#this is all my brain has been screaming at me

[kumkaniudaku]

Midterm

Summary: When Asia's in need of a few lessons regarding matters of the bedroom, her colleague and friend, Kelvin, offers his expertise.

Pairing: Kelvin Harrison Jr. x Black!OC

Warnings: Mature Content (18+)

Word Count: 6k

MASTERLIST

Reading a congratulatory email with kind words and instructions to sign a lucrative offer was easy. Simply slip out of your third boring morning meeting, disappear into the surprisingly vacant courtyard, and spend no less than 30 minutes oscillating between excitement and sheer panic while clicking through pages of contracts to add your digital signature to an encrypted document. Kelvin followed the plan to the letter and then some. 

The hard part was stifling the urge to scream at the birds and trees during peak business hours. 

Voice low and eyes shifting in search of potential eavesdroppers, he sat in pensive silence to contemplate the gravity of his decision. In a little over a month, he'd be a Chicago resident. He'd wake up in his Chicago apartment, walk the Chicago streets, pass by Chicagoans on the way to his Chicago office, and then grab dinner ingredients at a Chicago grocery store. His license would change. Mail would need a new forwarding address. Updated voter registration, new doctors, a change in insurance, learning a transit system; change after change both excited and unnerved Kelvin all at once.

Part of him wanted to barge into his Head of Creative's office and slam his resignation on the table before clicking his heels together on the way out the door. Fuck this job. New and greener pastures were on the horizon! The other part, the terrified part of him that'd been worried sick since Saturday morning, couldn't even say the words out loud for fear that the wooden benches would absorb and tell his secret before he'd had time to craft poetic, well-thought-out lines. 

In his mind, Kelvin thought he'd managed to maintain an impenetrable poker face. To a stranger or work acquaintance unschooled in Kelvin-ology, he could come across as convincing enough to overlook. For Asia, watching him from the communal kitchen, worry causing his knee to bounce in triple time told a different story. 

"You know you can just go out there and talk to him, right?" Savannah's sarcastic introduction to an otherwise quiet moment cut through Asia's brain fog enough to garner attention as she shifted her weight from one side to the other. "I'm joking," Savannah laughed, trying to ease the tension between them. Asia's quick glance at the back of Kelvin's head provided the final number of a winning lottery sequence. "Wow, you really like him. Like, you two are a couple! I knew it." 

Asia tried to remain casual as she crossed her arms and shrugged. "What are you talking about? Kel is my work friend." 

"Must be a hell of a work friend for you to spend the night from his place. I noticed the cabinets, but I couldn't confirm until later that day when Kelvin took a meeting from the same place." 

Savannah's cheeky grin sparked fear in Asia's heart. Widening her eyes, she craned her neck to see who may have heard her business in the area.

She leaned closer, keeping her voice low as she spoke. "You can't say that out loud," she cautioned. "We're being discreet!" 

"Love you so much, Asia, but literally everyone knows."

"Everyone like who?" 

"Asia," Savannah reiterated. "Every. One. The main crew has a group chat and everything. You just won me $20 bee-tee-dubbs. I'll share, promise."

Panic should've set in for Asia. Maybe dread and a tinge of fear. They'd broken another rule and crossed another carefully considered boundary in the pursuit of each other. Asia should've been nervous about how their not-so-secret pining had run through the office rumor mill and what it might mean for perceptions of her professionalism as one of the few Black women in the building. But relief was the only emotion worth exploring in the immediate aftermath of Savannah's revelation. 

No more hiding. No more planning entrances five minutes apart or driving separate vehicles in busy morning traffic when one would suffice. They could share dinner leftovers during lunch and stop sneaking quiet giggles at jokes shared via text. No more hiding. 

Relief helped Asia slowly release the extra air tightening her lungs and expanding her chest. She nodded at nothing in particular. "I expect my cut in all ones. It's for our strip club fund." 

"Oooh, spicy," Savannah sang, stepping closer to speak in a hushed whisper. "So… how's it going with you two? How different is personal time Kelvin from work Kelvin?" 

"Uh, I mean, you know. He's…you know." 

Any sense of calm that offered a reprieve from an onslaught of complicated feelings was quickly replaced by the need to run out of the room and vomit. Knowing was one thing. Asking questions and wanting the scoop on something Asia deemed sacred and untouchable in conversation beyond what she chose to share was different. 

Words sputtered from her lips as she tried to offer an explanation vague enough to get Savannah off her ass. The quiet roar of glass panes sliding on a metal track clipped Asia's start-and-stop sentence, turning all attention to Kelvin as he stepped in, looking like he'd just had his heart ripped in two and was trying but failing to keep his emotions intact. Savannah didn't seem to notice when she flagged him over. Asia couldn't take her eyes off his frown and sullen expression. Kelvin knew his face had betrayed him as soon as he was close enough for a thorough look at the questions knitting Asia's brows together. 

Trying to play it cool, he swiftly pulled his hand out of his pocket and offered a wave to both ladies. "What's up?" A greeting he'd used a million times suddenly sounded bizarre. First mistake. 

"Hiii!" Savannah's severe lack of subtly pulled a reluctant laugh from Kelvin before he shifted his gaze to focus on Asia. 

"Asia. You good?" 

She smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. What about you? You good?" 

"I'm good now, yeah." 

Anxieties feasting on his mind momentarily paused in reverence for Asia's presence. A true breath of fresh air. One he'd fight tooth and nail to keep in his life, distance be damned. 

Savannah stood between the pair and their smitten grins, looking back and forth to see who'd make the first move. "This is just the cutest shit ever. I can't take it." Googly eyes slowly turned into blank stares aimed in her direction. Hint taken. "No, you're so right. I should get out of here. Asia, remember to put the thing on the slide at some point. In the one deck."

"Bye, Savannah!" Kelvin and Asia watched Savannah awkwardly scurry off to do only God knows what until they were safely alone. 

Without a buffer to fill in the gaps, all the nausea-inducing worry from the morning's events came flooding back for Kelvin in another crushing wave. Had he been thinking straight, he would've opted to save such delicate news for the privacy of his living room when all the thoughts sitting jumbled like Soul Train board letters were sorted into the proper place. Unfortunately, life-changing information sure to shake the still-wet foundation on which they'd built their relationship ran off with his rationale long ago. 

Kelvin opened his mouth to speak, then closed it when words didn't come out. He tried again. Then, one more time before finally forcing, "I have…something to tell you," into the atmosphere. 

Asia tilted her head in curiosity. "So do I. Is yours good news or bad news?" 

"Doesn't matter," he answered, trying to smile through the rapid thudding in his ears. "You go first." 

Don't press, Asia. Resist! An inner monologue determined to usher Asia away from the sins of her past forced back 101 questions to make way for her surprise. "You know how the Moët client is looking for new artists for that summer series activation?" Kelvin nodded, vaguely remembering project details he'd contributed to in a past life. Asia reached into her back pocket to showcase two laminated passes on lanyards. "I convinced Chris and Sid to give me their passes so we could pull up. Now, we don't have to go all the way to Australia to see RINI. Fun, right?" 

Kelvin recognized the big reveal as something he should be excited about. And, had present circumstances not reared its ugly head, he'd have no trouble sharing Asia's toothy grin and silly dance. He tried to fight the heavy haze clouding his day by raising his hand for a high five and flashing a vacant smile. "That's great, baby. I'm excited. Really." 

So much for honesty.

Asia couldn't hide her skepticism, pushing her eyebrows high, and Kelvin couldn't hide his discomfort, which made him fidget with the contents of his front pockets.  

"Yeah," Asia answered, disappointment in his half-assed reaction instantly stealing the light in her eyes and turning her bright smile into a shell of itself. "Um, what was your news? Anything good?" 

Tact was never Kelvin's strong point. Breakups over text and ghosting were more his speed, no matter how much he hated that fact about himself. What everyone else saw as sleazeball behavior reserved for fuckboys deserving of eternal banishment to hell, he saw as protecting feelings. 

Promises were promises, and Asia was worth more than slipping back into bad habits. Kelvin had to rip the band-aid and deal with the residual blood later. "Remember the Chicago job?" he asked, wringing his hands.

Oh no. Intuition and a random tarot reader told Asia to be on the lookout for roadblocks, but, dammit, she thought that meant traffic on the interstate or an annoying client ask, not the nagging tug of the Midwest. 

"Yeah," she answered cautiously. 

Kelvin adjusted the hydrant-red beanie on his head and sighed. Rip. The. Band-Aid. "They…called me back with all my negotiation demands met. And…”

"You took the job." 

Patience was never Asia's virtue. Why beat around the bush when they could lay all the bad shit on the table and try to salvage a few pieces good enough to keep for fond memories later? 

"Yeah." The finished sentence turned an abstract concept into reality, weighing so heavily on him that he found looking Asia in the eye and lifting his head too difficult. He repeated after her in a low, measured voice, "I took the job." 

Suddenly, Asia couldn't help but hyper-fixate on her surroundings. The low hum of two French door refrigerators holding employee lunches was annoying. It always had been, but today, it sounded like an army of flies buzzing around the mess Kelvin's news had created. Distant laughter made her nostrils flare. How dare someone find joy in a time like this? The kitchen was too big and too open to contain the grief rising within her. Then, the stupid ping of notifications on Kelvin's phone threatened to blow her gasket. The stimuli converged simultaneously, bringing fresh tears to prickle at her waterline. 

Asia forced them all back while Kelvin waited for her to say something to prove she didn't hate him. She extended a closed fist in his direction to match a closed-mouth smile. "Congratulations, Kel. I'm so proud of you. If we were somewhere else, I'd hug you." 

"Hug me to sneak in for a choke or a real hug?" 

"A real one," Asia chuckled, the sound of it returning to her stilted and lacking the mirth she intended. "I know you're bored here. You gotta do what you gotta do, right?" 

Past all the hurt feelings and rage bubbling in her chest, Asia couldn't allow herself to stomp out Kelvin's fire with negativity. She'd save that for a tearful phone call with Sabrina or a good cry in the shower. Kelvin needed reassurance that he'd made the right decision, not the moaning and wailing she had planned for a moment alone. 

"Yeah…" Kelvin paused to scan Asia's face for any sign of an impending adverse reaction but found none before he answered. Nothing. Not a shred of any identifiable emotion presented itself to Kelvin. Anxiety gripped him again. "Asia, don't shut me out. I know you have questions and fuckin' feelings. C'mon. Don't leave me out here by myself." 

"Not here." An almost undetectable waver in her voice was enough to shatter Kelvin's heart into a million pieces. He watched her blink back tears to speak again. "Can we just be happy, please? For a little longer?" 

He sighed, accepting defeat. "Okay." A mental reminder to add 'needs a moment before tough conversations' to his running list of things to know about Asia ran through his brain like neon letters on a marquee. 

His index and middle fingers brushed across his puckered lips, collecting affection he quickly passed on to Asia. She kissed the spot his lips once occupied as a silent promise to revisit the subject when heightened emotions had time to return to baseline. 

"You hungry? My treat." 

An olive branch. Collective ease passed between them once Kelvin flashed a toothy grin at Asia and gestured ahead of him toward the courtyard doors. "After you."

What Kelvin couldn't have in her raw, unfiltered thoughts, he was more than happy to gain in a spare moment of mindless chatter over sushi a block away. 

Something was better than nothing. 

If left up to Asia, Chicago and all its complications would disappear because of her commitment to ignoring them.

City sounds and radio chatter on Saturday evening had spent more time filling silent gaps of conversation than Kelvin and Asia had for two straight days. The elephant in the room quickly became the elephant at the dinner table late Thursday night when Asia side-stepped the topic to discuss Married at First Sight instead, the elephant in the bedroom when the thought of Chicago kept her mind wandering too much to enjoy Kelvin feasting between her legs, and the elephant in the backseat while she pretended not to notice her boyfriend stealing glances at the red light.

Given the chance, Asia could avoid broaching the topic for weeks. Kelvin, on the other hand, couldn't ignore issues festering into resentment day by day. Before long, he'd carefully label boxes and precious belongings to ship to their new home. Being on the brink of drastic change without a resolution wasn't an option.

Standstill traffic and a small car accident separating them from their destination provided the perfect opportunity to catch Asia in close quarters and force the issue. Kelvin took a deep breath and slowly turned the volume down on one of Tyler the Creators' piano-heavy tracks, earning a confused side-eye for his behavior. 

"Everything okay," Asia asked, shifting her body towards Kelvin so he could feel the full weight of her annoyance. 

He shrugged. "You tell me, Asia. I'm not the one tiptoeing around some really important shit right now. Is everything okay?" 

"Kelvin, not right now. We can talk about it when we get back tonight." 

Arms crossed at her chest, and a deep frown sent Asia retreating into herself, frustrating Kelvin to the point of no return. When he imagined the first roadblock in their relationship, hogging the covers or choosing the thermostat's temperature came to mind. He expected little hurdles to make room for the big stuff. The relationship-altering, make-or-break whammies either strengthened a couple or sent them careening toward total implosion. This behemoth was a tsunami of complications he didn't expect but wouldn't allow to throw him off course. 

"You said that last night and the night before. I'm tired of 'tonights!' It's happening, Asia! We can't get around the shit. So, talk to me right now!" Kelvin's body vibrated in time with his hands gripping and releasing the steering wheel until he practiced in and out deep, soothing breaths brought him back off the ledge. Asia watched his shoulders slowly slump away from his ears before he reached over to rest a warm palm on her inner thigh to stroke his thumb against smooth denim, his eyes apologetic as he looked over at her. "I didn't ask you to be with me for no reason. Can we talk about what all this means for us?" 

Asia rested her hand atop his to twist the ring on his finger while she tried to gather words and explanations she'd practiced for days on end. "I don't know." 

In all her soul-searching and reckoning with the inevitable, she realized that she had no idea what the next steps were. 

She always had the answers, the plan, and the foresight to know how to proceed in any situation. This one, though – this flurry of warm feelings filled with complicated explanations and head-spinning romance – she couldn't figure out. Not even when she turned to practical skills and timeline plotting to make it all make sense. 

I don't know. Kelvin wasn't sure what he expected when he decided to corner Asia for an answer, but that wasn't it. Not knowing was worse than not caring. He could deal with the finality of no longer giving a fuck. However, the uncertainty in what he thought was a reasonably black-or-white scenario was unnerving. Kelvin let the gut punch settle until Asia spoke again to soothe the pain she'd inflicted.

"How…how would it work," She questioned in a small voice, her eyes low to avoid cracking the nerve she'd built. "Tell me you have a plan. Because, if you don't, I –" 

Kelvin rushed to reassure her. "I have a plan. Trust me." For once in his life, Kelvin was moving intentionally. No stone left unturned; no possibility left up to chance. "I leave in six weeks. Give me two to get my shit together, and you're on the first flight into O'Hare." 

"And after that?" 

"We'll talk every morning and every night. Then I'm on my way to you every other week, baby. And every other month, I'll make sure you get to me. Nonstop flight. The price doesn't matter. All you need is a packed suitcase. Or not. You can be naked the whole time. That's fine by me." 

Two nonstop flights a month, airport pickups and drop-offs every other week, Fridays in, Monday mornings out, constant connection over the phone when the physical was out of the question—simple enough. There was no fluff, only a concerted effort to make a less-than-ideal situation work. The happiness didn't have to die if they didn't let it. 

Still, Asia wrestled with separating idyllic assumptions from reality. What happened when schedules presented challenges? Or when the weather interrupted? Did distance make the heart grow fonder or help intertwined lives push away the realities of life together hundreds of miles apart. 

Kelvin could see the wheel turning for Asia while she mulled over his proposal from every angle. "Give me a little more time, okay?" Deflating. The air in Kelvin's sails came through his nose in a disappointed huff just as traffic began to pick up enough for steady motion. She held his hand in place, hoping he could feel the intention behind her hesitancy. "I'm not closing the door on us. I need to make sure we're prepared. That's all." 

The absence of an enthusiastic yes wasn't a no – another tidbit to add to Kelvin's growing Asia file. He'd have to find comfort in the details to keep her in his life. And damn, did he want to keep her in his life. His plan had more legs, including a permanent address change for Asia. 

"That's okay. Take your time," he answered as he laced their fingers together and brought the back of her hand to his lips. "Just don't leave me hanging like that again." 

"I won't. I'm sorry."

Relationships came with a learning curve Asia had to experience to understand. No one in her life had prepared her for conflict resolution. Being an only child taught her how to play by herself and keep her secrets close to her chest. There was nothing in the manual about coexisting with another human she cared for more and more each day. She didn't know how to share items or feelings. But Kelvin made her want to try. That had to count for something. 

Once tense quiet returned to the comfortable, wordless quality time Kelvin and Asia had come to enjoy, it followed them for miles to the venue until the need to mix and mingle took center stage. 

In a room full of strangers intermixed with a few familiar faces, they moved around like a couple for the first time. Introductions as a tandem flowed naturally. Seeing them move from group to group hand in hand amused but didn't surprise team members who'd long had their suspicions confirmed by Savannah. 'Alvin' as one member of the group named them. Not their preferred choice, but good enough for the moment. 

As alcohol flowed and inhibitions were disarmed, smooth crooning and soul-stirring baselines from the artist of the hour pushed tomorrow's problems further down the road. 

Kelvin kept a hand on Asia's hip while she allowed her body to sway along with RINI's soulful cover of Leon Bridges' "That's What I Love." Hearing his voice beyond the warbling of his JBL speaker from Asia blasting music far too loudly reminded Kelvin of the first time she shared her new favorite artist with him. She made him listen to Ultraviolet twice all the way through, forcing him to commit more lyrics to memory than he ever did for any other artist. Truthfully, the music didn't hit the same when she wasn't in the room. He tried listening on his own, but it was missing something or someone to add the depth he needed to make the album spin worth his time. 

