when she touched the part of her glass that contained ice. She was content to feel anything at that moment, even if it was the bitter cold bite of ice against her skin. She could hear the bartender mutter obscenities under his breath as his eyes gazed over the individual that had just entered the bar, and Thea furrowed her eyebrows as she looked up at the mirror before her. Despite the dim lights that lit the bar, she could see the reflection of the room, and tried to focus her attention on the individual the bartender was complaining about. Although she was uncertain of the culprit, she figured it would be safe to assume that the blonde man that staggered and swayed through the room on his way towards the bar was the cause of the bartender's frustrations.

It appeared to Althea that the man had been drinking heavily before he arrived, so she flattened her back and extended her elbows to the side in order to appear as if she was taking up more room than she was. Her efforts of keeping the stumbling drunk man away from her failed when he dropped against the stool beside her, pointed to a bottle of Jack Daniels, and slurred, "I'll take a fifth." The man struggled to enunciate the last word, which led to a slur of 'f' and 'th' sounds coming from his mouth in random intervals.

"I'm not sure if I can legally serve you," the bartender sighed as he looked over the man's disheveled appearance. Thea too examined the man from out of the corner of her eye: his shoes were untied, his shirt stained with what appeared to be blood, and she assumed it was the same blood that seeped through the poor excuse for a bandage that was wrapped around the man's right fist. His face looked tired and worn, and his blonde hair was shoved in different directions, but what stood out most to Thea was the small pools that collected in his weary, light blue eyes.

"Just give me the bottle, man," the man beside Althea slurred as he slammed his injured hand down on the bar in a fury. It was clear to Thea that the anger in the man's voice and movements masked the pain that caused those small, almost unrecognizable tears to form. Had she not been in that same state of anguish and anticipation of grief, she would have overlooked his watery eyes, but having fought against her own tears all damn day, Althea could see his pain. With a huff of aggravation in his tone, the bartender turned, grabbed the bottle, and handed it to the intoxicated individual only for the man to stand up and stagger away with the bottle draped down to his side.

"What the hell?" the bartender yelled out across the room as he watched the blonde walk away. Onlookers and bystanders turned their heads from the person who had shouted to the man who currently held a middle finger over his head as he slowly made his way from the bar. "Piece of shit," the bartender continued to grumble as he reached for the phone to call the police. Curiously, Althea's eyes remained on the stranger as he paced away, and she would have let him leave had she not notice him reach into his pocket for his keys. In a rush, she placed two twenty-dollar bills along with a ten down on the counter, and told the angry man behind the bar to keep whatever change was left before she finished off her drink and followed the stranger into the parking lot.

The blonde man staggered, stumbled, and drug his feet as he tried to figure out where he parked his car. With his equilibrium off, the top half of his body swung and swayed around in a desperate attempt to stay above the bottom half despite not knowing where the bottom half was going. In this attempt to stay standing, his shoulder collided with that of another, much bigger man than himself, which sent him spinning, only to be forced backwards into the chest of another burly biker. Althea had just exited the bar to see three men well over six-feet tall and weighing more than two-hundred pounds apiece form a circle around the man she had followed out of the bar. She was too far away to hear the brute grunts of words as the men began to antagonize the outnumbered individual, nor with slurred comments being spout in return, but she could see their mouths moving in a violent and angry manner. Before she could make her way any closer to the scene unfolding before her, Althea watched as the blonde man with a bottle of Jack took a fierce, collected swing towards one of the biker's faces. She could hear the collision of knuckles cracking against a mandible and wrapped a protective hand around her dominant hand as if she felt the pain absorbed by the blow. For a moment, it seemed as if things would remain stagnant, but Althea had been a witness to too many fights to know that after being struck, it's instinct to strike back.

The man who received the blow immediately clutched his jaw in his hands, and his two friends each took hold of his attacker. Althea tried to walk faster as she watched the man deliver blow after blow to the already bloodied man, but there was a slight fear within her that told her this wasn't her fight. There was no reason for her to be there, to intercede and help this man. In all reality, she couldn't do much to stop what was happening, but she knew could do more here than she could with her mother. Her mother's cancer wasn't her fight and that fact had been gnawing a hole in Althea's heart since her mother first got sick. She couldn't take the treatment for her mom, she couldn't diffuse the situation or negotiate the cancer away, she couldn't do anything but sit and watch as her mother's pain grew each day. With the man before her, she could jump between him and someone else, and at least if she got hit she would feel something.