Applause filled the room just after the final strum of RINI's guitar reverberated. Asia beamed from a spot toward the back. Asia claimed she was fine where she was, but Kelvin knew she was too scared to get close and act like a crazed fan. His lips found her temple for a quick kiss as RINI prepared to end his showcase. 

"I gotta find a way to get out to the States more. This is great," he laughed, causing the audience to join him. "My time is ending, but I can't go without singing the song that put me on your radar. Big thanks to Moët for letting me spend some time with you tonight. I'm excited to get to work this summer. Until then, this is Meet Me in Amsterdam. I hope you enjoy."

Asia couldn't contain her squeal, earning a low laugh from Kelvin once the open notes of her favorite song began. 

I would sail across the world

Row this boat from dusk till dawn

Kelvin and Asia had heard the song plenty of times together, so much so that Kelvin was tired of its slow drone and accompanying music video. Both RINI and Meet Me in Amsterdam were on his list of things he could live without and still die a happy man. 

Until the lyrics started to circle too close to home. A plea for the songwriter's love to make the leap and meet him in a foreign land felt like a page ripped directly from Kelvin's journal. Had he possessed the talent, he would've sung into Asia's ear while she leaned against him, caught in the rapture of beautiful lyrics. 

She didn't need Kelvin's additional vocal performance to know her partner had fallen victim to the magic. She was right there with him, letting the music speak where neither her heart nor mind could reach. 

Won't you come closer; let it take over

I don't need anything; I just want you

"I just want you." The words came out before Asia could stop them. She was never one to fall into the melodrama of romance, but maybe she'd never had an adequate opportunity. Maybe all she needed was a few glasses of white wine and a man looking back at her like universes formed in her eyes to give in to what she'd always considered unrealistic and a little corny. 

Kelvin wrapped an arm around her waist before dipping his head to meet her parted lips as she craned her neck to get a better look at his face. "You got me." 

Turning in his arms, she faced him head-on. "I want to try. For you. Let's make it work." 

"Every other week. I swear."

"I know. I believe you." 

Rolling waves filled with blinding passion set their bodies aflame, connecting them for a kiss too searing to start and end in a room full of people. Some things were best experienced behind doors clumsily kicked closed after Kelvin and Asia burst through the door of his apartment connected at the mouth. 

Small items clattered on the ground as they bumped into the wall, sending anything not bolted to Kelvin's entryway table scattering in the darkness. The moonlight streaming through his balcony door was the only light to illuminate their path. They couldn't care less. Kissing and fondling were their only priorities on the way to shedding extraneous clothing. 

The bedroom was too far, and the couch didn't provide enough leverage for what Kelvin wanted to do for Asia. The counter was too high off the ground, unfortunately. The table, though, was perfect. 

Kelvin thanked God for weightlifting as he hoisted Asia up into his arms, tongues still dancing as he walked them across the room. Asia used her forearm to swipe decorative mats and rattan charger plates to the floor so her backside could fill the empty space. 

Soft panting and the light smack of lips coming together and separating rhythmically filled charged cold air. Asia flinched when Kelvin slipped his hand beneath her t-shirt to reach her bra's front clasp. 

"Take this off. Hurry up," Kelvin demanded as he stepped back to pull his crewneck over his head.  He didn't have time for frilly language and sweet kisses. Maybe later, when they'd calmed down from their high. This first fuck was for all the sessions they'd missed between quiet nights in and words left unsaid. A little something to take the edge off. 

Zippers sliding down, garments rustling, and leather sliding out of thin loops made Kelvin's apartment sound like a department store dressing room until they were reconnected in mind and body.

Half-dressed with goosebumps pebbling an expanse of rich brown skin, lovers let their hands roam freely while they grinded against each other. 

Asia moaned at the feel of teeth gently tugging her bottom lip before pulling away to breathe. "C'mon, Kel. Right now," she rushed on in one breath. "I need it." 

"What about the condom? It'll only take a second." Kelvin asked, half-hoping but not expecting Asia to abandon her primary stipulation. 

"Fuck a condom. C'mon." 

The go-ahead to proceed with caution thrown to the wind put them on a path to the sort of carnal and fleshly satisfaction Kelvin's father warned him about before he left home at 18. 

Sorry, dad. This shit feels way too good to miss out on, Kelvin thought to himself as he slid into Asia's warmth inch by inch. He was weightless for a moment, floating in otherworldly bliss while he fit himself inside her body. "Fuck," he whispered. 

"Oh…yes. Yesyesyes." Asia's toes curled, gripping at nothing in a desperate attempt to remain tethered to the atmosphere. "Wait a second. Don't move." Crossing her ankles at the small of his back, Asia pulled Kelvin in a little deeper, smiling at the small groan he muffled against her skin. She just needed to feel him. In six weeks, they'd have to plan moments of intimacy and simulate sex through a screen, waiting for the day they could be together in the flesh. Tonight, with his body filling every dip and ridge like the final piece to a puzzle, they could kick the can down the road for a few more days. "Okay. I'm ready." 

Agonizingly slow thrusts helped them get acquainted with one another in a new way. Kelvin lifted his head from the crook of Asia's neck, yearning to look her in the eyes for an added layer of closeness. He pecked her nose, lips, chin, cheeks, and lips again, trying to keep those three words at bay. 

"Faster, baby." A firm request teetering on begging broke through Kelvin's haze while Asia tried to pull him into her body by his shoulders. 

He smirked. "Oh, you can talk now?" His taunting made Asia squirm against him for extra friction before he stopped and held her in place. "You up for another lesson?" 

"Mhmm," she forced out, hoping her compliance would get her closer to the real fun. 

"You been quiet all week. Imma need to hear you tonight if you wanna cum."

A horny, exasperated sigh preceded a short whimper. "What? I don't know how t –"

"Yeah, you do," Kelvin encouraged. Tell me what you want, and then I'll give you what you need." 

Near painful throbbing has Asia ready to agree to anything if it meant she could finally come off some of the pressure from a stressful week. Quick agreeance earned her a return to Kelvin's slow back and forth, a shiver hitting both their spines as he took a shallow dive inside.

Asia took a deep breath and tested her voice. "You - you feel so good?" She closed her eyes, hoping Kelvin would take pity on her feeble attempt only to be rewarded with nothing. She tried again. "Right there, baby." 

"We'll be here all night. Relax. Be confident." 

Relax. Be confident. The gentle reminder and suckling at her neck helped Asia partially release the valve on her nervousness. Kelvin rocked into her expert precision and care, waiting to hear more. 

A choppy moan caught in her throat before she could speak again. "You fuck me so good. You really thought I was gonna let you get that far away from me?" 

Kelvin groaned and sped up enough for Asia to notice. She smiled, palming the back of his head to keep him close. 

"There it is," he whispered. "Keep goin', beautiful. Tell me some more." 

Bingo. Electricity sparking between them opened up a whole new world of vocal possibility. "I want all you got tonight, baby. Can you do that for me? Fuck me until I can't take anymore?" 

"Uh-huh. I got you." 

Asia rubbed circles at the nape of his neck, feeling a jolt in her body from another change in pace. "Mmm. Deeper, baby. You can do better than that, right? For me?" Her provocation ignited a burning desire for Kelvin to perform. He needed the glory. Asia dropped her talking display long enough to moan through her man putting his entire being into testing the limits of his little circular wooden table. 

If sweet talk couldn't get him to knock the rings out of her, goading him with a challenge undoubtedly did the trick. Scratching against his back, demanding more depth, more speed, and more kissing spurred Kelvin into fast, furious fucking. 

In no time, they were close. Deliciously, dangerously close. No protection meant no staying for the final hoorah. He had to time his exit perfectly for the right mix of precision and mutual satisfaction. Though Kelvin seemed to care, Asia was just hitting her stride. 

"I think about you all day, waiting for you to fuck me just like this. I want you so bad sometimes." Asia confessed while Kelvin fucked her on his toes. "Even at work, when we’re not supposed to. That’s when I need you the most.” Grabbing the sides of his face with both hands, Asia forced him to look her in the eye. "Be good for me, baby. Make me cum."

Instructions? A command? A simple slip of the tongue? Kelvin couldn't bring himself to waste brain power distinguishing. He needed to focus. Focus on Asia's nipples rubbing against his chest and how her breaths and his started to become one. Then, the light sheen of sweat helping their bodies slide against one another. He focused on the sticky coating of arousal inviting him to rub his thumbpad against her clit.

Asia squealed, then licked Kelvin's open mouth. He rasped out a command of his own. "Come on! Come on!" Resolve began to wane. Any longer, and they'd be in the nearest drug store taking the walk of shame toward the Plan B pills.

If the walls ever decided to talk, they'd blush when recounting the vision of Asia forcing Kelvin's mouth against one of her breasts, trying to balance the sting from his hand colliding with her thigh with his warm tongue tracing braille on her areola. 

Her body seized, making it almost impossible for him to pull out. Every other week on a stuffy flying bus sounded like hell, but if he had this to look forward to after the wheels touched the tarmac, he could drum up some enthusiasm in no time. 

At the last moment, Kelvin forced himself out of his favorite place on earth just in time for the fruits of a mind-bending orgasm to spill from his head onto Asia's inner thigh. Together, they watched fresh semen coat supple skin, their chests heaving and ears ringing. Kelvin couldn't speak. He could only watch as Asia gathered a small amount on her fingertip and swiped it against her tongue. 

Kelvin moaned when Asia moaned to relish the sensory experience of his taste. "Did I pass?" Her question fell on deaf ears, with Kelvin more focused on gathering more semen on his fingers to pop into her mouth. She treated him to a show, sucking the digits clean. She spoke again. "Answer me, baby. Did I pass?" 

"With flying colors," Kelvin finally answered. Asia smiled into a searing kiss, reveling in her accomplishment. A new skill had been unlocked, and one more accolade had been added to her mental trophy case. 

Another lesson to take her mind off of the inevitable. At least until the morning rolled around to wash the fresh coat of paint she'd forced over a very real, immovable problem. 

RINI blasting from phone speakers dampened behind the bathroom door reminded Asia of the night before and how she'd allowed the heat of the moment to lock her into a contract she'd neglected to read the fine print on. 

Facing the bedroom window, Asia snuggled deeper into warm sheets and scanned the pros and cons list on her phone. Pro #1: She could eat deep-dish pizza every other month. Con #1: Her man wouldn't be nearby multiple days a week. Which was more important. She couldn't decide. Food or the comforts of stable, local partnership? 

She had started typing a new con when Kelvin emerged from the bathroom naked and moisturized from head to toe. "You awake now?" 

Fuck. Asia thought she had more time to plaster on her happy face. She used a pretend yawn as her buffer. "Yeah," she answered, faking the funk. "Good morning, baby." 

"Morning." Unbrushed teeth could never stop Kelvin from getting his first kiss of the day. He nuzzled his nose against hers before speaking. "Sleep okay?" 

"Mhm. You?" 

He nodded and slipped into bed beside her. "For the most part. I gotta show you something, though." Kelvin reached back to retrieve his phone from the nightstand's charging station. A few taps against the screen presented a short list of apartment options for Asia's inspection. "I started looking at some spots in the middle of the night. This one has a crazy second room for an office. Look at that view." 

A wall of windows overlooking the downtown cityscape made Asia's stomach churn. Reality smacked her in the face. He was leaving and waiting on her approval on an apartment she couldn't stand in a city she wished didn't exist. 

"That's so nice, baby. You can get a nice couch in there as a gaming room, too." 

Kelvin considered her suggestion and nodded. "Damn, that's a good idea. I need to take you with me when I look next week. You down?" 

"Uh…yeah. Yeah, I'll come." Asia shook off her rapidly increasing heartbeat and scooched closer to rest her head on Kelvin's shoulder. "Can you show me another one?"

Enthusiasm fading into meaningless sounds turned Kelvin into Charlie Brown's teacher as he gushed over layouts and natural light. She nodded along to nothing in particular. Smile. Rub his arm. Act supportive. Be the perfect girl. Just be happy for a little longer. 

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[fawnhart]

sugar and rafes first time meeting ! ㅤ⭑๋ ࣭

You remember the moment your whole life started to crumble. It was a Tuesday, you think. Maybe a Wednesday? Doesn’t really matter. The days just blur together when you’re stuck in a house where you’re not allowed to live

You were listening to Jeff Buckley. You had it on repeat for weeks now, hiding it under a loose plank in the floorboards of your room. Your parents would never allow it. Not in a million years. Especially your mom. She’d explode if she ever found out. Everything was so god damn evil to her

But that day you thought you had time. She was supposed to be gone for at least another hour. It was Wednesday. Church group meetings. It was always a Wednesday.

You slipped the CD into your player old and busted up, the kind with the cassette tape thing but with a CD attachment, so it wasn’t completely outdated. You sat on your bed, staring out at the little slice of sky visible through your window, not really thinking about anything in particular just thinking. Then you heard the door downstairs.

“What the hell is that noise?”

You froze. Your heart dropped into your stomach. You thought your mom wouldn’t be home yet. You’d been so sure. You asked Mrs. Maggie to 1000% sure. But she was early. You scrambled to hit stop, but the music kept playing. Her voice, firm and pissed, was coming closer.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Your pulse raced. You shoved the player under your pillow just as she stormed into the room, her eyes narrowing. She was already clutching that look the one that meant something bad was about to happen.

“What did I tell you about this?” Her voice was tight and screechy.

“I wasn’t doing nothin’” you said, your voice shaky. You didn’t even believe yourself. You knew exactly why she was upset. But you had to try. You had to try to be normal for once, even if it was just for a few minutes in your own room.

“Nothing?” Her lip curled, disgust in every word. “Baby, you think you can just fill ya’ head with that filth and call it ‘nothin’?’”

You bit your lip, holding back tears. She stepped forward, pointing at the CD player under your pillow.

“This is demonic! I knew it. You’ve been listening to the devil behind my back. It’s not enough that you’re dressing like... like one of those whores at school. But now you want to be dirty on the inside, too?”

Your throat felt tight, like you couldn’t breathe. Your mind was racing. What were you supposed to say?

“You’re going to ruin everything I’ve worked for. Everything your father and I have taught you,” she hissed, her eyes wild with something you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t love, not even close.

“it’s just music,” you whispered, too quietly, but she heard you.

She grabbed the player from your bed and yanked the CD out.

“It’s. not. just. music,” she said, her voice cracking. “It’s a gateway. It’s corruption to the brain.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell her that all you wanted was to be normal, to have what everyone else had. a life outside of this house, outside of her rules. But the words never came.

She was moving now, pulling open drawers, emptying them onto the floor.

“all that filth you’ve been hiding from me and I’ve been lenient on is done for. I’m taking it all.”

She tossed your music cds, your makeup, your books. Everything you’d spent months gathering, everything you’d used to try to feel like you were an ordinary girl, was being thrown away.

And then, the worst part.

“Your father won’t stand for this. We’ll have you cleansed”

You faltered. Cleansed? It was such a cold, clinical word. But you knew what it meant. The prayers. The rituals. You couldn’t let that happen. You couldn’t live through that.

Your eyes were filling with tears, your chest tightening.

“I’m sorry!, I didn’t mean to. I won’t listen to that again, okay? I swear,” you pleaded, though you knew it didn’t matter.

But it was too late, she was already at the door

“You know honey, my church group has been just how ungodly you’ve been acting, but I didn’t believe them….. I hate that you proved them right”

locking it behind her with that final click that meant you were trapped.

You pressed your back against the door, the tears finally spilling over. You couldn’t think straight. Your whole body was shaking, your mind was screaming. I need to get out of here.

You knew what you had to do.

You waited for what felt like hours, listening to the muffled sounds of your mom in the kitchen. The smell of dinner wafted under the door, and all you could think about was how your entire life had been planned for you. You were supposed to be a good girl. A good Christian girl. But you weren’t. And you were never going to be.

Finally, when you thought your heart couldn’t take any more, you got up. You grabbed the little bag you’d hidden in the closet. Nothing but a few clothes, and the money you’d saved up from waitressing at ‘sticky’s’. Quietly, carefully, you pulled out the plank in the floor, grabbed the rest of your hidden things, and shoved them into your bag. You didn’t think twice.

You climbed out the window, holding your breath, praying that she wouldn’t hear you.

Once you were outside, you took off running.

You didn’t know where you were going, but it didn’t matter. You had to get out.

You ran for what felt like forever. The night was cold, but you didn’t care. It was better than being to the place you once called home.

You didn’t notice him at first.

You glanced around realizing you were for sure not on the cut anymore, the big tall houses made it clear to you were on figure eight now.

then you saw him

Rafe Cameron.

You’d seen him around, of course. He was one of the rich kids, always walking around with that stupid confident smile, like he owned the whole island. You’d never paid him any attention. You had enough of your own problems to deal with. But when you saw him standing at the end of the street, leaning against his car smoking god knows what, you froze.

You’ve heard the stories about Rafe Cameron. He’s the kind of guy everyone talks about but no one truly understands.

He’s always been a mystery, and he still is. But there’s something about him, something that draws you in, even though you know you probably shouldn’t get too close.

You never really expected to see him again, not after the way he disappeared seven years ago.

Rafe left figure eight right after that night, the night he ended up in jail. No one knows exactly what happened, but everyone has their theories.

Some say it was a huge mistake, some say it was just a matter of time, others say ward himself drove his only son out of town. But whatever it was, it was enough to make him walk away from everything. His family, his life there, his whole world.

He packed up and drove five hours away, living on his own, far from the memories and the mess the pouges he hated had caused.

In the time since, he’s built himself up. People talk about how he’s thriving now, working as a firefighter or something like that. Hard work, steady pay, and no one really bothers him anymore.

It’s like he’s trying to rebuild his life, piece by piece. But even though he’s been gone for so long, when he talks about his baby sister wheezie, there’s this soft, almost protective vibe about him

Now, he’s back in town, just for her birthday. It’s strange seeing him like this, but there’s something different about him. He’s older, quieter, and maybe even a little lost in his own way.

He was looking straight at you, his brow furrowed, like he knew something was wrong.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice muffled by his blunt but clear in the quiet night air.

You stopped in your tracks.

“Are you alright?” he asked, taking a step toward you.

You didn’t know what to say. Of course you weren’t alright!. You were running away from your own life, from your own mother. But you didn’t know how to tell him that.

“I... I’m fine,” you said, but even to your own ears, it sounded like a lie.

He took another step forward, still studying you with those eyes that seemed too kind for someone like him.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice softer now. “You look rough.”

Your breath hitched. ‘Gee thanks’ Yeah, you looked rough. You had been rough for years. But hearing it from someone else...it hit different.

“Do you need a ride?” he asked.

You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know him. But you also didn’t know anyone who would help you, not like this. So you warily followed him

You stared at him, confused, trying to figure out if he was serious or playing some sick joke on you.

Then it hit you. He was talking to you like you weren’t just the religious girl with the crazy parents. He wasn’t weirded. He wasn’t judging you.

The last time someone came up to you, the whole town heard about it. Your parents tried getting them expelled from school for harassing you.

That was the last time anyone ever talked to you

“I know you know Wheezie,” he said, a little chuckle in his voice as he opened the door. “you can’t be all bad, right?”

Wheezie? then it clicked, the girl with glasses who could down 6 cherry milkshakes in a row, nice.

“Come on,” he said, the smile slipping from his face for a second, a real one this time. “Let me help you.”

You didn’t know if you were ready for help, but you were so damn tired. Tired of pretending everything was okay. Tired of running. Tired of fighting your own heart every damn day.

You took a deep breath and took up his offer.

He didn’t even look like the guy everyone made him out to be. Sure, he still had that wild, unpredictable look to him, but he wasn’t hostile. He just… asked if you needed help. Simple as that.

You didn’t know what else to say. You didn’t know where else to go.

He didn’t press you with questions. He just turned on the engine, his eyes flicking over you like he was checking to see if you were really serious about getting in.

"You're Wheezie's friend, right?" he asked as you climbed in.

You nodded, glancing at him, trying to gauge whether or not you were making a huge mistake. "Yeah... kind of, she’s always at the diner" you added, almost too quietly. You didn't want to give him the wrong impression, what 18 year old is freinds with a 13 year old?

He smiled just a little, but it was different from the smirks you’d seen on his face at school or around town. “That sounds like her” It wasn’t mean. It was soft

You can’t help but wonder what really happened in those seven years, what it was that changed him, but for now, you’re stuck here in the passenger seat of his truck, staring at his side profile as he drives.

Something about being around him feels oddly comforting, even though you know there’s so much you’ll never understand.

The ride was awkward, the kind of silence that felt thick enough to choke on. Rafe had the radio low, some song you didn’t recognize playing in the background.

You focused on the streetlights flashing by, the pavement blurring, but all you could think about was the tight knot of anxiety in your chest. You didn't belong in this car, in this moment. You should have been running in the other direction, but... for some reason, you weren’t scared. Not yet.

You had no idea where the hell you were going. That’s when he asked.

“So, do you have anywhere to go?”

You looked at your lap, clutching the bag tighter. You couldn’t tell him the truth, not completely. Not yet. "yeah" you said, your voice barely above a raspy whisper.

He didn’t say anything at first. But then you heard him exhale, like he was thinking it over. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck you’ve been through but….but you’re safe now,” he said, and his voice was surprisingly gentle, like he’d somehow sensed how scared you really were. “Ok?”

“Ok” You swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears. He wasn’t wrong. You were scared, terrified even, but for the first time in forever, someone wasn’t judging you for it.

No one in your family ever told you you were safe, ever told you that everything would be okay. You sniffled, the tears threatening to spill over.

You didn't want to break down in front of him.

The car slowed to a stop, and you realized you were at a diner, the neon lights buzzing softly. Rafe looked over at you, almost like he was waiting for you to protest or make some excuse. You didn’t. You just followed him out of the car, not saying a word.

Inside, the place smelled like burgers, fries, and cigarettes. The warmth was a stark contrast to the cold night outside, and it made you feel a little safer, like you were stepping into something straight out of a movie. Rafe led you to a booth and slid into the seat across from you. For a second, you both just stared at the menu, neither of you speaking. You didn’t know if you were supposed to order, or if he would. But then he broke the silence.

"What do you want?" He didn’t sound like he was expecting an answer right away. Like he was just making sure you were okay.

You looked at the menu, but your mind was elsewhere. You didn’t care what you ate. You just... didn’t want him to feel like he had to do this.

Like he had to take care of you.

“Just fries and a water,” you said, you didn't even know why you said it. It wasn’t like you had much of an appetite.

He raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t comment on it. He called the waitress over and ordered for both of you. A burger, fries, and a milkshake. When she left, he turned to you, his gaze softer than you thought he’d ever let it be.

"How are you holding up?" His voice was quieter now, the edge gone. He wasn’t the Rafe Cameron you’d heard about, the one everyone warned you to stay away from. He seemed... almost normal, it was freaking you out.

You shrugged, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "I don't know," you muttered. "Just tired, I guess."

He nodded, leaning back in his seat, but you caught him glancing at you every few seconds like he was still trying to figure you out.

“What are you running from” he said bluntly, his stare showing no signs playfulness, just a full serious look

you looked away, your tears sticking with your mascara and glitter eyeshadow “Home”

“Been there” he nodded taking in your appearance in, how could such a pretty girl like you be so alone and lost?

The food came quickly, and Rafe pushed the plate with the burger and fries toward you. "Eat," he said simply. “I’m not going to let you go hungry.”

You picked at the fries, not feeling hungry but not wanting to make him feel like you didn’t appreciate it. The milkshake was so cold and thick, and when you took a sip, you felt a small sense of comfort settle in. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

As you ate, Rafe kept glancing at you, almost like he was waiting for you to crack. When you sniffled again, wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve, he frowned. "I already told you, you don’t have to be scared," he said, his voice dropping a little. “You’re safe here. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

It was a strange thing for him to say, considering who he was. But in that moment, you believed him. You really did.

When you finished the milkshake and most of the burger, you felt a little more alive again, but the weight of everything of your family, of the lies, of everything that had pushed you to this point, was still there.

And you still had nowhere to go.

you just had a sparkly sack and a dream.

Rafe didn’t say much after that, just leaned back in his seat, and let you gather your thoughts. But when the waitress came by to take your plates, you stood up, and swung the creaky glass door open feeling that familiar unease creep back in.

"I’ll just go to the docks, the ferry leaves at 6am," you said, Turing around to see rafe as he followed right behind. You were going to take the ferry to the mainland, with the little money you had left. You weren’t sure where you were going from there, but it was something.

Rafe’s expression turned serious, almost annoyed. “No,” he said flatly.

“what?”

“I’m not letting you go to the docks. It’s dangerous, and I doubt you even have enough money to get anywh-.”

“You can’t fix everything!” you snapped, feeling all the frustration you’d been holding back suddenly spill out. "You can’t. fix. everything"

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Maybe I can’t fix everything,” he said, his voice firm. “But I can try to make sure you’re okay. I can’t just let you go off like that.”

You glared at him. “You don’t even know me. Why do you care?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just looked at you like he was weighing something in his mind. Then he exhaled, running a hand through his buzzed head. “I know enough.”

You stared at him, unsure what to say. Your whole world was falling apart, and yet, here was this guy, this person you should’ve never trusted, according to everyone you knew

but then again why does it matter what everyone says? if you’re going by that logic then you would be at the bottom of the barrel.

“You want to runaway right?” he said, voice steady. “I have a place, it’s 5 hours away, that far enough for you?”

“Do you even know how old I am!? Hello, I could turn you in right now for being a weirdo” you asked with sass, anything to get him off of your case

“ ‘sticky’s’ won’t hire under 18.” He said nonchalantly rolling his eyes, “unless you lied or where getting paid under the table? Then I could turn you and your employer in”

You didn’t know if it was the exhaustion in his voice, but something in you cracked. “i didn’t lie, I’m 18” you said your voice trembling slightly. “I’ll go with you. But no funny business, I will jump out of the freaking car” you said crossing your arms

“Whatever you say, sugar”

Was this a good idea? Probably not. You’re parents would ironically raise hell over this town once they found out their precious daughter had run off with Rafe fucking Cameron

© 𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐓, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[rivalsispunk]

Inappropriate (Chapter 4 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Series summary: Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), mention of male appendages (IYKYK), mention of female orgasm, pussy pronouns, smut smut SMUTTTT, jealous Declan, all the good stuff

Word count: 11.4k

Chapter summary: Happening across your boss pants down only spells the beginning for you and Declan, but neither of you are expecting a surprise visitor to muddy the waters.

A/N: Thank you all for being SO SO patient with this one. I could've easily released this chapter in two parts but didn't want to disrupt the flow of the story (*ahem* smut). This has had a brief edit in my hastiness to publish so any mistakes... Shhhhhh!

© rivalsispunk please do not steal, copy, or translate any of my work onto other platforms!

Chapter Four: Inappropriate

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t had an inappropriate thought or two about Declan O’Hara in the time you’ve been friends with Taggie, perhaps more frequently since he’d become your superior, but that had nothing on the unadulterated filth that had infiltrated your brain in the hours since leaving The Priory. You can barely recall fleeing down its staircase or the drive home, what unfolded at the forefront of your mind until a self-induced orgasme lulled you into a deep sleep. Now, you’re permanently marred with the visual of Declan — your best friend’s father, your boss — fucking his hand with your name on his lips. You should feel dirty. You should feel violated. You should feel the way you do when Tony Baddingham’s beady eyes drink you in across the office. Like you need a scalding hot shower and to scrub yourself down to the bone. But you don’t. You feel like somebody’s doused you in gasoline and lit a match, your whole body burnt to flames — and it’s exhilarating. 

How many times has he done it?

Was that the first time?

And why do you want to watch him do it again?

“Did ya stay late last night?” Declan asks you the next day while you’re sifting through old newspapers in search for more dirt on Rupert, at your boss’ request. “Went straight up to bed once I got back, so didn’t hear ya leave.”

Liar, you think.

“Not too late. Eleven, maybe,” you respond, eyes glued haphazard clippings across your desk.

“Not that I would’ve heard you anyway,” he continues. “Not with the wailing guitar riffs at full volume on Taggie’s stereo.”

Only then do you flit your gaze up to look at the man on the other side of the office. Acting professional after that murky moment with Declan in the hot tub was one thing, but pretending you don’t know what your boss looks like with his pants dropped and cock in hand is a whole other kettle of fish. Under normal circumstances, you’d be awkward. Uncomfortable. But now it’s as if having his secret affection has allowed you the permission to challenge him. 

“Do you have something against Bon Jovi, Declan?”

“Under normal circumstances, no,” he responds, lighting a cigarette. “But when it feels like Jon is in bed with me screaming in my ear while I’m trying to sleep, I’m inclined to think otherwise.”

Let alone when you’re dancing around all but naked to it.

“So, can we count you out of belting Livin’ On A Prayer at Bar Sinister tonight?” you chide, reminding Declan of the invite you’d all received from the Joneses. Smoke plumes from his lips as he rears back from a drag.

“Yep. I’ll not be going anyway. Got too much work to get done.” “You always have too much work to get done,” you tell him. “You have to take a break sometime.”

“That’s what sleeping is for,” he counters, a slight smirk rising from under his moustache.

“Oh, come on, Declan. It’s one night.” You’re staring at him all doe-eyed across the room and your innocence, faux or not, does the heavy lifting of your convincing. “Come to Sinister. It’ll be fun.”

It’ll be fun, you’d said, voice all but a whiney beg that zapped like a rod of lightning straight to his crotch. But Declan’s struggling to find the enjoyment in spending his evening watching a revolving door of men try their luck with you, in that impossibly short merlot-coloured dress that’s befitting of Bar Sinister’s name. First, it was Bas Baddingham; the younger, kinder, though no less leery half-brother of Tony. Declan had noticed the pair of you when he arrived, his attention magnetised to you the moment he walked through the door. Bas had you cooped up in the corner by the floor to ceiling wine racks, his frame bowing over you while you chatted. 

Declan wasn’t prepared for the twist in his stomach, nor the prickle of heat that scaled his body until it reached his cheeks while he watched you giggle with Bas, eyes sparkling under his attention. It was almost as if he were a child watching someone play with his favourite toy, unwilling to let anybody else have a turn, even though he was well aware it wasn’t his to keep in the first place. You slung another one of your dazzling smiles Bas’ way, and it was enough to have Declan beelining for the bar to order a wine and a whiskey to keep his envy at bay. After a while, Bas was called away to assist with a kitchen catastrophe. He was quickly replaced with Rupert Campbell-Black, all smiles and slime as craned his neck to whisper in your ear. Whatever words he was imparting on you — undoubtedly dirty — saw you blush, a stunning flush of fuchsia flooding up your neck to your cheeks. This goes on for a while — too long, in Declan’s opinion — and every grin Rupert shoots your way, coupled with you staring up at him all starry-eyed like you’ve been touched by the hand of God, has Declan grinding his teeth to near-dust. 

He’s too old for you, he thinks. Certainly not good enough. The journalist had already been forced to warn the former Olympian off Taggie. He ought to do the same for you. But who was he kidding? He has no claim over you. You’re not his daughter.

The idea has him downing his whiskey in one gulp.

No, you’re definitely not his daughter.

Filthy hypocritical git.

You felt Declan before you saw him, his gaze like daggers slicing into you as you spoke with Bas, then even more so when while you chatted to Rupert. In all honesty, you had no interest in either men, but you made sure to ramp up the flirty act, particularly with Rupert, because you knew how much Declan disliked him. You weren’t entirely sure why; perhaps you wanted to see whether it bothered him, or how much it bothered him, but you could never get a good enough look at him to gauge where his head was at. You weren’t even talking about yourself, save for Rupert once again trying to coax you into a dinner date. Instead, you’d geared the conversation towards your best friend, whom you knew had a burgeoning crush on her neighbour despite her failed attempts to deny it.

“Are you expecting someone?” Rupert asks partway through gushing over Taggie’s catering at a recent hunt. “Or am I just boring you?”

His question falls on deaf ears, and you scramble to make up for your rudeness. “Sorry, Rupert. What was that?”

“Your eyes have been darting around this bar like you’re watching a tennis match.”

“I’m not—”

“Trust me, you are. It’s not often that a woman can bear to take her eyes off of me,” Rupert peacocks, cheeky grin blooming at his shameless confession. “So, who’s the lucky sod?”

God, he’s nothing if not perceptive, you think, chewing the inside of your cheek. Finally, you clock Declan by the till, his eyes stuck on you while Lizzie Vereker chats animatedly at his side.

“So, are you going to tell me or are you going to make me guess?” Rupert tries again. 

Turning your attention back to him, you make a show of laying a hand on the sleeve of his navy sports coat as you lie through your teeth. “It’s nobody. Nobody worth worrying about.”

“Are you trying to burn a hole through him?” Lizzie wonders aloud, cheeks already flushed from her half a glass of wine.

“He’s just… everywhere. It bothers me,” Declan tells her, not taking his eyes off you.

“Bothers you that he’s here, or bothers you that he’s here with her?” She looks at him quizzically before her sight slices to you.

“You know I can’t stand him, Lizzie. Sorry, I know he’s your friend but, God. Always lurking, trying to shag anything with a pulse. Even that might be too restrictive to the lengths he’ll go to.”

“She’s an adult, Declan. A strong-headed one, at that. She can make her own decisions.”

“Well, she’s making the wrong one with him. He's got all the charm of a burst hemorrhoid."

Lizzie swats Declan for his off-colour description. “And what do you suggest the right one to be, then?” She’s staring up at him, lips pursed like she knows something. Like she’s pried his skull open with a crowbar and all of his dirtiest thoughts about you have leaked all over Bar Sinister’s maroon carpet.

“Someone her own age,” Declan decides, as much as it pains him to admit. “Someone that’s not Rupert Campbell-Black.”

“Someone like Patrick?” Lizzie poses, and Declan’s head whips towards her at the mention of his son.

“Patrick? My Patrick?”

“It’s not that crazy an idea. He’s a perfectly lovely boy.”

“He’s also at university, Lizzie.” Far away from you.

“Was at university,” a familiar and all-too-missed voice sounds from behind the journalist, and he just about spills his Pinot Noir as he turns to greet his son.

“Patrick!” Declan pulls him into a hug, clapping a hand against his back. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I had a few days between exams. Thought I’d pay a visit.”

“Shouldn’t you be studying?”

“Come on, Dad. I’m here to have fun. You should try it sometime,” Patrick jests. There’s that word again. Fun. Despite your earlier promise, so far, Declan’s having anything but. “Hello, Lizzie,” Patrick leans down to drop a kiss to her cheek. “So, what are we talking about over here? Though with you Rutshire lot, I suppose the question should be who are we talking about?” he asks, taking the wine glass from his father’s hand and polishing off what’s left of the heady liquid.

Lizzie steals a quick look at Declan, who feigns disinterest. “We were just talking about that glorious young lady over there,” she tells Patrick, pointing with her wine in your direction. “Rather beautiful, is she not?” 

Patrick’s eyes narrow as he spots you across the dim-lit room, still deep in conversation with Rupert. “Isn’t that Taggie’s friend? I remember meeting her at my birthday party. Rupert hasn’t eaten her alive yet?”

“Seems she’s one of the only women in this town that’s immune to his charms,” Lizzie conveys, and Declan wonders if they’re watching the same scene; Rupert laying it on thick and you seemingly lapping it up.

There’s a soft, almost curious tilt to Patrick’s head, lip pursed over as he watches the pair of you. “She might stand a chance after all,” he announces, then he’s away as quickly as he appeared, swerving through the crowd as he makes his way towards you.