Althea's walk turned into a jog and she quickly grew close enough to hear the conversation the men were having in between hits. She watched as the leather-vested men holding onto the blonde man each kicked the back of his legs and forced him to his knees. In a quick and violent motion, the main culprit grabbed a fistful of the blonde man's hair from the back of his head and pulled back so that the lights shone on his face and he was forced to look up at his attackers.

"It's messed up that back in high school we used to be afraid of you, with your Kung Fu fighting and your little posse. Where's all that power now?"

"You're nothing but a waste! You made fun of us in school for being losers; well take a long look in the mirror, bud!"

"You're fucking worthless!"

Althea narrowed her eyes as she noticed the a fist being raised above the man attacker's head and a figured a hard blow to the face would soon make contact if she didn't put an end to their ruthlessness. Quickly, she asserted herself between the pair, and sent her foot flying into the attacker's groin. As the man doubled over in pain, she grasped him by the back of his head and pulled his head downward as her knee soared up and made contact with his nose. Almost immediately she regretted her decision as she felt the ache in her joint, but the man was too stunned to notice her pain.

"What the hell, bitch?!"

"Back off," Althea growled as she stared the man down. She hadn't thought through what to do if the other two came after her, and she regretted not having a solid plan before breaking the man's nose on her kneecap.

"He's an asshole and a worthless piece of shit! He'll always be those things, so why don't you take your pretty ass somewhere else and let us finish what we started." The man's voice was deeper than it had been before, as if he was trying to intimidate her with a sultry tone, but Thea took a solid step towards the man before her now with her eyes narrowed upon his gaze.

"From where I'm standing, you're the asshole." Her voice didn't raise above a conversational tone, but it was fierce and sharp, and the man before her pursed his lips for a moment before he waved his hand for his buddies to join him as they wandered away from the scene. With the three men in leather biker vests pacing away from her, Althea turned on her heel and knelt over to offer the man on the ground a hand. With his left hand, he took hold of Althea's arm and used the woman to help him stand up.

Johnny had expected her to fall over the second he tugged his weight against her, but she remained rooted in the concrete. Johnny slung his arm over her shoulder and flinched slightly as he felt her arm rest carefully across his back. He hadn't seen who had stepped between him and that dick from his high school, and he didn't know what was done to get them to leave him alone, but the second he heard a woman's voice calling out from above him, his heart sank even lower than where it had been sitting all day. A woman had to step in and defend me...a fucking woman. Women were the ones meant to be protected, not the ones meant to do the protecting. Sure, he had learned otherwise since then—some of his most talented and devoted students were girls—but he never anticipated a woman having to keep him safe.

"Are you okay?" her voice called out again as she followed his footsteps, acting only as a means of support as he paced towards his car.

"I didn't need you to jump in," he grumbled as he pulled his arm from off her shoulders and attempted to stand up straight on his own.

"I could see you had the whole thing under control," the woman beside him sighed with sarcasm dripping all too obviously from her tone. With a huff in his voice, Johnny jingled his key ring around his fingers in order to try and find the key to his car as he neared his vehicle. Before he can even stretch out his arm to unlock the door, the woman had jumped in front of him yet again, this time however, he couldn't help but look. She was tall for a woman, and stood maybe five inches shorter than he did. Her dark hair framed her fair face and almost made her look even paler than she was, which gave him the impression of a dainty waif of a woman. His eyes traveled across her face first, taking in her sharp, determined eyes that had to have been one of the most stunning sights he'd ever seen; accented by long dark lashes, her light eyes twinkled under the lights of the parking lot like an icy moon, and he knew he had to look anywhere other than those eyes, lest they hold him prisoner. Upon further examination of the woman before him, Johnny realized she was anything but dainty; she had an athletic build with beautiful curves which his intoxicated mind had become lost in as he quickly looked over her hips and chest before his eyes traveled back up to meet her eyes.

"What do you think you're doing?" Johnny's voice came out of his mouth much more aggravated than he intended to sound and he bit down on his lip to keep from cursing himself. Ever since he was young, he found it easier to push people away before they had the chance to throw him out like week old garbage. It was easier to be standoffish and rude than it was to be open to kindness, especially when his experience with kindness was always manipulated for someone else's favor.

"You're going to kill yourself if I let you get in this car," Althea stubbornly said as she leaned her butt against the driver's door and remained a barrier to this man.

"Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing," Johnny snapped in return as he took a step forward to insert the key into the keyhole to unlock the car. Althea refused to move during this process, making it difficult for Johnny to turn the key without grazing the woman's hip and damn near impossible for him to open the door without her falling into him. The moment he pulled his hand back from unlocking the door, Althea grabbed the keys from the man's hand and let them fall gently in her own hand as her fingers twirled around the key ring. "What the hell? I've had a shitty fucking day! Just let me drive my damn car!" Johnny hated that he was screaming at this woman who was doing everything she could to keep him from wrapping his car around a pole, he hated that on some, if not any level, he was the same bitter, angry person Kreese had molded him to be.

"You're not the only person who's had a shitty day!" Althea hissed back at the man as she finally brought herself to look him in the eyes since they'd been speaking. "And I'm not going to let you kill yourself because you're too damn stubborn to call a cab or let someone else drive." The man's hooded eyes were swollen from trying to hold back tears and bloodshot from failing to do so. Althea couldn't stop herself from examining the man's physique. He wore a faded charcoal heather-grey t-shirt with a flannel wrapped tightly across his back with the sleeves stretching over his biceps and rolled up to his elbows to reveal his strong, muscular forearms. His jeans seemed old, but they still hugged his thighs in a flattering way, and Althea had to pull herself from her subconscious, knee-jerk wish for him to turn so she could see what his ass looked like. Suddenly, she remembered the tears she'd seen in his eyes at the bar and she took a deep breath. "Let me just drive you somewhere—anywhere—and we can share that bottle of Jack. It's the least you can do for me since I bought it." After watching the man purse his lips and consider her offer, Althea welcomed the gentle nod that came from the man as he took a few relenting steps toward the passenger side of the car.

"It's a stick shift, you know," Johnny muttered as he dropped into the seat and pulled the door shut behind him. As the engine roared to life, Althea pushed on the clutch and put the car into first gear.

"Hardly my first," she said with an ambitiously curt wink at the man beside her before she pulled out of the parking lot and into the street. A cocky smirk fell over Johnny's face as he replayed her words in his head, but he didn't have much time to laugh about it with himself before he had to spout off directions. As he raised his arm to point at the street she needed to turn on, Johnny noticed his stomach had already begun bruising from the beating he took and immediately wanted to be distracted.

"So, do you have a name?" Johnny felt like a dumbass the second the words left his mouth. What the shit? Of course she has a name. You sound like a damn clueless virgin asking 'do you have name?'

"Althea," the woman responded in a gentle tone before inquiring the same, "and you?"

"Johnny." Silence again engulfed the car only to be interrupted with him intermittently giving directions. With uncertainty in his voice, Johnny spoke again. "Um, do you—"

"We don't have to say anything to one another, Johnny," Althea said softly as she made the turn he had instructed her to.

"You'd rather sit in silence?" he huffed with a slight agitation in his voice.

"Some time in 1896, this Italian guy made a pretty great invention called a radio, and in 1920, it became a more widespread concept and was broadcasting globally," Althea said in a snarky tone that made Johnny's eyebrows furrow as he gazed at her.

"That was a really round about way to say you want to listen to music," he muttered as he jammed his index finger into the power button of the car's stereo. The unmistakable chorus to Scorpions' Rock You Like A Hurricane came blasting through the speakers so loudly it initially took Johnny by surprise. Quickly, he reached for the volume, only to have Althea's hand reach up and stop him. Her fingers were thin and soft compared to his, but he could still feel the remnants of callouses along the base of her fingers on the inside of her hand. Althea wasn't expecting to gently squeeze Johnny's hand in hers as she kept him from changing the volume or the station, but once her skin grazed his, her hand seemed to go limp under his touch.

"Don't change it! I love this song," she said and then released Johnny's hand from her own.

"Really? You know who this is?" People who lived in the eighties still had their qualms about listening to eighties music nowadays. He didn't understand why people thought the hair metal bands of his adolescence were overrated or shitty, but it drove him up the fucking wall. He didn't expect the woman beside him to be interested in the Scorpions, partially because his girlfriend back in high school couldn't stand them, and partially because of the fact that Althea was much younger than he was. Her skin was still tight across her body, her eyes didn't have visibly noticeable bags hanging from them or crows-feet peering from the corners, her lips were full and without frown or laugh lines, and her hands were free from the crevice's of aging he'd gained over the years. Sitting beside her youth and beauty, Johnny became all too familiar with his age.

"Of course! Love at First Sting is one of my favorite Scorpion albums," Althea said as she tapped her fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the drums.