Freddie is eight minutes through Meat Loaf’s Bat Out Of Hell and the whole bar is loving it. You can’t recall a time you’ve had this much fun out, your throat is stinging from how loud, how ferociously, you’re singing along with the electronics businessman. Freddie’s off-key and lack of rhythm is long forgotten under the haze of alcohol, and even Declan has slid off his broody perch to join the sing-a-long. Before the unmistakable first riff of the song blasted from the speakers, you’d spent the last half an hour chatting to Patrick, who’d surprised his family for a weekend home from university. You’d met him once before at the O’Hara’s most recent New Year’s Eve party. It’d also doubled as his twenty-first birthday, though you’d barely exchanged more than a hello and goodbye on the night and he was yet to venture back until this evening.

The only son of Declan and Maud, and it isn’t hard to see where the majority of his genes descend from. Hickory curls wisp every which way, nougat eyes flecked with black just like his father’s. While Patrick is far more idealistic than Declan, he’s just as foolhardy and exudes the same charm. He’s funny, too, much easier to joke with than his dad, you find, and though he can’t hear what his son is whispering to you over the roar of the crowd, the way you lean into him and laugh between lyrics grates on Declan. He silently curses Lizzie for setting Patrick’s sights on you. He knows — yes, knows — she was doing him a favour, in some roundabout way, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. Especially when he has an unwilling front row seat with you standing between him and Patrick. To compete with Rupert and Bas was one thing, but his own son? Even if the whole thing was complete mental game, it wears on him, reminding him how fucking absurd his affection for you is.

The bar erupts in applause as Freddie wails along with the song’s final chord, his voice landing nowhere near the note Meat Loaf intended. Beside Declan, you cheer for the businessman while Patrick hollers in a way that’s more suited for a football match

“Right then, you randy bunch,” Freddie shouts, his cockney accent impossibly louder under the boom of the microphone. “Which one of yous dares to follow after the King of Karaoke?” The machine, some high-tech gadget flown in from Asia, fades into the next song, and the first couple of lyrics from Don’t Go Breaking My Heart appear on the screen.

“Oh, Daddy loves this song!” Taggie squeals from behind you, hands coming to shake Declan’s shoulders.

“What? No, I don’t,” he scoffs. “Where on earth did you get that idea?” “I’ve heard you singing it in the shower,” she says, shouldering her way between the two of you. “Both Elton and Kiki Dee’s parts.”

Declan playfully swats his daughter. “Oh, shut it, Tag. Can we have no secrets?” Their repartee makes you smile, even more to see Declan without that far-etched scowl he’s often sporting.

“Kiki Dee fan, hey, Dad?” Patrick teases, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Not enough to get up there and sing it.”

Nobody else has jumped at the opportunity yet, and Freddie’s still trying to hype up the crowd to find a taker as the instrumental track rolls into the chorus. 

“You’ll sing it with him, won’t you?” It takes you a second to realise that Taggie is talking to you. “You were saying on the way here that you wanted to step out of your comfort zone a bit more.” 

You shake your head. That’s absolutely not what you were referring to.

“I meant professionally! Not…” you gesture haphazardly to the stage. You hadn’t mentally prepared to get up and perform. It also wasn’t exactly the activity you had in mind when you thought about you and Declan.

“Oh, go on, you two!” Taggie eggs you on, hopping with excitement. 

“I’ll give you ten quid,” Patrick wagers, and Declan slices a dark look his way.

“Anyone?” Freddie is still trying, swinging the microphone around by its cable. Then, you feel a hot breath sluice over your cheek. The scent of whiskey emanating from Declan gives away the dangerous amount he’s consumed this evening, which could be why he drops his mouth to your ear. 

“I’ll do it if you do it,” he murmurs, the deep timbre of his words racking through you. You rear backwards, nearly headbutting Taggie in the process.

“Are you joking? Two seconds ago you didn’t want to get up there either!”

Declan gives a half-hearted shrug as if to say why not. “It is a duet, after all.” His gaze holds yours and walks a fine line between pleading and defiant. There’s something in it now, a dare lurking beneath the surface, like he’s waiting for you to rise to the challenge. The look hits you sharp, suddenly; a flash of lightning tearing through the dark, and one final daring tilt of Declan’s head pushes your reservations aside.

“Okay, fine.” You snatch his glass from his hand and throw back the rest of the thick amber. A swell of pride burns through his chest, watching you pitch up the courage — even if it’s liquid — to get up on stage. “Freddie!” you shout towards the host. “Start it up again. We’re doing this.”

“Woohoo!” Freddie pumps a fist in the air, winding up the crowd until their cheering and applause hit deafening heights. Between the whiskey and the support of Taggie and Rutshire, you should be amped up enough to get through one measly song. But not even the heat blooming from where Declan’s hand rests on your back as he guides you on stage is enough to distract from the terror gnawing at you. 

Despite the small set-up and there only being forty-odd people in the crowd, you might as well have been performing at Wembley. The relentless stage lights make it seem like you’re just metres from the sun and your heart is pumping a frantic, runaway rhythm that just won’t quiet. You blanch, surprised the microphone doesn’t slip from your clammy palm as Freddie passes it to you, the object a heavy weight in your hand. Just below you, Taggie pumps a thumbs up, and Patrick claps supportively. And then there’s Declan, standing beside you, his presence both grounding and electrifying as he leans in, voice low but steady as the intro to Don’t Go Breaking Your Heart starts back up again. 

“Just breathe, love,” he tells you. “The worst that happens is we both end up looking like idiots.”

The first four bars pump out of the speakers, and you barely hear Declan apprehensively sing the first line because you’re too focussed on not regurgitating the cacio e pepe you’d consumed at dinner. You’re already a beat off when you murmur through your round of the lyrics, but Declan does a fine job at making up for your lack of stage presence. He’s side-stepping to the beat, putting his hips into it and clicking with his free hand. He’s still rigid in his movements, because he’ll be damned if performing for his peers this way is a regular occurrence, but it’s all he can do to get the attention off you, to calm your nerves without pulling you into a storage cupboard and fucking the anxiety out of you. 

By the time the second chorus rolls around, you’ve loosened up enough to follow Declan’s lead, your feet no longer paralysed by fear. You move about the stage, pointing dramatically at Taggie and wiggling your body. The gesture is small, but swinging your hips in a circle has Declan stumbling over his words, his trousers tightening over his crotch. 

Ooh-ooh, nobody knows it (nobody knows), the entire bar is singing along now, and Declan’s welcome for the distraction because the song is right. Nobody knows just how far gone he is for you, and this little love song performance isn’t helping anyone. Thankfully, the music begins fading out, signally the end of your time up on stage, and you clamber down the two rickety steps to resounding applause. 

“See?” Taggie says when you return to your rightful place out of the spotlight. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You ignore your heart leaping at the base of your throat and ignore the urge to steal a glance at Declan, who’s made straight for the bar. Again.

“No, not all bad,” you give in, smiling between your friend and her brother.

You stay for one more drink and a few more songs, finally calling it a night once Charles coaxes half the broadcasting staffers into a Les Misérables sing-a-long. You and the O’Hara’s venture outside, the crisp night air pulling all of the hairs on your arms to their ends. While the four of you wait for a cab, Patrick sloughs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, an almost silent that’s better slipping into the darkness. Lighting a cigarette, Declan tries — tries — to mind his own business. But his ears prick up at the mention of you and dinner.

“What do you say?” Patrick is asking you, voice competing with the sound of tires on wet bitumen and the chorus resounding from inside Sinister. “Tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up?”

The words hang in the air. Simple. Loaded.

You feel Declan’s gaze like a weight on your shoulders. You should want to go on a date with Patrick, right? You’re supposed to; he’s smart, funny and, more to the point, not nearly two decades your senior. But all you can think about is how Declan’s attention makes your skin flush, how he’s standing right there, probably watching this all unfold. You swallow, pressure mounting as Patrick’s invitation still hangs between you. A few steps away, Declan shifts, just barely, but enough to catch your attention. When you glance back at him, he busies himself with his lighter, like its manufacture is the most fascinating thing in the world. 

Would he even notice if you said yes to his son? Would he care at all?

You nod before you can second-guess yourself, your words tripping out like they’re not even yours. “Yeah, sure. Dinner sounds good.” Patrick beams brightly as a taxi pulls up to the curb. Declan’s unreadable as he stubs out his cigarette, while the energy pouring from Taggie is hard to miss.

“I’m so excited!” she whisper-shouts, her hands coming to wrap around your left arm as you approach the cab. “If this works out between you and Patrick, we’ll be sisters!”

Behind you, Declan pales at his daughter’s comment.

You and Patrick. Working out.

You and Taggie. Sisters.

The idea makes him sick.

“Is that thing broken?” Declan stabs a finger at the clock hanging in The Priory’s kitchen. He’s positive something is wrong with it. Every time he looks to the wall, the hands appear unmoving, perpetually stuck at eleven-fifteen.

“It’s working perfectly fine,” Taggie assures her father while kneading a mound of dough that would soon become dinner rolls for tomorrow’s black-tie event at the Baddinghams’. “I think the issue is you keep checking it every five seconds.” Declan shakes his head, boots scraping along the floor as he paces up and down the length of the room. “Daddy, can you stop for a moment? You’re making me motion sick.” “Patrick should’ve been home by now,” he says, ignoring his daughter while his eyes flick to the clock again. 

“He’s on a date, for goodness sake,” Taggie says, and the reminder of his whereabouts — your whereabouts — feels like an infected scrape across his heart. “Just leave him be. He’ll be home when he’s home.”

Declan barks out a laugh. “Leave him be! Thanks, Taggie. That’s just grand parenting advice. I’ll try that one with you when you’ve got kids galavanting around God knows where at all hours of the night.”

“I’d hardly call eleven all hours of the night,” she counters, and the comment stops Declan at the head of the kitchen bench. She keeps stretching and folding the dough, almost unphased by her father’s agitation. Declan smiles, just for a second, recognising that Taggie’s become far more outspoken, less inward, since having you around. He’d be proud if the situation wasn’t so infuriating.

“I’m just—” he stares at a crack in the timber benchtop. “It’s just getting late and he has to drive back to school tomorrow.” It was a cheap excuse. Declan knew full well that Patrick would have no issues making the two-hour drive back to campus, even on little sleep. In truth, he could roll in at four AM and he’d not bat an eyelid. 

But this isn’t really about Patrick, is it? No, it’s you. You, out there with his son, doing God knows what, God knows where. He could feel the weight of it— the resentment, the jealousy — settling deep in his chest. What if you’d kissed? Worse, what if you’d—No. His fingers tighten around the edge of the bench, knuckles coming up white. His mind deceives him again, and there you are, entwined in your bed sheets with Patrick, your laughter mixing with the sound of something more. The thought burns hot and quick through him, and the longer you’re out with Patrick, the harder it is to shake.

Then there’s the slam of a car door. The whine of hinges at the entrance to The Priory. Declan and Taggie both glance at each other before racing to the foyer to greet Patrick. 

“Are you guys waiting up for me or something?” he chides, unravelling himself from his navy scarf.

“No,” Declan is all too quick to answer. Yes.

“So?” Taggie, flour marring her right cheek, is just about levitating with the way she’s bouncing on her feet. “How was it then?”

“Lovely,” Patrick says. “She’s really great. So intelligent.”

Yeah, I know, Declan dares to think.

“Did you kiss her goodnight?” Taggie wants to know, gazing up at her brother like a toddler waiting on a fairytale.

A quiet chuckle rumbles from Patrick as he slings his coat over the staircase bannister. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, my dear,” he muses, thumbing his sister’s chin. 

“You know I’m going to find out from her anyway,” Taggie warns him.

“Then you’ll just have to wait until you see her tomorrow, won’t you?”

She rolls her eyes, and Declan’s stomach churns in a similar motion. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, but Patrick wasn’t usually one to play coy. The only reason for his self-effacement must be because he really likes you. And, as Declan trudges up to bed, throwing a tetchy goodnight over his shoulder to his children, he worries you likely feel the same.

The date was…fine. Patrick was twenty minutes late, but it was quickly made up for with the bouquet of roses, twice the size of his head, that he arrived alongside. After a quick peck to the cheek, he ushered you into the Clubman he’d borrowed from his father for the night. The car reeked of stale smoke and the leathery wood smell of Declan’s cologne. If you allowed yourself, you could almost hear the rasp of his voice and the sharp click of his lighter. Beside you, Patrick chatted away about his literature class at university while he navigated the quiet streets, completely unaware of how his father’s presence seemed to haunt every inch of this car. You bypassed Bar Sinister and town completely, ending up at Le Petit Chêne — The Little Oak — a small, family-owned French bistro fifteen minutes down the road. The food was delicious, the wine even better, but as the night wore on, you couldn’t help but compare Patrick to his father, even though you were well aware it wasn’t fair. Patrick had that same tapered jawline, those dark eyes, but where Declan’s gaze felt like a bolt of electricity, Patrick’s was softer, warmer. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes were like something familiar, comfortable, like you could just keep moving through the motions and never have to think too hard. But Declan... Declan made you feel every. Single. Glance.

Still, the comfortability and Patrick’s friendliness made it easy to lose track of time as you traded tales from your time at university and compared your favourite novels, arguing over the crux of Of Mice and Men — you find it majorly depressing, while Patrick thinks it signifies hope. You agreed, begrudgingly, to disagree, the squabble wrapping up as your date pulls up outside your flat. 

“I had a really nice night,” he confessed when you reached your door. 

“Yeah, me, too,” you responded, shrugging off his jacket he’d once again loaned you. “That restaurant was lovely. Thank you again for paying.” “You’re worth it.” Patrick shuffled from one foot to the other, the subtle movement signifying the first time you’d ever seen the eldest O’Hara child anywhere close to nervous. You knew what was coming next, with the way he looked up from your doormat with hopeful eyes, blush pinching at the apples of his cheeks. “Can I kiss you?”

You should want to kiss him, the young, likable man standing in front of you. Going against your better judgement, you said yes and tried to enjoy his soft lips against yours. His touch was gentle, one hand on your waist, the other cupping your cheek, but the spark that should ignite at having a handsome man like Patrick wanting you was missing. It didn’t help that you could still feel the ghost of Declan’s presence, like the heat from his stare was still burning into your skin. No hairs stood on end. No rush of warmth flooded your chest. Nothing like the way you felt when Declan’s gaze lingered on you just a little too long, or when your hands brushed, the way they had that night in the hot tub. The gnawing comparisons followed you into your flat once you and Patrick had said goodnight, and tucked themselves into bed beside you, marking the beginning of a long night of fractured sleep.

The next evening, you find yourself in a sea of black tuxedos and satin gowns, the clink of glasses and low murmurs of conversation filling the ballroom in the Baddingham manor as you celebrate Four Men Went To Mow dominating the winter ratings. Early that morning, Taggie called to hear details from your date with Patrick, revealing that her brother remained mum about the night you’d spent together. You kept it top-line, telling her it was fun and that there was a peck, which was met with squeals from the other end of the phone. Taggie then dished that Patrick had extended his stay in Rutshire and would be attending that night’s festivities, and whatever excitement you held for the party dissipated.

After your date, you’d expected Patrick to return to university, taking whatever fleeting attraction he held for you with him. You found comfort in that, knowing you wouldn’t have to let him down easy and that Taggie would stop prematurely planning your wedding to her brother. Yet, here he is, looking dashing in a three-piece tux and already the life of the party. So, you push any awkwardness aside and focus on the night ahead. Patrick told you he was definitely leaving tomorrow morning—no harm in enjoying his company tonight, right? You can smile, have a bit of fun, try not to think too much about it. The music plays, the conversation flows, and you laugh, genuinely, pretending for a moment that everything is simple. But through it all, you can feel Declan observing the pair of you across the grand hall. No matter the conversations he finds himself amongst, whether it be with board members about his show, or colleagues exchanging gossip about interoffice affairs, a portion of his attention is always attuned to you. He winces every time your laugh rises above the chatter and he’s desperate to know what words his son is crooning to justify such a heavenly sound. There was something in the way you looked at his son — a softness that went beyond polite attention. But who was he kidding? Why wouldn’t you be interested in Patrick? Lizzie was right. Patrick is the right choice, and judging by the smile pinching at your cheeks as you look up at him, a choice you’ve gladly already made.

After two rounds of canapes have made the rounds, Taggie manages to steal a few minutes away from the kitchen to join you and Daysee on the dancefloor for the YMCA, the three of you giggling between the iconic moves as you try to decide which of the Corinium men would be each of the Village People. Despite the low temperature outside, sweat slides down your spine and the hairs framing your face stick to your forehead.  “I’m going to get some air!” you shout, gesturing to the doors in case your friends can’t hear you above the music. As the song fades into a Hall and Oates hit, you push through the throng of guests, ignoring the way Tony Baddingham’s eyes rinse over you in your baby blue dress as you pass by him and Freddie Jones in the corridor. When you step outside, the pulse of music and chatter drifts into the cool night, mingling with the quiet conversations and laughter of guests convening among the manicured hedges and flower beds. The air is thick with the scent of damp grass and the faintest trace of woodsmoke pumping from the manor’s chimneys and many roaring fireplaces.

Down the far end of the house, you spot Declan in the shadow of one of the sky-reaching pillars. He’s still, watching the party through the large windows, light from inside flickering softly across his face. It catches the curve of his cheek and the edge of his stubbly jaw in bursts, and battles with the glow of the cigarette he lifts to his lips. Smoke curls up into the night, and only when it shifts does he finally catch sight of you. He doesn’t say a word, just lets the silence stretch between you for a few moments until you ask him, “Are you hiding?”

“Just getting some fresh air,” he says, taking another drag. 

“With lungs full of smoke?” you dare. 