"No kidding," Johnny sighed as he listened intently just incase he could hear her singing beneath the volume of the song. "So how do you feel about Warrant?"

"They're okay. They don't rank as highly on my all-time favorites as other bands though," Thea said as she looked over to the man sitting beside her, jealous that he had the opportunity to see all of these amazing bands she grew up loving at the beginning of their journeys.

"You've got my attention," he muttered with a smirk as he tried to keep his eyes from drifting too deeply into hers. "Top five bands from the eighties, go."

"Top five? How can I narrow it down that quickly?" Thea laughed as the music flowed through her ears; meanwhile her laugh tickled his more than the music ever had.

"Easy: Ratt, AC/DC, Aerosmith, Metallica, Speedwagon." A curious smile formed over Johnny's face as he watched Althea nod along in agreeance of each band he added to his favorites list.

"Those are good, but I would definitely have to go with Mötley Crüe, Ozzy Osbourne, Metallica, Pantera, and AC/DC," Althea said as she carefully chose each band on her limited list of favorites.

"Bullshit! Pantera doesn't count," he called out as Althea brought the vehicle to a stop in a parking lot by a semi-enclosed portion of a beach.

"They formed in '81!" she protested passionately against Johnny's comment.

"But their biggest hits came from the nineties! That doesn't make them an eighties band." Althea opened her mouth to scoff at Johnny's comment and turned in her seat to face him.

"I left Nirvana off the list for this exact reason!"

"Nirvana wasn't a thing until well into the nineties," Johnny countered as he adjusted his position to better argue with the woman beside him.

"Nirvana was formed in 1987, technically making them a band from the eighties—"

"You're stretching for that one, Althea," Johnny chuckled. As the corners of his mouth tugged up into a grin, Althea smiled at the sight of his laugh lines as they stretched over his face in momentary joy.

"That's why I didn't include it, so you can at least give me Pantera since I'm allowing REO Speedwagon!"

"What's wrong with Speedwagon?" Johnny scoffed as he noticed Althea's hands becoming more and more fidgety as they sat in the car without purpose. Instinctually, he reached for the door handle and pulled himself from the vehicle with her following suit to continue the conversation.

"They were formed in '67, therefore, they're not technically an eighties band," she said with a smirk as she pulled her arms tight over her body and shivered slightly as the night air of Los Angeles carried a lightly chilly breeze.

"Fine, you can keep Pantera and I'll keep Speedwagon," Johnny chuckled as walked alongside Althea until they found a secluded portion of the beach and lowered themselves into the sand. Being trained in karate meant he was able to perceive even the slightest of movements in his opponent, so Johnny quickly noticed Althea's slight shivering and shed his flannel from his torso. With one of his arms extended around Althea's back holding up the shirt, and the other held on the side of her body he sat next to, she slid her arms through the sleeves and sighed a soft 'thank you' into the night.

There was a familiar tug in Johnny's chest, the one that convinced him to ask Ali Mills out all those years ago, the one that convinced him to open Cobra Kai, the one that told him to strike first, and with ever fiber of his being, he wanted to. He wanted to lose himself in the woman beside him, to forget about his worries and just worry about pleasing her for a moment so he could keep his mind from the bad he'd convinced himself he'd done—not to himself, but to Miguel and Robbie, and all the kids from his dojo that were going to become pawns in Kreese's sociopathic understanding of karate. He wanted to get lost in someone else rather than himself, but something he hadn't experienced in a long time kept him from making a move. In the back of his mind and the bottom of his heart, Johnny felt the pangs of rejection and inferiority.

Before Cobra Kai he'd known these feelings all too well; between his neglecting step-father and being bullied at school for being a loner without friends, Johnny knew what it felt like to not be wanted, to not feel good enough for someone to want to have around. The younger woman beside him could do better than a divorced, border-line alcoholic, small business owner with an eighteen-year-old son that hated him and a kid he'd come to love as his own that he blamed himself for being in the hospital right now without knowing if he will survive. She was beautiful and vibrant with an entire life before her; he was old and withering—his glory days were long behind him and trying to relive them as a sensei was a mistake that had begun to kill him. For once he'd met a woman too far out of his league that he was too cowardly to even take a swing, and the thought of her laughing at him or slapping him for making a move would be too much to add onto his existing stressors.

"Why don't we start in on this," Althea suggested as she unscrewed the cap from the Jack Daniels bottle and took a quick swig. She needed an escape from the endless circular reasoning and downward spiral that her mind had become. She thought that being just shy of thirty meant having a solid portion of her life figured out, or at least enough figured out to have a five-year plan, but with the twists and turns her mother's condition was taking, Althea couldn't even seem to develop a six-month plan for herself. The doctors still weren't certain on the current state of her mother's condition, and the only thing they could tell her was that the cancer was back and aggressive. There was no estimated time left, no plan for treatment other than chemo for now, and no telling if this was something she could bounce back from like before, but Althea knew deep in her bones that her mother had given up. She didn't want to face the reality that in a matter of days or weeks she could be calling her employers to say she would be moving back to Los Angeles to assume guardianship over her brother and begging them to keep her on as a remote employee. She didn't want to face the fact that she would have to find a way to deal with planning and paying for a funeral, looking through her mother's assets, combing through her will, and all of the other unpleasantries that people don't let you know about when a family member dies. She didn't even know how to talk to Demetri about what he wanted through all of this. Did he want to stay living in their parents' home without their parents' presence? Would that be too painful? Would it be comforting? He was so young when their father died, would losing his mother now be more devastating? As all of the questions came sprinting back to Althea's head, she quickly took the bottle of Jack from Johnny's hands, which forced him to spill a splash on the sand, and drank about three shots worth before reluctantly handing it back to the man beside her.

"Shit," Johnny muttered as he brought his attention from the shoreline to Althea. His shirt fell nicely over her body and made her look even more like a punk-rocker than her general appearance portrayed her as, and he had to admit it looked good on her, but his face fell and his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to get a read on her expressions. "You good?" It was a quick and emotionless question that received a nod and then a long exhale from her tight, apprehensive lungs. "You sure?" Johnny asked again after he took another swig from the bottle and then placed it between the two of them.

"I'm fine," Althea muttered helplessly as she watched the water slowly inch its way up the beach with each rolling wave as high-tide approached. "I'm not the type to burden others with my issues." Johnny exhaled deeply as he leaned backwards, propped himself up on his elbows, and gazed out at the water.

"I'm not a good listener, but if you need to bitch about life, I can bitch about it with you," he said as he watched the woman who seemed much smaller than him take another long drink from the whisky.

"It fucking sucks, doesn't it?" Althea let the words escape in anger as she picked up a rock that rested beside her and threw it as far as she could towards the water. "You try to do what you think is right—what the world makes you believe is something you should do—and the reward is what? Your life is never truly your own! You're constantly having to deal with other people's shit, other people's issues, all of the baggage that comes with being a person with other people relying on you."

"It's so much easier not having to deal with other people or developing relationships. Stick to yourself and you don't get hurt." He said the last sentence as if he were repeating a personal manifesto--one that Althea found herself jealous of.

"I wish it was that simple. I wish I didn't have to take care of anyone else and that I got to be alone and on my own for once, and I know that's a selfish and bitchy thing to wish, but I'm struggling to figure out what the fuck I'm supposed to do," Althea sighed as she pulled her knees up, rested her elbows against them, and ran her fingers through her hair in frustration.

"What, are you pregnant or something?" Johnny asked as he grabbed the bottle of Jack instinctively just incase his assumption was correct. When he saw Althea's head shake dismissively back and forth, he placed the bottle back down after he took another drink from it.

"It's just family stuff," she tried to dismiss his inquisition and brought the bottle to her lips again. The glass lip of the whisky bottle tasted faintly of the beer Johnny had been drinking and something else, a flavor she found intoxicating but couldn't place for the life of her.

"Fighting with your husband?" Johnny asked as he took the bottle from Althea's hands and brought it to his mouth again. Hidden faintly by the burn of the liquor, he could taste the sweet notes of coconut that he assumed came from whatever balm or Chapstick that caused Althea's lips to shimmer so seductively.

"Is that your subtle way of asking if I'm married?" she returned in the same dry and emotionless tone Johnny had used to ask his question. After watching him pretend not to know what she was talking about, Althea smirked. His cocky smile was something she'd overlooked as arrogant rather than coy and playful, and she found herself getting lost in the grooves of his lips and cheeks as he flashed an intoxicated grin at her in the darkness. "No, no husband," Althea sighed as she felt her desperation begin to get the best of her. She didn't have any friends in Palo Alto to talk about her issues with, she couldn't burden her mom with her concerns, and she refused to make Demetri feel like his existence was a burden to her, so she kept everything bottled inside...until she looked into those peering, weary, needy blue eyes before her. "My mom is losing a battle I can't fight for her and soon I'll be the only person left in my family to take care of my little brother." Johnny bit his lip and sighed empathetically as he leaned in towards Althea and pressed the bottle to her lips for her. She tilted her head back and allowed him to dump whatever amount of whisky he planned to down her throat, but was thankful he only gave he a small swig.