The cigarette tips towards the sky as Declan smirks. “Watch yourself.” You take the cheeky lilt in his voice as an invitation to join him, your heels echoing off the concrete pavers as you walk. “Are you having fun?” he wants to know when you fall into line beside him. 

“Yeah, it’s a great party. I just hope Freddie hasn’t brought that bloody karaoke machine with him,” you say, only half serious.

“I’ll say,” Declan agrees, dark eyes still fixated on the window. Beyond it, Patrick is talking animatedly with a group of six or so guests gathered around him, all of them ogling the young scholar over their drinks like they’re the disciples to his Jesus. As if he’s just relayed the punchline to a joke, his onlookers throw their heads back with laughter, and the man to Patrick’s left claps him on the shoulder, unable to contain himself.

“People are just drawn to him, aren’t they?” Declan wonders out loud. He doesn’t mean it as a test, but he’s curious to see if you open up to him about the night before. 

“It’s not hard to see why,” comes your answer, and it’s clear you’re keeping your cards as close to your chest as Patrick.

“He’s a good boy,” Declan forges on, nudging his chin in the direction of his firstborn.

“You told me that boys don’t know what they want.”

“Not my son. He’s known what he wants since he was in the womb."

“And what about you? Do you know what you want?” The question is playful and doesn’t probe in the way you wish you could ask, but it’s enough for Declan to debate answering.

What does he want?

You.

To not want you.

“He likes you a lot, you know," he pivots, as much as the facts pain him.

“Oh, yeah?”

Declan nods. “He was out here not long ago, banging on about your celestial light.” The phrase makes him chuckle while he shakes his cigarette, ash flickering from orange to grey as it drifts to the ground.

“Celestial light?" you scoff, breath turning to fog in the air. "You’re joking. I have about as much celestial light as a flickering lamp post.”

“Don’t do that.” Any amusement in Declan’s voice is gone with those three words. 

“Do what?”

“Put yourself down. Make yourself small.”

“I don’t know what you’re—“

“Don’t you?" Declan presses, head quirked. You don't fool me, is what he means. "You don't have to do that with Patrick. Don't have to do that with me."

"And the rest of them? I'm not naive enough to think that I'm more than some young thing expected to keep quiet and look pretty. That's just the way it is. All those men in there," you nod towards the sprawling windows that separate you from the party. "They don't think anything of me. They just see me as —"

“Smart? Witty?” Declan interjects, trying to meet your eye as you toe a stray leaf that's blown onto the concrete. “Beautiful as you may be, you have a hell of a lot more going for you. Believe me.” He’s being earnest, you can hear it in the way his voice dips to barely a whisper. In this way, his words are intentional and just for you. 

You abandon the leaf in favour of his face. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Be crazy not to."

"Declan..." You don't know where your sentence is going, or why you step towards him, but you do, the confession — as minor as it is — digging into you like a hook and Declan's eyes, pinned to you, reeling you in.

"So, how was your date then?" The question throws up a wall between you. An unscalable, Patrick-shaped wall.  A red flush spreads over your chest and blooms up your neck. You don't want to talk about this. Not really. Not with him.

"Patrick didn't tell you?"

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, is what he said." There's a strangled edge to his voice, a frustration, like his son being cryptic was the most inconvenient thing in the world. "Did you —"

"There you are, Declan!" The voice has you skittering you across the pavement away from Declan, your heart tugging like you're still attached to him by that imaginary hook. 

"For fuck’s sake," he mutters, snuffing his cigarette out under his dress shoe as Tony Baddingham saunters towards you, sly smile poisoning his lips.

"And here you are," he croons your name. "Never far from Declan, are you?"

"I told ya, Tony. She's my right hand man," your boss says, and you snuff the smile threatening to crack across your face at the thought that Declan’s talking about you, needing you. He’s trying to sound aloof, but he hates watching Tony sniff you out like a wolf stalking its prey — circling, picking up every subtle scent of your discomfort, eyes glowing with that predatory gleam. 

"So, it would seem. I must admit, your show has taken quite a spectacular turn in the ratings since this one's come along," Tony continues, coming to stand beside you. His cool hand slides too comfortably around your bare shoulders, his fingers pressing into your skin with an air of ownership. You flinch and try to mask it with a forced smile, but Tony doesn't seem fazed, chuckling as he leans in closer, eyes trailing down the front of your chest. "This dress is something rather spectacular itself. How did you know blue is my favourite colour?"

"Lucky guess," you tell him, stiffening under the weight of his arm. Declan's jaw tightens, and while he's trying to stay composed, tension radiates from him in violent, crashing waves. Your eyes dart about as you shift uncomfortably — something that doesn't go unnoticed by Declan. 

He digs into his pocket, retrieving a small, stainless steel case that he holds out to Tony. "Cigarette?"

"Ah, I told the lady of the house that I would try to quit," Tony explains, referring to his wife, Monica. "But I suppose one never killed anybody." It feels like a tonne has been sloughed off you when Lord Baddingam unravels himself from you, moving towards Declan to light up.

"Thank you," you mouth behind Tony's back, and Declan returns a wink that goes straight to your warm centre. 

Inside the house, the party erupts in hoots and cheers as La Bamba starts over the speakers, and you catch sight of Daysee beckoning you back to the dancefloor from the other side of the glass. Tony begins rattling off competitor numbers and other industry secrets well above your pay grade, so you take the opportunity to slip back inside for another champagne, another dance.

Before too long, you’re swept into a conversation with Valerie and Lizzie — well, more Valerie, who is probing you for gossip from within the walls of Corinium. She’s a total fiend for a scandal. You’d heard through the grapevine that she’d told Monica Baddingham about her husband’s sordid rendezvous with Cameron Cook, and no doubt Valerie was well across the fact that Lizzie’s own husband was spending a great deal of time pants down in his dressing room with his co-host.

“Well, there’s got to be something,” Valerie whines when you tell her you tend to keep your nose out of other people’s business. 

“Oh, leave her be,” Lizzie tells her before turning to you. “How are you, love? More to the point, how’s Patrick? I heard the two of you went on a date last night.”

Jeez, word travels fast around here, you think.

“You and Declan’s son?” Valerie clarifies, tweeting at the revelation. “Handsome boy, him. God, Declan’s genes are strong, aren’t they?”

The mention of Declan has you searching for him through the windows, and you catch him just in time to see him storm away from Tony, disappearing from view until he barges back into the party with a snarl contorting his mouth. Most of the guests are too drunk to notice him stalking through the ballroom, or swipe a glass of whiskey off the tray of a waiter in one brisk snatch he doesn’t even slow down for.

“Oh, God,” Lizzie mutters, turning away from Declan as he shoves past your trio, the sleek material of his jacket scraping across your upper arm.

You call after him to no avail before Lizzie touches your wrist lightly, shaking her head. “Leave him, darling.”

“Why?” you ask, searching her face for some shred of a clue. “Lizzie, what’s happened?”

“You didn’t hear it from me —”

“Oh, don’t start with that,” Valerie squawks, her cockney twang exacerbated by alcohol. “The whole bloody country’s already read about it in the paper this morning.”

“For God’s sake, read what?”

“Declan’s wife — Maud — well, she’s got some big flashy part in some famous play in the city,” Valerie is all too excited to tell you, while Lizzie takes far too much interest in the ice melting at the bottom of her empty glass. “Three month run if it all goes to plan, the article said.”

“At least,” Lizzie finally pipes up, crimson colouring her face immediately after. “Poor Declan.”

Yes, poor Declan. 

Taggie and Patrick, who are dancing to a completely different song to the one that’s playing, are none the wiser that their father’s just come barrelling through here like a bull in a china shop. And, given that Taggie’s yet to mention anything about her estranged mother, your bet is that they have no idea about her new role, either. Your heart breaks for your best friend, for all of them, which is why you trail after Declan once Lizzie and Valerie have found another unsuspecting guest to pry information from.

The first few doors you try are no-gos: an office space that looks rather untouched, a sitting room decked out with floral upholstery complete with a couple you’ve never met going at it on a sofa, and an ornate guest bathroom. It’s not until the fifth door that you find Declan looking forlorn in the Baddingham’s library. He’s sprawled out in a dark armchair, tall frame filling it out. Legs spread like he’s waiting for someone to kneel between them.

“Hey,” you say quietly, closing the door softly behind you.

His voice is groggy with liquor when he responds, “Where’s Patrick?”

“Dancing with Taggie, I think. It’s nice seeing them together, I know she’s missed him,” you tell him, adding, “You’ve raised some good kids.”

Declan scoffs. “Dunno how. Workaholic father, absentee mother with a chronic wandering eye.” 

Your stomach dips. “I heard about Maud. Are you okay?” 

“So, everyone’s talking about it.” He sinks impossibly lower into the chair, its leather whining as he splays his arms out to his sides. The whiskey in his hand splashes over the edge of his glass with the movement. “Am I okay? What’s it look like to you?”

He looks like shit, inky hair disheveled from raking a frantic hand through it, but the frustration already emanating from him stops you from voicing it. The man just found out his wife has no intention of returning home anytime soon. The least you can do is give him some grace.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t pry.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Declan snaps. “And I shouldn’t be discussing this with you. It’s…” he ponders on the right word before settling on, “Inappropriate.”

You drag your bottom lip between your teeth. “Because I’m Taggie’s friend?”

He laughs incredulously. “Yeah, because you’re Taggie’s friend. You’re my employee. You’re…” He gestures haphazardly in your direction.

“I’m…?” you prompt, taking a few trepid steps towards him.

Insatiable. Infallible. Interminable. Indomitable. How could he ever settle on just one? 

“Insufferable,” Declan eventually mutters, chasing the confession with a slow swig of his drink.

It’s your turn to laugh now. “I’m insufferable? I’m not the one that’s stalked off to sulk and—” You stop, shake your head. “Actually, I’m not going to argue this with you. If you want to sit in here alone instead of spending time with people who actually care about you, people who are actually here, so be it.” After shooting Declan a pointed look, you stalk to the door, but there’s a buzz in your veins that knows you’re not ready to let up just yet, so you turn on your heel to face him again. “And I don’t need you telling me what is and isn’t appropriate. Your moral compass is far too gone for that.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Declan wants to know, sitting a little more upright in his seat.

“You’re kidding, right? I heard you, you know. The other night. Saying my name while you were touching yourself.” Declan’s whiskey glass freezes at his lips, black eyes locked on you. “Not very appropriate considering I’m Taggie’s friend. Your employee,” you confess, throwing his reasons for not opening up to you back in his face. Your chest heaves with shallow breaths, like spilling the secret of you watching Declan come undone has stolen every bit of viable air from your burning lungs. You half expect him to deny it, but his face is blank, and his silence is aggravating. Time, what feels like minutes, stretches between the two of you, gazes set on one another while you silently duel across the library. 

“Nothing to say, Declan?” you press. “That’s a first.”

Leather ripples through the room as he stands, abandoning his glass on a side table before stalking towards you. He doesn’t stop until you’re toe to toe and your back presses into the cool wood of the door. Whiskey, aftershave and a lick of sweat consumes you as Declan regards you down his nose. “Like I said,” he croaks. “You’re insufferable.”

Your jaw unhinges as you go to bite back at him, to tell him that he’s the one making things unbearable, but then he tuts, jabbing his forefinger into his chest. “You’ve said enough. It’s my turn to speak.

“Hiring you is up there with the worst things I’ve ever done, and believe me, love, I’ve done a lot of shitty things. That night in the hot tub? Ruined me for all I’m worth. I can’t go to sleep without seeing you. Can’t go to work without wondering what it’d be like to bend you over the desk. Can’t bear to watch you bat those fucking eyes of yours at Rupert or Bas or Patrick. Then there’s Maud…” His eyes slip shut as he speaks, a small shake of his head revealing shame eroded in the space between his unruly eyebrows. “Every moment she pulls away from me is a moment that pushes me closer to you, and I hate it,” he confesses. “And seeing you with Patrick is fucking eating me alive, because what kind of man — what kind of married man — wishes the worst on his son over a woman that he has no claim over?”

“Is that what this is about? You’re jealous?”

“Jealous,” Declan repeats. He can only laugh. “Did you fuck him?”

You pull back, head softly ricocheting off the wood behind you. “Did I— you can’t be serious, Declan.” “Answer the question. Did. You. Fuck. Him?” 

“Of course not!”

“No?” He sounds surprised, and you’re almost offended.

“No!” you spit. The thump of muffled music vibrates through the door, matching your heart trying to break free from your chest. 

“Why not?”

“Declan, stop—”

“No, tell me,” he probes, hot breath fanning over your face. “Is it because he’s not smart enough for ya? Not manly enough?” You divert your gaze, blurred vision locking onto some benign object in the distance, because you don’t trust yourself to keep looking at Declan. You can’t tell what his angle is, whether he’s jealous at the attention you’re getting from other men, or annoyed that you’re not interested in his son. Eventually, he cocks his head to meet your sightline, finger coming to your chin to turn you to face him. “Tell me why you didn’t fuck him.”

“Because he’s not you!” It flies out of your mouth before you have the sense to stop it, breath catching in the back of your throat as you await Declan’s next move. The energy caught in the mere inches between you continues to crackle, but the fire burning under him seems to have subsided as his shoulders fall from their tense fixture, his suit jacket sagging with his muscles. He looks down at you with heavy eyelids. He’s tired. So fucking tired. Of pretending he doesn’t miss Maud, that he doesn’t want you. That of both those unspoken truths piled together makes him feel like a right failure as a husband, as a father, as a boss. He was already broken, and your admission was the final crack that made him shatter.

Shaky hands come to cover your mouth, a barrier to keep any more secrets from polluting the fragile silence that hangs heavy between you. Declan shuffles back, just a hairbreadth. He’s got his head viced, one hand through his hair and the other gripping his jaw. “Fucking hell.”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Even if it’s the truth?” He’s just barely looking at you, sheepish. Like he’s waiting for permission. Or a denial. The torture draining the colour from his face is making it hard to tell what’s going on in that gorgeous head of his.

“It’s not fair. On either of us.” 

“You’re damn right it isn’t fair. None of this is fair.” He’s back at you, crowding you against the door, one large dress shoe pitched between your platform heels. You’re certain that if he took one deep breath, his belt buckle would make impressions on your stomach. You can see the indentations in his lips, the miniscule patch of dry skin at the corner. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? I’ve exercised more restraint in the last month than I’ve ever had to in my life. You’re fucking ruining me.” 

The disclosure has thinned his voice to barely a whisper. Heat bubbles low in your stomach, the pull of wanting to close the gap between you warring with the consequence you know wait for you both if you give in. Still, the way he’s staring at you, with wounded eyes like twin black holes, how could you ever stand a chance?

It’s why you let another confession slip, for better or for worse.

“You think I don’t feel it, too?” 

Declan reaches to tuck your hair behind your ear, his hand trailing back to caress your cheek. The minute he touches you, your whole body goes lax, completely pliable for him. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, and you can practically taste the liquor on his tongue. Black eyes zigzag across your features while his palm moves to cup your jaw, the pad of his thumb meeting the swell of your bottom lip. 

“This okay?” You only nod because you don’t have the strength, the gall, to betray Taggie by vocalising how desperately you want her father to keep touching you in ways you’ve only dreamed about.

“Need to hear you say it,” he urges. “Gotta make sure you really want this.”

He has no fucking idea how much you do.

“Please,” is all you manage to muster before an animalistic growl scrapes up the back of his throat and Declan O’Hara is kissing you in a way that’s going to screw you up forever.

You’re folding like the world’s flimsiest house of cards the moment his mouth hits yours, all teeth and tongues, whiskey, tobacco and him. If it weren’t for him scooping an arm around your waist to hold you to him, you’d be in a heap on the floor. Declan’s faint grunts resonate around your tongue as his own explores your mouth with fervent jabs, only breaking the erratic rhythm to suck your lip so sensually it peels a whimper from you. His arm is scorching against the bare skin that sits above the low-cut back of your dress. His hips flex into yours, and you feel the cool metal of his belt through satin. Then you feel it. His hard length, constricted by his suit trousers, pressing to your stomach. Excitement and desire pulse through you, the feeling of his arousal against you intoxicating, knowing you’re the cause.

“Ya feel that, darlin’? Feel what you do to me?” Declan asks, each word heavy with need and muffled into your neck, tongue flickering over the salty skin there. Your hands twist into his curls while he sucks a kiss into your collarbone. It pulls blood to the surface, most likely noticeable, but you don’t care. Not when Declan branding you feels so fucking good. After a few good moments, he pulls back to take you in, his lips puffy from working over your decolletage. His eyes skim over your face, drinking in every detail — the pale lipstick smeared around your mouth, your glassy eyes, the pink flush staining your cheeks.

“God, look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “So fucked out for me already.” Any shame that previously coloured Declan’s features has evaporated, the pity drowning his eyes flushed out by incessant need. He kisses you again, though it’s not so much a kiss as it’s a collision, only slowing down his movements once he’s confident this isn’t one of his fleeting, filthy dreams. It’s been so long since another person has kissed you like this, touched you like this. It’s everything Patrick’s kiss wasn’t, intimate and intentional despite the roaring laughter and music on the other side of the wall. 

Declan’s large hand leaves your hip and you immediately miss it as his fingers brush over the cool doorknob. They don’t linger, there’s no hesitation before the click of the lock vibrates through you. You don’t hear it, though. Not over your pulse thrumming in your ears. It’s a purposeful, unspoken decision to shut out everything but the heat building between you, then his hand is back at your waist, pinning you in place against the wood. The other grazes down your body until he reaches the hem of your dress, sliding it up your leg until he has it gathered in a pool of azure at your hip. Your breathing hitches at the feeling of his skin on your hip bone. Under the flood of material, Declan’s fingers find the waistband of your underwear, thumb trilling over the flimsy lace holding your thong together. Your breaths mingle, lips barely grazing while his mind runs ragged with thoughts of what colour the garment is. Black to match that sinful bra you wore to your interview? Red like the pair you were wearing in his dream last night? He hooks a finger under the elastic, pulling the panties away from your body then letting them go so they snap against your skin. You let out a sharp gasp at the sting but he’s already soothing it, one step ahead of what you’re needing. 