"Was your father a dick like mine and take off on your mom?" Johnny asked bitterly as he brought the bottle to his lips, mostly just to taste the coconut he knew came from hers.

"He was killed by a drunk driver nine years ago," Althea muttered into the cool air around her and Johnny immediately felt like an asshole for his comment.

"I'm sorry, Althea, I didn't mean to insult him," Johnny said as he tried to extend his hand to apologetically rest on her arm, but lost his balance and ended up pressing his shoulder against hers. Unexpectedly, he felt Althea gently lean into him, so he extended his arm out behind her back to keep them both from falling over due to their intoxication.

"You didn't," she sighed as she clumsily reached across Johnny for the bottle of whisky that sat in the sand on the opposite side of Johnny's body. "Sorry about your dad being a piece of shit though," she said in a light, almost distant voice as both Althea and Johnny began to come to terms with their level of intoxication. The bottle had been full a mere ten minutes ago, and now it barely had enough liquid in it to make a sloshing sound when Althea plucked it from where it rested beside Johnny's hip. She was glad to feel the burn of liquor against the walls of her throat, happy to at least have that physical pain to distract her from the emotional pain that had been tearing at her heart for years.

"Dad, stepdad, they were both pieces of shit," Johnny sighed as he balled his hand that rested on the ground into a fist and gripped tightly to the grains of sand between his fingers and in his palm. "It's probably why I'm such a piece of shit." His hands grew tighter and his mind was focused on the tension in his fingers as he continued to pull his hands into tighter and tighter balls of anger.

"You can't be that much of piece of shit," Althea sighed as she leaned off of his shoulder for a moment to gently place her finger tips along his bicep as a way to get him to look at her.

"I'm a shitty father to my own kid who left him and his mom just like my dad did to me, except I didn't do it before he was born; he got to know me—he got to be used to me being there, and then I left," Johnny began his sentence as a mutter, but with each word his voice grew louder until he seemed to be cursing himself.

"Would his life be any better if you stayed with his mom?" Althea asked as she absentmindedly began to trace her thumb along the seam on the sleeve of Johnny's t-shirt.

"She and I hated each other!"

"So, no?" Althea interjected. "So, he would have grown up with hate and anger being the foundation of his life? So even if he's bitter at you now, he at least he doesn't resent you, right? If it means your kid will have a better chance in life, sometimes leaving is what you have to do."

"I never wanted to be my father or my stepfather, and now I'm fucking both," Johnny sighed as he forced the almost empty bottle into the sand between himself and Althea and then shoved his fingers through his fine, blonde hair. "You don't know me, Althea. Everyone who does would tell you exactly what I'm saying: I'm a no good, loser, piece of shit! Those assholes were right foe beating the shit out of me." Hesitant to show weakness, Johnny fought the urge to let any emotion other than anger escape his lips, so he folded his legs over one another, leaned forward, and stared out into the open, desperate to keep his eyes from meeting Althea's.

"If you're as much of a piece of shit as you think, you would have told me to fuck off for trying to make sure you didn't kill yourself, you wouldn't be letting me bitch about my life to you, and you would have called me out for being a selfish bitch." She slurred her words together with strange intervals of silence between certain phrases, but Johnny was also drunk and understood her slurred speech as the native tongue of the alcohol infused.

"You're not a bitch, Althea. I wouldn't have ever said that," Johnny sighed as he turned back to the woman beside him. The sun had begun to set on their drive to the beach, and with every passing second that led to the darkness they both currently sat in, Johnny thought Althea's beauty couldn't be matched as the golden rays of the sun danced over her skin; however, seeing her in the moonlight, he knew this was her purest form of beauty. It was as if her eyes were meant to be stars with the purpose of guiding lost souls to joy, as if her skin was meant to glow like a beacon under the light of the night to bring the wandering home. "You're dealing with a lot and deserve to be afraid of losing the ability to be selfish. All I've ever been was selfish, and it's screwed me so many times."

"All I've ever been is selfless, and now it looks like I'll never have the option of putting what I want first," she said gently as the fingers on her right hand began to trace small patterns in the sand in the sand between her and Johnny's hips.

"You're still so young! You have time to figure things out—"

"I could become a parent to a teenager in a matter of weeks or even hours!" Althea protested, "It's not like I have a lot of time to figure this out!"

"Use the time you have left to take what you want before life starts taking everything from you. Be selfish now!" Johnny's chest heaved as he spoke, and although Althea was partially focused on finishing the rest of the whiskey, she couldn't keep her eyes from him. There was a passion in his words that he expressed with his body, and something about what he told her, or the way he said it, forced all the courage she had pent up in her body to come spouting out. With the bottle still in her left hand, Althea reached up, wrapped her left arm over Johnny's shoulder, and placed his neck in the crook of her elbow before she leaned forward to meet his lips. For some reason she expected them to be rough, but as she placed her lips to his, she felt comforted and welcomed by their soft embrace. Slowly, she tugged against his shirt as she leaned back in an attempt to signal him to follow. Johnny listened to her movements and placed his hands on either side of Althea's shoulders as he leaned over and felt her legs wrap around his waist. He wanted to see how far he could push this, but the same feeling of uncertainty that kept him from striking first was back and left an embarrassing hole in his heart. She doesn't want you. She's just drunk and you're just here. She could have anyone, why would she want you?

Althea's eyes flicked open the second she felt Johnny's lips leave hers and his hands attempt to push her legs off of him. "Shit," she muttered and quickly hid her face. "I misread this, didn't I?"

"You're drunk, Althea; I'm not going to take advantage of you like that." Had the man he had been three years ago heard him just now, he would have punched himself. Getting drunk and finding drunk chicks to hook up with was who he was back then; maybe she was right, maybe he wasn't such a piece of shit. "I don't want to hurt you or have you wake up tomorrow thinking some asshole took advantage of you."

As Althea lay beneath Johnny, her arms stretched out over her head in the sand, her feet now on the ground, and knees positioned on either side of his torso, she took a deep breath and stared up into his baby blue eyes. "I'm not going to pretend like I'm the most sober person in the world right now, but you told me to be selfish—to take what I want before life starts taking things from me, so that's what I did." With a hesitant breath escaping her lungs, she added, "if I crossed a line, I'm sorry, I just thought—"

"Are you sure?" Johnny's voice echoed out over hers as he stared down into those damned eyes of hers.

"Am I sure of what?" she asked with a rather confused look on her face. How could she be any more blatant about her intentions? She told him she wanted him and apologized for crossing a line with him—if anything, in her mind, she was the one taking advantage of someone and should be apologizing.

"Are you sure you want to do this with me?" His voice faltered only for a moment, and he was certain Althea hadn't noticed, but the fact that his voice was getting caught in his throat and he kept second guessing whether or not a woman was into him made Johnny feel like that dorky, nerdy, loser he used to be who didn't believe he was worth anything. Why does it feel like this--like I don't know what I'm doing? Like I'm trying to tell her I'm a mistake?

"Why? You don't have something you haven't disclosed, do you?" Althea asked with an eyebrow raised up at Johnny.

"No!"

"Then why are you asking me if I'm sure about you?" Johnny stared down at her, baffled that she wasn't seeing the clear as day elephant that plagued the room.

"I'm not exactly close to your age," he said in a slow, hesitant manner. He tried to convince himself that surely this time she'd push him away and grumble about some old creep coming on to her, but instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, lifted her body off the ground and pressed it to his.

"If anything, that means you should really know what you're doing," she whispered against his ear and her hot breath against his neck caused his hair to stand on end. Johnny lowered himself to the ground until he felt her breasts press lightly into his chest. He lowered his forehead to hers and lightly pressed his lips against hers. For some reason, he expected the soft, delicate kiss she initiated to be the one he received, but he was met with a passion and lust as Althea's lips crashed against his. He quickly adjusted to her pace and gently grasped her bottom lip with his teeth. Instantly, she began to bite his upper lip, so he slipped his tongue between her teeth and began to explore her mouth. She tasted the same as he expected he did, like Jack Daniels, and it was refreshing. Slowly, he pulled his lips away from hers again, but this time he did so to admire her. His shadow moved away from her face and the moon quickly lit up her eyes and smile. "Are you that worried about the age thing?" she asked as she took a breath. Johnny was sure Althea wasn't trying to be as sultry as she was coming off as, but everything she did was just so enticing.