“I’ve wanted to touch you like this for so fucking long,” he groans. His hand finds its way under the lace material again to glide over the bulb of your arse, kneading the flesh there.

“Declan,” you whine, jutting your hips into his, desperate for friction.

“What’s that, darlin’?” Even with your eyes clamped shut you know he’s smirking, relishing in your neediness. You arch forward again but he’s far stronger than you, his brawniness keeping you in place. “If you want something, all you gotta do is ask.”

“Please,” you sigh, following up with a strangled, “Touch me.”

Declan wastes no time in finding you bundle of nerves, but as soon as he’s there, it’s like time slows to an excruciating speed, his fingers featherlight over the thin material. You’re already soaked. Have been since he started berating you about how much him wanting you was fucking him up. Declan knows it too, groaning as he applies more pressure, your slick seeping around the pad of his finger.

“Christ, you’re wet,” he grunts. “Is all this f’me?” Your head cants incessantly, mind and heart and pussy chanting more, more, more. But it doesn’t come. He just holds his finger to you, steady, waiting, like a finger on the trigger of a gun. The only relief you’re getting is from you squirming under his touch, and even then, it’s just not hitting in the way you know Declan could if he would just. Move.

A chuckle rumbles in his chest and as sexy as it sounds on a regular day, under the circumstances, it almost has you seeing red. “Oh, there she is,” Declan says when you finally look at him. “Needy little thing, aren’t ya?” His eyes are glued to yours, half-lidded with a grin tugging under his moustache. It’s not a challenge. It’s a promise. He has you right where he wants you, and you can feel it in the air, thick with his quiet confidence. Your mouth goes slack when Declan removes his finger from the outside of your underwear, instead using it to push the material aside, granting himself full access to your swollen centre. Then it’s back to square one: unhurried, languid movements as he traces your folds. Up and around, not once sliding over your clit despite your unintelligible splutterings begging him to do so. Declan’s lips fall back over yours with a quiet, charged kiss as his hand comes to cup your mound completely, his tongue seeking purchase against your own. You stay like that for a moment, tongues battling each other, his hand covering your pussy like he already owns it. Every single one of your nerve endings is alight, every inch of your skin acutely aware of his presence as his moustache grazes your top lip, as his middle finger ever so slightly dips between your folds. Then finally, finally, he slides a thick finger into you and you clench around him, the unfiltered pleasure enough to never want to be without the feeling of him inside you again. You both moan, the sound disappearing into your kiss, your hand disappearing into his hair, holding him to you. 

The hard peaks of your nipples create little blue buds against your dress, and they rub against Declan’s chest while he drags his finger from your body, in and out, in and out, each movement as deliciously slow as the last.

After a minute, he breaks your kiss, letting his forehead rest against your own. “You’re so tight,” he grits, adding another finger despite his observation. The new addition allows the palm of his hand to jut against your clit, and the friction almost has you levitating. “Oh, you like that, huh?” Declan teases, pushing into you harder, faster. The change in pace has you jerking like a live wire. Totally unhinged, the world feels like it’s spinning off its axis, more dangerously the longer he keeps that unforgiving pace. All this pent up frustration and teasing and longing bucks you closer to the edge, pins and needles edging their way from your toes up your body until—

Knock knock knock.

The door thumps into your back, scaring your orgasm away with it. Declan’s fingers freeze inside you, your clit pulsating against his palm, your eyes locked on one another as you will away the intrusion. The doorknob jostles next and all you can think is thank God Declan locked it when he did.

“‘S occupied!” he growls.

“Dad? Is that you?” Patrick.

The whites of your eyes blow out as you glare at Declan, panicked by the arrival of his son — your date, not twenty-four hours earlier — as you conjugate just mere inches away. Declan lifts his free hand to his lips, pressing a single finger into the supple flesh. Shh.

“Dad? Are you in here?” Patrick asks again, trying the door for a second time. 

“Yeah, son. You alright?” Declan responds, and your eyes go impossibly wider at him answering while his fingers are still buried in your pussy. While his steely length presses into the crease between your thigh and crotch.

“Are you alright? You’ve been gone a while.”

Declan’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving a devilish smile in its wake. “Everything’s grand,” he drawls, fingers slipping out of you to stake claim on your clit. The subtle movement yanks a gasp from you, a mix of embarrassment and arousal pumping through you as Declan begins to trace circles there. You’re caught between wanting to disappear and wanting more as Declan keeps talking, Irish accent laden with lust. “Just needed a few minutes to myself. Needed to…” he pauses, licking a stripe up the side of your neck before latching his teeth onto your earlobe for a hair of a second, “Decompress.”

“Mmm,” you moan, too loudly, because Declan claps a hand over your mouth to keep any more desperate sounds slipping from under the door. There’s a moment pause, and you panic, thinking you’ve given the pair of you away, but then Patrick is chattering away again, asking after you.

“Have you seen her? Could’ve sworn she came down this way.”

“Nope,” Declan lies, picking up pace as he strums your clit, like he’s getting off on holding a conversation while trying to take you to the brink of no return. “Haven’t seen her.”

The knot in your stomach mounts again, your whole body buzzing at high frequency. Patrick says something else, a goodbye, you think, but for all you know he could be speaking gibberish, the rush of blood to your ears blocking out anything that’s not Declan. 

The slight savour of sweat he’s worked up and how it tangoes with the cigarette smoke still lingering on his suit jacket.

How his mouth hangs slightly open, his tongue resting loosely against his bottom row of teeth, completely dumb for you.

The grunt wrapped in a sigh that pushes out of him when he plows two thickset fingers inside you again, and the matching moan you hum into the palm of his hand, the metal of his wedding ring cool against your upper lip.

“You’re making me crazy,” he says lowly. “Turnin’ me into someone who steals his son’s girl.” Your response comes out distorted, muffled against his skin. Declan’s hand slips from your mouth, finding its way to the nape of your neck and tangling its fingers into the frizzy hair there, the slight tension making your scalp tingle. “You got something to say, darlin’?”

“Not… his… girl,” you pant, words punctuated by Declan pumping his fingers impossibly deeper into your cunt.

“You’re damn right you’re not his girl.”

The subtext is clear. You’re not Patrick’s. You’re his. The feminist in you should balk at the insinuation but who are you kidding? Every stolen glance. Every car ride. Every solo orgasm you’ve yanked from yourself in the dead of night to the thought of him. Everything has led you to this. 

Your mascara flakes over the apples of your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut, Declan’s fingers expertly twisting and careening until the coil in the pit of your stomach is wound so tight you think you’re going to crack in two.

“Fuck, Declan,” you mewl, gripping his biceps to keep yourself steady. “So close.”

“Look at me, love. Wanna see those pretty eyes when you come.”

You could’ve fallen apart at those words alone, but you do what Declan says, gaze fluttering to his face as the butt of his hand against your clit works in tandem with his fingers until there’s a sharp and sudden snap, breaking you apart in a violent burst.

“Fuck, fuck, fu—” your expletives are swaddled by his hand yet again, eyes pricking with tears as you chase your high. Even through the blur, you see Declan grinning down at you with pride, nodding, quietly egging you on.

“That’s it, darlin’. Good. Good girl,” he whispers, thumb at the back of your head stroking tiny circles while his opposite fingers slow down with your breathing. It’s only when you stop convulsing completely that he drops his hand from your face. Your feet scream in pain as you come back to yourself, the weight of digging your heels in to keep you upright making itself known. Meanwhile, Declan slips himself from you, gently rearranging your underwear over your folds and allowing the skirt of your dress to float back down your legs. He shuffles backwards, allowing you space to gather yourself, to ground yourself, breaths still shaky as you step away from the door you’d come to be far too intimate with. You don’t speak, not yet, just watch as Declan peers down at his right hand that’s glistening with your slick, then to his left hand, where his wedding band glints under the library’s chandelier.

“Are you—” okay, is what you intend to ask, but Declan cuts you off, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

“I should go find Taggie and Patrick. Can’t have them hearing about their mum through some idle party gossip,” he says, voice steady but marred with a tinge of uncertainty, as if he’s trying to make sense of everything. He maneuvers around you awkwardly, all that cockiness from moments ago melted away. He pauses at the door, the heavy silence between you so palpable. His hand rests on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn it. “This was…” he trails off, eyes searching the room for the right word.

"Yeah," is all you can manage, because you can’t find the words either. For how he just made you feel like every single one of your synapses was on fire. For the way he's treating you now, all cool and distant, like he's casually asking you to grab him a coffee. Declan forces a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and nods. Just once, stiff. With one final glance, he slips out of sight, laughter and clinking glasses and whumping music replacing Declan in the room before the door clicks closed behind him. And almost immediately, you feel irrelevant and unsure of what to do next. At least, you think it best to let a few minutes pass before you leave the library, so you shuffle over to the large mirror hanging above the fireplace to take in your dishevelled form. You look utterly wrecked, all puffy lips and smudged mascara. All at the hands of Declan O’Hara.

Oh, God, you think, doing your best to wipe away the fallout of the last twenty minutes from your face. What have we done?

When you’re satisfied that you don’t look like…well, like your boss just plied an orgasm from you, you trace Declan’s footsteps and step back into the party, hoping to go unnoticed by the sparse guests mingling around you. Just when you think you’ve escaped unscathed, you catch Rupert’s eye at the end of the hallway — sharp, knowing. He tilts his glass of champagne towards you, slight smirk with the quiet gesture. It’s not a greeting, but an acknowledgement, and you wonder if he saw Declan leave the library, too.

If you got this far, thank you for reading!!!! Let me know in the comments what you think, and what you predict might happen next?!

Previous chapters: Chapter 1: The Interview, Chapter 2: Beneath The Surface, Chapter 3: Driving Miss Crazy

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

hey so thinking about stalker!quinn so bare that in mind when you click that handy dandy read more. i rambled hard core but whatever

he sees you in a book store in downtown Vancouver. your hairs just below your shoulders, you have on what looks like a black skirt and a pair of tights with black converse to match and he can’t read whatever’s on your hoodie.

all he can do is stare as your flip book after book, flushing as you read a random page before grabbing the book and holding it close.

he’s following you around the store, just grabbing random books to make himself not look like a weirdo. he needs more. needs to know who you are.

he overhears you ramble your phone number for rewards, replaying it in his head while you finish your transaction. as soon as he steps foot into his apartment, he’s googling.

he’s finding you one way or another. he learns you just graduated from Michigan State (and he cringes a little), and you just moved here for a job at the hospital. you’re 23, almost 24. you’re a pisces he’s learned, you really like music that screams in his year and taylor swift. it doesn’t make sense to him but that’s okay. he can live with it.

he finds out you live in his building. he sees you walking into the mail room and opening up box 117, that’s the floor below his. he’s learned you leave every Monday through friday at 5:30am and get home at 6:30pm. he hasn’t talked to you yet, just left flowers and dinners at your door.

he was getting out of his car when he saw you park yours. perfect, he’s thinking. he makes himself look busy while he waits for you to get to the elevator. making sure no one else is around, he’s walking to your car and sticking an air tag under your car. he’s gotta make sure you’re okay.

that following friday, he sees your at work still and against all better judgment goes down to the front desk and talks his way into getting a spare key to your apartment. he apologizes profusely to the desk, “i’m sorry my girlfriend didn’t leave hers under the mat and i’m supposed to surprise her tonight.” and who’s gonna say no to the beloved teams captain? no one.

that’s how he ended up in your apartment, placing cameras in hidden spots. he needs to learn your daily routine. what makes you tick. what you sound like when you moan.

once he’s found his way to your bedroom, he notices a pile of laundry on the floor. messy, messy girl. his eyes set on a lacy pair of underwear closer to your bed and he’s grabbing them before his brain even has time to stop him.

he made it home just in time. as soon as his doors closing, he gets a notification yours opened.

he’s pulling the cameras to see your pulling your top off and walking towards your room. his hands moving down to his sweats, trying to push them down enough when he hears your voice say his name.

“Quinn. yeah that’s the upstairs guys. no i haven’t talked to him much at all. yes he’s cute. very cute actually. but i don’t stand a chance. his face is fucking on the side of an arena dude, all i need is 10 minutes.” followed by some laughter.

baby, you’re getting more than 10 minutes.

he’s banging on your door before he knows it. as soon as your open the door, robe covering your top half, he’s pushing his way in.

“close the door.” he can see your face flushed and the anxiety all but falling from your eyes.

“you wanted 10 minutes? you can have 10 minutes but as soon as those 10 minutes are up? you’re mine. mine to use, to watch, to brand, to have, to do whatever i want with. isn’t that right? been practically begging me for months now. so why don’t you get on your knees and prove your worth?”

[moonmunson]

hello my old heart

a/n: wally clark has invaded my brain space and i cannot seem to rid him from my mind his himbo charms have seduced me. just in my mind this is set in the late '90s, but mr. martin isn't evil. none of the other kids are really mentioned by name, but this would be a few years after charley's death. as always i'm writing with a plus sized!reader in mind but anyone can read it.

summary: struggling with becoming comfortable in death, wally has made himself your new buddy.

cw: general angst and sadness over being dead, wally is a sweetheart who just wants to help. hurt/comfort with a sweet ending and a little bit of kissing. gn!reader, theatre kid x jock

wc: 2.1k

You think you’ve been dead for a little over a week. It’s hard to tell - time moves so differently here. It feels like static on the skin, the way the TV screen feels fuzzy when you touch it after it's been turned off. You haven’t spoken much, and the other dead kids don’t expect you to for a while. They’ve all told you that everyone reacts differently to their death, that there’s no right or wrong way to cope. 

You’re worried that if you open your mouth, it’ll be difficult to stop crying. Or screaming, or both. So you sit quietly in the circle in the gymnasium, listening as Mr. Martin leads the support group meeting. You’re appreciative of his trying to get you to open up, but you’re only capable of responding in nods and shrugs. When it’s over, you go to make your way back to the auditorium. It might be weird to some, considering you died there, but it’s still the place you feel the safest.

A few steps out of the gym, you hear pounding footsteps coming up next to you. It’s Wally, because of course it is. He’s dubbed himself your ‘Unofficial death guide.’ He’s the sweetest, and you wish you could actively participate in conversation with him. 

“You goin’ back to the auditorium?” When he talks, you have to crane your head to the right and all the way up because he’s so fucking tall. You nod, and he parrots it. 

“I don’t know how you can go back to that place. I couldn’t even look at the football field for like a week after I died.” Even when you don’t respond, Wally keeps going. “I also don’t know how you stand sharing a space with Mina. She's, like, totally scary.” He makes a face then, pinched up, like he’s imagining being trapped in a room with the other, objectively more aggressive theatre ghost.

It makes you giggle. Like, audibly giggle. Wally’s eyes widen, surprised that he was able to get a noise out of you. He laughs in return, a breathless exhale. He’s clearly proud of himself. 

“I have got to get you to do that again.” You shake your head no, even though the smile hasn’t left your face. “I’m serious, I have got to hear that laugh again!” 

When you round the corner near the front office, you stop in your tracks, the smile on your face quickly fading. Your mom and dad are there, holding a box with everything that was in your locker. It’s a weird feeling. You hadn’t forgotten you were dead, obviously, but everything had felt very up in the air.

Like the moment before a show starts - everyone sitting in the audience, the curtain still down to block the view of actors taking their places. Like limbo. Seeing your parents, their tear stricken faces, that makes it feel real. Too real. The sharp breath you take in alerts Wally to the fact that something is wrong, and he follows your gaze to the two adults standing at the front desk. 

“Oh shit, are those your parents?” Wally asks, his voice taking a softer tone. He has a volume control problem, everyone knows it, and you’re appreciative that he’s quieted down for this.

You nod, a small jerk of your head. He brings a tentative hand up to your shoulder, and when you don’t move away, he places it more firmly. “I’m so sorry, y/n. I really am. Do you wanna go up and see them?” 

You don’t answer, you just walk away. Wally calls after you, but doesn’t follow. 

The auditorium truly is your safe space. You were never brave enough to actually perform anything, though your teacher had begged you to. She’d heard you singing to yourself one day, and asked why you’d never auditioned for anything. You’d just deflected and said the stage fright would make you freeze. She’d been understanding, but encouraged you to think about auditioning for the show this year. 

You were a senior, it’d been your last opportunity to be in the spotlight, but by the time auditions came around you’d chickened out. The hidden disappointment on your teacher’s face wasn’t so hidden, but she made sure you had your usual spot on the tech and run crew portion of the show.

You died a few weeks later, tripping off of the stage while setting up a set piece and breaking your neck falling into the orchestra pit. Like a sick fucking joke. 

Now, you sit in the audience, gazing at the stage. It’s still blocked off by crime tape. The show for the end of the year has been effectively cancelled on account of your dying. ‘Postponed indefinitely’ is the term the overhead announcements had used, but you all knew what that actually meant. It just wasn’t gonna happen. 

You mostly just feel numb. Obviously your death isn’t something you could ever prepare for, and just like every other ghost in the building, your life had been unfairly cut short. Just like everyone else, you’d had plans for the rest of your life. None of them solid or reliable, but you’d had some idea of what you wanted your life to look like. A well paying job that you genuinely enjoyed, maybe a husband or wife and a few kids. All of that is gone now. 

Your parents in the front office felt like a kick to the gut, salt in the wound. The look on your mom’s face, the way your dad was cradling the box of your things like if he held tight to it enough it would bring you back.. it was too much to bear.