"You're just so beautiful," he softly said in response to her question before he leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on Althea's lips. Beautiful. The word hung in her mind and his voice repeated it in her head as her hands found their way up his shirt. She hadn't had anyone look into her eyes and tell her she was beautiful, she'd been called sexy and hot, but never beautiful. She'd had guys complain about dating her for so long without her putting out, but never had someone question whether she was sure she wanted to be with them. She'd often be forced to be on top, and was foreign to feeling the weight of a man on top of her. With Johnny laying on top of her, Althea could feel every breath he took, every movement he made, and his weight against her that pressed her into the sand made her feel safe. Even though she was fully clothed, if she were to be sitting on top of him and straddling his hips, she would have felt so exposed and vulnerable. Lying beneath him with his arms on either side of her, she felt protected. Suddenly, she felt Johnny shift his weight off of her and a chilly breeze caught her off guard.

"Hold on a second," he said as he stood up, "I'll be right back." As Johnny hurried back to his car, Althea could hear the steady rhythm of his feet being absorbed into the sand fade as he jogged away, and then crescendo on his return trip. Althea had sat up when he rolled off of her, concerned she had taken it too far again by sliding her hands under his shirt, but a small smile fell over her face when she noticed him return with a large blanket.

"Do you keep that handy for your beach hook ups?" she teased. It didn't matter to her if she wasn't the first woman he'd been with her or anywhere, but Johnny immediately corrected her with a very serious look on his face.

"I work late sometimes and fall asleep in my office, which is always freezing," he responded before he dropped down and resumed his position between Althea's legs. "I noticed you were cold, so I thought it would help," Johnny said as he pulled the blanket around his shoulders and let it drape over him as he leaned over Althea and pressed his body down into hers.

"Sorry about my hands," she said softly as she pulled them away from Johnny and held them against her hips.

"Don't be," he sighed as he gently took her arm and moved her hands back to his stomach. Her hands were freezing to the touch, but Johnny couldn't remember the last time a woman had touched him so selflessly. Even as Althea was trying to be selfish and take what she wanted, she was still so kind, and despite how her hands felt like ice against his skin, she was warm. Johnny cursed himself as he caught himself thinking too much into how he felt. That's not what you do with hook ups, Lawrence, he mentally growled at himself, but as her hands gently grazed his stomach and chest before the found their way to his shoulders, he leaned into her and how he felt being with her. Slowly, he pulled a hand from where it rested by Althea's face and slipped his fingers beneath the hem of her shirt. As much as he wanted to see her body under the light of the moon, he didn't want to strip her down in a place that didn't have the privacy provided by a locking door. His fingers traced against her skin and he could feel small indentions of her abdomen. Fuck me, Johnny thought as he imagined what Althea looked like with abs. Just how athletic is she?

Althea took a deep breath as Johnny's hand found her breast, and she could feel him lightly trace where the lace of her bra met her skin. They're usually done by now, she thought as she remembered the majority of her previous sexual encounters. An ache ripped through Althea's stomach as she felt Johnny's fingers leave her breasts and slowly trace her skin along the hem of her pants. There was an anticipation that rattled her bones and seemed to shake her to her core as he found the button on the inside hem of her dress pants and then tugged the zipper down. Johnny's knuckles grazed the lace on her underwear as Althea shifted her pants slightly lower down her legs, and a lump rose in his throat as he tried to focus on what he was doing. As he gently maneuvered his hand between their bodies and along the lace underwear she wore, Johnny could feel Althea's body lightly shake beneath him and he realized she really did want him.

Johnny's core seized up the second he felt her palm him over his pants, so he shifted his lower body away from her reach and shook his head lightly. "Be selfish," he said softly before he pushed her underwear to the side and slipped two fingers inside of her to wet them. She let out a soft groan the second he entered her and then sighed when he pulled away. Slowly, he leaned over and kissed her again as his index finger swirled around on her clit. It was a slow, agonizing motion that Althea took as him teasing her, but as he continued, she became weaker and weaker to his touch. Slowly, he quickened his pace and altered between pleasing Althea internally and externally, with each sound from her mouth and each expression on her face driving him more and more insane.

Althea tried to be selfish, she tried not to touch Johnny when he was within reach, and so she leaned back and enjoyed what he did to her. She allowed her stomach to tighten and her legs to shake; she allowed herself to be selfish and be the only one that was pleasured, but the thought crossed her mind that she could be selfish with him. With Johnny still hovering slightly above her, Althea unbuttoned his pants, pulled down the zipper, and pulled him from his underwear. He tried to protest, but she had already pushed his hand aside, placed his cock at her entrance, and bucked her hips up so that she was wrapped completely around him without him even having to thrust. There was no arguing with her, she was ready for him and she was taking him.

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