And Wally, sweet, kind, Wally. He’s been trying really hard with you, and you can’t even work up the nerve to say something to him. To thank him for being there for you, or answer any of the many questions or jokes he throws your way. 

You don’t even realize the tears are streaming down your face until they drip onto your hands in your lap. Once you feel the first one, the rest fall in quick succession and before you know it, you’re audibly sobbing in the empty theatre. It’s almost embarrassing, the way your cries echo because of the acoustics. 

Wally comes in quietly, and sits down next to you. You’ve been too preoccupied to notice anything other than your tears, heavy and streaking down your cheeks. He doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. He’s warm, and when you grab the front of his sweatshirt, he holds you tighter.

It takes a while for you to calm down - you’d been holding everything in for too long - you were bound to bubble over and explode at some point. When you feel yourself come back to your body, Wally is still holding you. He’s stroking your head and whispering comforts to you. You don’t deserve him, you think.

He’s still rubbing your back when you pull away to look at him, but you’re distracted by the wet spot on his sweatshirt - the light grey darkened by your tears. 

“Oh,” you whisper, your voice cracking from how long it’s been since you’ve spoken, “I’m sorry.”

Wally’s eyes widen, not prepared for you to start talking, and he jumps to console you. “Woah, hey, don’t even worry about it. This ratty old thing? I’ve been wearing it for like, almost twenty years.” He giggles a bit, continuing, “I honestly think this is the closest this thing has been to a washing machine even longer than that, so. No sweat, promise.”

You nod, thanking him. 

“Are you, like…” he trails off, not sure how to ask you if you’re okay. It’s a silly question, he knows that. “I remember the first time I saw my parents after I died. There was a vigil on the football field like a week after it happened. Everyone was there, and they were all crying and it was so weird. I didn’t feel dead yet, like I hadn’t accepted that it really happened.”

“That must’ve been really hard for you, Wally. I’m really sorry.” Your eyes meet, and he shrugs.

He smiles, a sad, nostalgic thing. He can’t tell you it’s okay, because it’s not. Instead, he goes to hold your hand. “I promise it will get better. It just takes some time. It’s gonna suck for a while, but we’re all here for you. I’m here for you.” His thumb rubs circles on the top or your hand, and you smile up at him. 

“Thanks, Wally. I really appreciate it.” Your interconnected hands are grounding you. It’s the first time you’ve felt a semblance of peace since you died. “Do you mind if we sit here for a little bit? It’s quiet, I don’t want to leave yet.” He nods, and the two of you just sit there.

Just like Wally said it would, it gets easier.

You start going to more of the meetings with Mr. Martin, and you actually start participating. It was weird at first - you thought people would make a big deal out of your finding your voice again, but they just smiled, proud of your growth. Wally has been your biggest cheerleader, but they’re all really supportive. Even Rhonda, though she still sports her gloomy demeanor. 

When they fix up the stage and clear the crime scene tape, the school holds your vigil there. Wally is right there with you in the audience, holding your hand while your parents speak. Your theatre teacher speaks too, and talks highly of you. Your brightness, the passion you had for theatre. When she says you had a beautiful voice, that you could’ve been somebody, she directs it at your parents. They agree, it seems. 

There are still days where it's really hard. You retreat back into your shell, refusing to leave the auditorium or speak to anyone. Wally's patience with you is endless, and when you allow him to stay with you, he spends all day cracking jokes to help you feel better.

One day, instead of letting you isolate yourself, he drags you out onto the football field to get some sun. "We don't really need vitamin D anymore, but I really think it'll help. C'mon, the sun on your skin? Wind in your hair? Can't beat that, babe." He leads you out onto the field - one hand clasped in yours and the other holding a backpack.

The pet names are a new thing, but you don't mind it. He'd slipped one day, called you sweetheart, and immediately backtracked and apologized profusely. All you could do was laugh and call him cute.

"Where did you even get that?" you giggle, following him to a spot under a tree near the edge of the field. "Did you steal that from someone?"

He drops your hand to bring it to his own chest, offended at your assumption. "Me? Steal? I can't believe you'd think so lowly of me," he plops onto the grass, patting the spot next to him, "Yeah I totally stole it, emptied it out, and then filled it with a shit ton of snacks and drinks so we could have a picnic out here." He unzips the bag, pulling out at least ten different bags of chips and candy bars.

"This is really sweet, Wally," you can feel your face heat up, though hopefully it'll just look like it's because of the heat. "It's like a date, almost." His head shoots up to look at you, pink dusting his cheeks and ears.

"Y-yeah, if you want it to be. If you think you're ready for that kind of thing." He stutters, a nervous boyish thing. He's the sweetest person ever.

“I am, I think,” you nod while you’re talking, like you’ve made up your mind, “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met.” Wally ducks his head down, chin meeting his chest. He’s fully blushing now - it’s the cutest thing you’ve seen in a long time. 

“C’mere,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and maneuvering your body so your back is pressed up against his chest, head resting in the space between his head and shoulder, “is this okay?” 

You turn your head to try and look at him, and he angles his towards you. His face is inches from yours, and if you had a heartbeat, it’d be beating wildly right now. You can almost feel it, the pitter patter of it in your chest. Your hand comes up to cradle his cheek, rubbing your thumb over the space under his eye. You nod, and move in to kiss him. 

His lips are so soft, and the way they move in conjunction with yours provides much needed relief. You stay like that for a few minutes, and when you’re done, he rests his forehead against yours. Eyes closed, feeling the gentle breeze sweeping up the hill you’re sitting on. You never had anything like this when you were still alive, the easy conversation and back and forth banter. He’s your new safe space. You don’t have to worry about anything when you’re with him. 

“This is perfect.”

a/n: wally clark is actually so special to me and when i think about him for too long i get very emotional. my shayla. i wrote this in the span of like a day and a half so if there are any mistakes i'm sorry LMAO

if you liked this story, please like and reblog!! it'd mean the world to me, even if you just drop a silly comment. i want to write more for wally because he desperately needs more stories on here.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: the dancer and the angel PART 5 (finale)

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: a forbidden kiss, a fallout, a drunken secret and a broken girl… it all comes down to this

parts: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

warnings: SPOILERS FOR TGG, swearing

a/n: what a journey!! who knew this whole series could come from one request!! thank you @emelia07, I owe this all to you my love!! and thank you for everyone who has read along and been anticipating this part, your support and love has been AMAZINGGGG

taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @eternal--dream @shattered-glass-roses @book-nerd-emi @peppapigsposts

YOUR POV

Light streams through the window and my head thumps, a constant monotonous banging. I groan, wincing slightly as I try to roll over into a more comfortable position to re-enter sleep. I feel like I’ve just been hit by a bus, my limbs ached and weighed heavy against the rest of my body. Even my mattress feels uncomfortable, it’s much stiffer than it usually is.

I don’t open my eyes, I prefer the solace I’m finding darkness at the moment. With a pounding head and sore body all I want to do is go back to sleep but it seems my overactive brain has other ideas. Suddenly I’m overwhelmed with a flash of memories. Last night rushes through my brain in jerky disconnected moments. Grayson kissed Lyra. I had gone clubbing with Avery. Gigi was missing. The bottle of alcohol I’d snagged to drown everything out, the crying, the running, the ocean and Grayson in my room.

Oh. Shit.

I suddenly realise I can smell him all over me. My mouth grows sour. I struggle to open my eyes, they feel velcro-ed shut but I manage to pry them open. Everything’s a little hazy, though once my vision clears I realise why my mattress feels so funny. Beneath me isn’t a mattress at all. It’s a man I never wish to see again.

I sit up suddenly, jerking away from him as a wave of nausea rolls over me. I know it’s not the alcohol, I don’t get sick from it. It’s the realisation, the dread pooling the deepest pit of my stomach. This couldn’t be happening.

Scenes replay in my head, like a twisted sort of horror movie where I am the main character who walks into the room the audience knows the killer is in, the same audience who is screaming at their television screens that I shouldn’t walk into that room alone with no weapons. But that’s the thing, you can’t change a film but screaming at the tv. What’s done is done.

Everything I said, I remember it so clearly. I’d told him everything. The truth. The truth that I’d planned to bury alive until it died naturally. It was never meant to have a voice again but of course under alcohol my brain was persuaded much more easily.

“I love you,” I’d mumbled, the words tumbling out in my drunken phase.

I’d admitted to still loving him at least three times and that was how many times in remembered. I feel a little more queasy at the thought.

I dare to glance to my left. Half of his face is buried in the pillow, golden hair spilling over the other. His eyes are closed and his face looks calm, peaceful, beautiful. How dare he look like that.

Panic seizes in my throat. I don’t know what to do. Wake him, yell at him, kick him out, kiss him, leave the room and tell him it was all a dream if he questioned it. My head spins and my heart thumps. I can barely see straight, overwhelmed with a sea of emotion. I’m angry and I’m upset and I’m desperate and I’m confused.

His eyes flicker of open before I have the chance to decide my best move. He immediately meets my eye and sits up in the bed. He’s frozen, half way between going to say something and saying nothing at all. Any lingering tiredness dissipates into panic.

“What are you doing here?” I yelp, before he even has the chance to plead innocent, “why are you in my bed?”

“You were drunk,” he blurts out suddenly, arms defensive over his naked torso.

“And that’s why you’re in my bed,” I cry out incredulously, widening my eyes.

He rolls his, “you wanted me to stay, I couldn’t leave you alone on that state.”

“I was only in that state because I was trying to forget about you,” I snap back, climbing off of the mattress to pull my shoes on.

“Forget about me?” he murmurs, almost in some sort of daze as he shifts his weight on the bed.

I glance up, not accustomed to the vulnerability of his tone when we were arguing. Of course I don’t want to forget about him, I’d wanted to forget that I’d been stupid enough to give someone my heart.

But he didn’t have to know that.

He looks delicate, just sat there, his features soft and mellow. I want nothing more than to reach out and cup his face in my palms and kiss all his pain away, all his built up fear and uncertainty. To run tender fingertips across his shirtless chest, to his collarbone and neck, only for them to get lost in the golden halo of hair that sat atop his head.

My own cravings and desperation annoy me. Why am I still drawn to someone who caused me so much hurt? My head spins. I always make the same mistakes, you’d think I would’ve learnt by now. I just decide in the flash of a moment that I need to see this through, whatever this is now, it needs to be over.

“Oh,” I tusk, rolling my eyes, “don’t sound like such a hurt bird.”

“I don’t I-“

He stands up and attempts to make his way over to me. I move away.

“Just shut up and get out,” I groan, cutting him off, pressing my cold fingertips to my temples, “I’ve got a banging headache and I just want to be alone.”

I sound like a bitch but he’s not exactly making this easy for me not to. I’m hungover and heartbroken, not the best mix.

He looks at me, eyes scanning over me too tenderly. I want to melt back into his arms and fall asleep with the comfort of his soft breathing. When his eyes roam me like that I feel vulnerable, like he can see all of the things that are hurting me most. I don’t like it, he shouldn’t have that right, not anymore.

“Let me help you,” he says quietly and twinge of desperation in his throat.

My insides are screaming at me to just collide with his mouth and accept anything that he says. I look him up and down and discard this moment, these feelings and whatever happened last night. I remember who he really is and what he really did. The part of him I can’t sugarcoat.

I scoff, tightening my arms across my chest., “I think you’ve helped enough.”

He look even more hurt as he steps closer, “please let me-“

A tingle runs down my spine at the familiar position we’re in. I can’t do this.

“Grayson,” I say sharply, “leave.”

And so he does.

He turns his back and walks out of the door, shutting it gently behind him. Part of me wishes he fought harder and part of me is glad. I sink down to the floor my head in my hands. I wait for the tears that are bound to fall but the tease me and make me wait that little bit longer to cry.

Head pounding, heavy with exhaustion and all I want is his touch back, I want his voice back, I want him back but I can’t afford to want anything like that. Not anymore I suppose.

***

GRAYSONS POV

“Grayson,” the way she says my name sends a sort of electrical shock through me, her tone is so attacking and bitter I almost wince, “leave.”

Leave. Last night I was supposed to leave but she asked me to stay, this time she’s asking me to leave but all I want to do is stay.

But I turn my back and walk out of the door. I owe her this and so much more, I can’t deny her of anything else, I can’t be selfish enough to stay. My token of selfishness ran out last night or maybe even long before that.

I feel numb. Through my veins courses an icy silver liquid, my brain is a void of empty blackness lacking thoughts or emotion and my heart can’t seem to beat. Everything is gone. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff waiting to meet my death, I’ll never know when it’s coming or who caused it but I’m contented, maybe even intrigued with the possibility.

I wanted nothing more than to fight for her, stay there and demand she didn’t let me go. I want her to know how much again, how sorry I am, but what good is an apology when you’ve destroyed someone’s heart?

The numbness floods away and it hits me out of nowhere that this time I’m leaving for good. The realisation attacks me hard in the chest, bullets raining on my skin, making it a little difficult for me to breathe. A tightness constricts my upper body and I feel hazy.

I’m not going anywhere in particular, I just let my feet carry me away. Where is there to go without her? I’m an idiot. Why did I think this morning it would be any different? I’d brainwashed myself into thinking she still actually wanted me because she’d said it when she was drunk. Deep down I knew this would happen and I still stayed.

I’m a selfish bastard. Just like my grandfather.

Where to go from here? I’m alone, sat on a slab of ebony rock, staring out to sea. Usually a practice like this would calm me enough to get me to think straight but today it’s a different story.

Slowly I strip my blazer coat from my back and disgusts the shirt I’d rushed on only moments ago and trousers. I leave them folded on the black rock and make my way to the ocean. I come to the edge, the waves coming to shore lapping my bare feet and ankles.

Then I dive.

As far out as possible into the waters, until I’m out of my depth. Whilst treading waters I analyse how far out I am and the seven best possible ways to get help if I come into danger before I begin to swim.

I’ve spent so much of my life swimming, I know when I’ve hit twenty five meters and then fifty. My body is used to how it feels. So I just do it over and over and over and over. I can feel my brain becoming a blank canvas. Swimming helps me think.

Though, I’ve never enjoyed swimming the ocean, not properly swimming anyway. But I suppose that’s not what the ocean was made for. A pool is reliable. There’s no current, no salt burning your eyes, no creatures lurking beneath the surface. As I swim, I’m constantly thrown off course by the waves, that only seem to grow in size. But maybe that’s a good thing, I have to work that much harder to reach my goal.

Suddenly I stop and make my way to shore, breathing heavily as I sit on the edge where the sand meets the sea. I know what I need to do and my chest feels hollow before I even do it.

LYRAS POV

My chest heaves in and out, rising up and down as I gulp in the oxygen that dance had just stolen. I stay on the floor, toe pointed, arms poised. I don’t know how long I’m there for but eventually I will myself to stand up. I’ve danced, my feelings should be processed, but oddly enough they don’t seem to be. Not like they usually are.

I feel someone’s eyes on me, a prickling sensation creeping down the back of my neck. I turn and face the my unwanted visitor. Perfected blonde hair though seemingly a little damp, mellow gray eyes and a suit. He’s here, of course he’s here. He can’t leave anyone or anything alone, he has to have it all. My peace, my freedom, my expression and his shadow bears weight over it all.

Fury courses through my veins, like lightning ready to strike. It crackles and hisses impatient to put a deadly shock through someone. I feel my expression morph into a scowl, my eyes narrow into sharp slits and despite my previously open body language through my routine I now tuck myself in and away from his prying eyes. I force myself up, legs still a little shaky from the adrenaline of the routine. I stand still, if he wants to talk, he can walk to me.

“Lyra-“ he begins, stepping inwards.

“You,” I spit, a bitter venom coating my tongue, acidic and sharp.

Something flickers across his face. Is that fear I sense? Good. I’m ready for a fight, for a battle, maybe even a war.

“Look-“ he tries to begin again.

I don’t give him the chance to continue. He doesn’t deserve to plead his apologies, I won’t be swayed with empty words.

“You are a horrible man,” I seethe, fire in my belly, “if you can even call yourself a man, I’ve got several other less polite words for it.”

“Please you do not need to list them,” he replies dryly.

I bark out a surprised laugh, “still arrogant, still full of yourself, after everything you’ve done and the people you’ve hurt you have the audacity to-“

“I’m sorry-“ he interrupts me with an earnest look in his eyes I can’t ignore. Maybe just maybe he really is sorry… or maybe he’s the fantastic actor he’s always been.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” I tell him coldly.

His desperate eyes dare to find mine, “hear me out-“

“No,” I shake my head, “I’m done with listening to you and your lies.”

He winces as if I’ve struck him across the face, “Lyra I didn’t mean to-“

“You did. And you won’t make that mistake again,” I say, an uninvited rawness in my voice, “not with me.”

“Lyra please-“

“Beg all you want,” I cut him off again. I know the lines he’s rehearsed, I’ve heard them said by other men. I don’t give in to excuses, not from a man like him, “get on your knees I don’t care there’s nothing you can say to save yourself now and who’s fault is that?”

“Mine,” he barely murmurs, looking like a scorned child.

“Funny,” I say, dropping my voice low, “it’s so convenient now is the time you take responsibly for your actions, maybe you should’ve thought about them before-“

“I made a mistake,” Grayson bursts, the action so sudden and out of character I wonder if it’s really him talking or some deranged drunken version.

I check his eyes. He’s sober. And yet here he is standing in front of me, admiting he’s wrong and actually looking apologetic for it.

“That much is evident,” I scoff, still I can’t trust any word that comes out of his mouth, any look in his eyes, “but you did worse than that. You hurt me, you hurt the girl who loved you, who gave you everything but still wasn’t enough to satisfy your egotistical, spoilt desires,” I seethe, “you didn’t only do that but you made me into someone I’m not and you of all people don’t get to do that. I write my own story, paint my own picture, dance to my own tune. You don’t get to decide who I am and you have, you’ve made me the slut who goes around kissing other people’s boyfriends.”

“She knows you didnt know,” he replies, almost softly.

“And what’s it to me now?” I ask with a crisp laugh, “What’s done is done and everything is ruined.”

“You’re right,” he mumble miserably.

“You know if I’d even thought for a fraction of a second there was someone else I wouldn’t have even looked in your direction,” I tell him.

It’s more than true, I could never do that to someone, not on purpose. It isn’t me.

“I know,” Grayson says, “you’re a good person.”

“I don’t need you of all people to tell me that,” I snap, keeping up every wall I could. He will never get past them again.

“You intrigued me,” he admits, as if it makes the situation better.

“Men are led by greedy eyes and tiny dicks,” I spit, such fury in my voice I almost don’t recognise myself.

He can’t stop his eyebrows from shooting upwards in surprise.

“The first half of that sentence was true,” he murmurs.

“Protecting your pride still,” I sneer, as if any man wouldn’t have, “how can you come here and look me in the eye to plead for forgiveness after what you’ve done.”

He looks pained, “I don’t know.”

“You’re an asshole,” I tell him. One final time.

“I know,” he sighs.

I’ve never seen a man that held himself with such composure look so defeated. I don’t enjoy this, making anyone feel like this, even if it’s him. He may have hurt people but it doesn’t make him immune to feeling hurt himself.

Still, that didn’t kill the pure anger within me, the burning ferocity for someone who had done me wrong. And maybe I’m a fool for being blinded by such an explosive emotion but I don’t care. I can’t afford to care.

So I almost smile, “I hope she doesn’t still love you, in fact I hope she hates you for the rest of your life and you spend your days torturing yourself over this.”

“I’m sorry I kissed you Lyra, I’m sorry I played with your heart,” he says solemnly.

“You didn’t play with anything,” I laugh, “if you think you got remotely close to my heart you’d be gravely mistaken.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you then,” he replied calmly, “and I’m sorry I painted you in a bad light.”

“But you’ll win this game in the end won’t you,” I say with a shrug, my voice softens, “of course you will.”

“There’s no game here Lyra,” he responds, a vulnerability in his tone, “just a stupid man and two angry women.”

“She doesn’t deserve you,” I reply, looking him up and down.

“I know that,” Grayson admits, “she never has.”

“And you proved that to her,” I remind him, salt in his wounds, I want them to burn as much as her heart does.

“I know that too,” he says, his voice soft and quiet.

He looks too agonised and suddenly I can’t bear to look at him.

“I want you to leave,” I tell him quickly, “and don’t look back.”

He nods silently, “I’m sorry, truly.”

I stare, waiting for him to leave. I would not run from a man, he should do the walk of shame out.

“Don’t even think about coming anywhere near me after this,” I call out, “this is a forever goodbye, Hawthorne. Stay out of my life.”

He doesn’t respond, only gives a second nod before he turns his back and walks off slowly. I exhale softly and hit play on the music to start a second routine with a now cleared head.

***

YOUR POV

The bathroom tiles are cold under my thighs but they’ve almost gone as numb as the rest of me. I’ve been sat here for who knows how long recounting last nights events over and over, all the parts I didn’t want to remember and maybe some parts that I won’t admit I do. This is one of the reasons I don’t drink, but of course I’d break that rule for him, betraying my own morals again for the same stupid man. I’m exhausted, physically exhausted by it all. I tip my head back and rest it on the edge of the bathtub, a chill runs down my neck reminding me of what his touch to me.

‘But I can’t say it out loud, because then I’m an idiot for loving someone who cut me deeper than any weapon could ever cut me.’

Of all the things to say I really did have to spill everything didn’t I? There’s no way of taking back, even twisting it into something it’s not. What I said was too raw to be lied about. Denial seems like my new best friend. If I pretend for long enough I never said it, maybe I’ll fool myself into believing it too.

‘And I tried to drink it all away, believe me I tried, but then halfway through my fifth glass I kind of realised it wasn’t working.’

Even my drunken tongue had lied, I’d realised before the alcohol even had the pleasure of burning its way down my throat that it wouldn’t work. I’d just convinced myself it might attack the pain receptors in my body.

‘It’s because I still fucking love you, how depressing is that? You murdered my heart and yet it can’t stop beating your name.’

Did his heart beat mine? His replies are hazier than my memory of what I’d said. My stupidity is woven deep into my brain, his hit the hardest when he’s kissed her so any other stupid things past that were more forgettable. My stomach rolls at the thought of all I’d admitted to last night. I groan wishing for the floor to swallow me whole and softly drown me into an eternal darkness.

But I can’t keep walking through this endlessness, whatever feelings I had left for him I had to leave behind. I’m good at tricking my mind and that is my plan now, trick my mind into thinking I don’t love, I can’t love. Maybe next time I won’t be so hurt. I stand up and gaze at the girl in the mirror, finally silencing the voice that was picking out all the features Lyra had that I didn’t. I inhale and exhale deeply. All my feelings would be discarded, here and now I decide. The moment I step from this bathroom and close the door, I’m closing off connection to him.

I walk slowly towards the door, my legs a little more shaky and a little less numb. I can’t tell which I prefer. I breathe deeply as I step out, taking in our happy memories for one last time, before this mess of a relationship it has become. And finally, finally I shut the bathroom door.

He’s out of my mind and I’m focussed on something else. I want to find Gigi, then I want to have a good nights sleep and then I want to go and find a career I love and cut this Hawthorne part of my life out completely. To truly lose him, I needed to lose everything close to him too. I can’t afford to be drawn back again.

I leave the room I’d slept in the night before and walk, fast paced and strong steps that leave me slightly breathless after a while. The island is bigger than it looks with many different pathways to walk.

I pick the one that seems the longest. I need to clear my head and focus on where Gigi could possibly be. I feel consumed with guilt that I hadn’t been trying harder to find her, instead I’ve been wrapped up in my own problems. She could be dead, dying or something worse that I didn’t even want to start imagining. All I know is, we have to work harder to find her and it starts here and now.

I need to gather all the information. When. When did she go missing? Exact time stamps of everything to calculate how swiftly any of this happened. Where. Where was she taken? We needed to revisit all the places she could be or could’ve been taken from. How. How was she taken? Did it leave any evidence? Would that give us a clue to who it might have been? Why. Why would someone want her? What’s the motive behind it all? What. What did they want? Surely they wanted something right? Who. The big question mark and blank face. Who in the world would want to kidnap Juliet Grayson?

A hand touches my shoulder and I flinch, immediately going into fight or flight. Unfortunately for the other person I choose to fight, twisting their arm quickly. They clearly aren’t expecting it as they cry out and don’t react fast enough. When I hear the sound of her voice I immediately drop the tight grasp I’d had on her and repeat apologies.

“I am so sorry,” I exhale, “I was thinking deeply about Gigi and I thought you might be a kidnapper.”

“It’s okay,” Avery says, hiding her wince quite well as she adjusted her arm, “you totally would’ve kicked ass if I had been a kidnapper.”

I try to smile but can only manage a half grimace, “thanks.”

She tilts her head as our eyes meet.

“You okay?” Avery asks, looking pitiful.

I hate it. I hate to think she feels sorry for me. What’s done is done, we all just need to forget and move on and her pity is only making me remember. I run a hand over my face to break eye contact. Clearly I look worse than I thought I did despite trying to hide my tired eyes and hollow cheeks with makeup.

“Fine,” I respond with a small shrug, as we begin a slow walk down.

She hesitates, I can tell she’d unsure to carry on the conversation, but she does anyway, “you don’t seem fine.”

I chew my bottom lip trying to come up with some sort of plausible excuse, “rough sleep,” I manage, my throat a little dry.

The silence between us feels thick and heavy, not the way it usually might. The paranoia in me thinks she knows something.

She stares at me for a moment and then sighs, saying what’s really on her mind, “why did Grayson walk out of your room this morning?”

And for once the paranoia is right.

I don’t say anything at first because I don’t know what to say. I’m trying to forget about him but slowly I’m learning every second I’m here I’ll be reminded. As soon as I can I’ll leave for good this time.

“Long story,” I murmur.

“Care to share?” she asks. Avery isn’t one to push, if I told her to drop it now she would immediately. But part of her knows what I don’t want to admit to. I need to talk about this, get it off of my chest. Burying it alive doesn’t mean it’ll die immediately. Maybe I need to kill it first.

“I got drunk,” I explain, more ashamed now because saying something out loud always makes it more real, “and said some things I shouldn’t have and he stayed… because I asked him to.”

She winced, unable to hold it back this time.

“Oh wait,” I laugh, through some pain, “it gets worse.”

Avery bites her lip, “please no,” she begs in a small voice.

I sigh and meet her eyes directly, “And then, like the idiot that I am, I told him I still loved him.”

She gasps, air caught in her throat. She stills in her sheer surprise of it all.

“Yeah,” I grimace, with an awkward cough, “so if you’re wondering why I look like crap that may or may not have something to do with it.”

“Rewind,” she says, “do you?”

“What?”

“Still love him,” she clarifies.

“Of course,” I murmur. If I’m going to keep lying to myself from now on I want the last person I tell the truth to to be someone who I can truly trust, “but he’s not supposed to know that.”

“This is tricky,” Avery says, tapping her fingers at her sides.

“You’re telling me,” I blow out a breath, “I have no idea what to do.”

“Did he tell you?” she asks curiously, “that you told him you loved him I mean?”

“No, that’s the weird thing,” I reply slowly, “he hasn’t said a thing about it.”

I hadn’t really thought of it until now. Why wouldn’t he use that against me? It’s perfect. Too perfect. He could’ve easily just explained the whole conversation and my only defence, I was drunk, which when thinking about it isn’t even a defence.

Avery’s eyebrows furrow and she tilts her head confused, “so how do you know you said that?”

“I remember everything,” I blurt out, “every single second.”

“But he hasn’t referenced it?” she clarifies.

“He doesn’t know I remember,” I say slowly, “and I’m keeping it that way.”

She nods in understanding but I can see part of her is wondering why.

“I can’t afford to love him Avery because I love too hard,” I admit, each word killing me softly, “I trust too much.”

“I understand,” she purses her lips, “but doesn’t it mean something, that he hasn’t said anything.”

I tilt my head to the side, “how do you mean?”

“He knows what he’s done is beyond wrong,” she begins, “and he also knows you still love him, but he also knows you don’t want to be with him, so maybe he’s trying to make it easier for you to leave, to just forget.”

I chew my lips, “I suppose.”

We fall into a silence of pondering. Maybe he is really trying to let me do what I want to. Maybe he is helping me leave because I asked him to. Maybe he knows if he asks me to stay, I will, so he’s not asking at all.

“I’m sorry,” Avery says quietly, wrapping as arm around my shoulder and pulling me into her.

“What are you sorry for?” I sniff, suddenly aware of a dampness on my cheeks, “none of this is your fault.”

“It’s not you either,” she whispers tentatively.

I don’t know how she knows but she knows I need to hear this. I keep trying to find the flaws in myself, all the things that I’d done to cause this to happen. And as much as I hate to think I would do that for a guy, it’s what I am doing.

I look up at her, glossy eyed.

“No,” she says firmly, “don’t you dare start blaming yourself.”

“Too late,” I smile sadly, a tidal wave of emotion hitting me hard. If I hadn’t been a problem, if there wasn’t something wrong with me, then why kiss another?

“Oh sweetheart,” she says tenderly, hugging me tighter, closer.

“Maybe I wasn’t good enough Avery, maybe if I was smarter, maybe if I was prettier, if I could dance like her…” I trail off, “I know I’m a lot, I know I’m hard to deal with but I just thought… I really thought I’d found someone who understood that and embraced it. I thought he loved every part of me, that he’s never feel like that for anyone but me. I was stupid enough to think for once I was the special one but I was wrong. I’m the girl I’ve always been, I’m not enough Avery.”

“Look at me, look at me right now,” she says with a fierce love, “you are enough. In fact you’re more than enough. You’re so kind and lovely and sweet, you light up a whole room when you walk into it, you’re constantly putting others before yourself. You’re brave and you’re beautiful and he’s letting all of that go. You are everything and don’t let him make you forget it because I’m not going to sit here and let a stupid boy make you think you’re not enough.”

I force a laugh, my throat so hoarse so the sound of scrapes and scratches.

“And I’m not even just saying this,” she says, once again proving that she can read minds, “you know me, I’m an honest girl and I wouldn’t lie to one of my best friends. He’s not worth you, he let you down, he hurt you and that’s on him, that’s a reflection of him. It has nothing to do with you, okay?”

I nod snivelling, “god I love you Ave.”

“I love you too,” she smiles through her own tears now.

We hug again and even thought I’d thought it was impossible to get ourselves any closer, we still managed.

“I can’t believe I’m crying over a boy right now,” I laugh through my tears.

She laughs too, wiping them from my cheeks, “it’s okay, I’ve been there one too many times.” I beam at her and slowly loosen my arms around nee to let her go.

“Avery,” I say carefully.

She hums in reply, brushing my hair behind my ears.

“Can I ask you a question?” I say.

She looks at me, almost knowing what’s coming yet still replies, “sure,” in such a way that made me more than comfortable to even ask.

I inhale deeply, “what would you do if Jameson did this to you?”

A sudden sadness coats her hazel eyes.

“Honestly,” she sighs, “I don’t even know, I wouldn’t know what to do. I know that’s the last thing you probably wanted to hear.”

I shrug, “it’s okay. I don’t really know what I expected you to say.”

***

GRAYSONS POV

My pride is wounded two times over. Good. Maybe that’ll teach it.

Ever since I was a child I had been raised to be a proud man, someone who held their head high no matter what they’d done or in some cases what they hadn’t. I could blame my grandfather for the way I turned out, the man who bred me to be such a foul and malicious creature or maybe my neglectful mother, absent father or a smiling red headed girl who pitched herself off of a cliff edge. But what good I blaming someone when I’m still stuck as myself?

I find myself back at the beach. A place that is both achingly familiar and distant all at the same time. I wonder if the salt in the water will cleanse me of what I have done. As I close my eyes and inhale, I remember pulling her between my legs, telling her she was the only one our first night on this island. I would do anything to go back to that moment.

Why is nothing ever enough for me? I don’t know when to stop, when to feel satisfied, when to recognise I have more than I want. Why am I the way I am? My head is a swirling mess of antagonising thoughts and strangling voices all on top of one another.

Though one is the loudest, one shows me the most.

I hurt her more than I could ever imagine and it’s killing me. Pieces of me are eroding away in the acid coursing through my veins. I can feel myself slipping away, everything growing heavier by the smallest fractions that build up over time until everything just crumbles one day and you look back and wonder what the hell happened.

I have hatred for a lot of people but my most loathed enemy is the man who looks me in the eye every day in my bathroom mirror, the man who shares my name and my blood and my mind. I hate him for hurting her. I want to destroy him for making a single tear slip. I wish nothing but an agonising life for him.

I feel someone sit beside me and I already know who it is. It isn’t the way she moves that gives her away, nor the smell of her perfume or sound of her breathing. I just know. Like I’ve always just known. She sits by my side and stares out to sea, not meeting my eye when I turn to look at her.

“I’m done with this,” she says, her voice stone, cold, “the tension, the arguing, all of it. I’m done with you Grayson. I want to make it clear. When I say stay away from me, you will stay away from me. I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”

She’s still looking out, every weighted word is said towards the ocean and still I feel every jab just a heavy on my chest.

She’s so beautiful, too beautiful. I’m selfish in this moment for almost being glad she came, just so I could look at her, really look at her one last time. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, as well as her nose slightly pinkish. Long thick lashes curl up to almost touch her eyebrows. Her lips only taunt me in their perfection, rounded and red, making my desire to take them into my own that little bit more violent.

I understand what she wants, but I don’t want her to want it. But I have to give her this, if I truly love her, I have to let her go. But if this is the last conversation we ever have, I don’t want it to end here.

“What do you remember from last night?” the question escapes my lips before I can filter it.

Still she does not meet my eye, “are you not listening to me?” she’s agitated, annoyed and desperately trying not to glare at me in fear of making eye contact.

“I will do whatever you ask,” I tell her, praying she could hear my earnestness, thick in my throat, “I promise you-“

She scoffs cutting me off, “yeah because promises went far last time.”

A pang of shame attacks my heart, it aches and pulsates in agony. It’s my own fault and part of me is guilty it isn’t writhing more, I suppose it’s still holding out for some false hope.

“I swear it on my life and yours,” I say, slowly, “I’ll do whatever you ask. But please, please tell me. What do you remember from last night?”

“Nothing,” her voice almost softens, it’s not as harsh as before but not as sweet as I remembered.

It stings. Reality usually does, but I don’t think I’ve felt it this strongly since Emily died. I’d thought maybe somewhere there would’ve been part of her that remembered her confession, part of her that believed it. All I know for sure is I’m not going to say a word about it, I owe her far more than that and despite how much I want her, crave her, need her, I can’t do this to her.

“Absolutely nothing?” I murmur, wondering if words were even being processed by my brain anymore because I don’t remember thinking them.

“I drank a load of alcohol and then went to my room,” she replies briskly, her frostiness returning like an icy sheet on a winters day, “next thing I know I wake up with you next to me.”

“So you don’t remember anything you said?” I push, testing the waters.

If this truly is our last conversation, I need to know for sure that she doesn’t remember anything, that I should forget like she’s already forgotten.

“No and quite frankly I don’t care Grayson,” she groans, eyes blazing with a fury I wasn’t used to, “I’m tired of this vicious circle. You messed up and no amount of apologising is going to save you now.”

“I love you,” I blurt out.

I can’t help it. She’s everything to me and she needs to know it, even if she doesn’t believe it.

She shakes her head, almost sadly, “and clearly that’s not enough.”

“It is enough,” I say desperately.

I understand why she can’t see this like I do. I understand why she won’t consider it. I understand I’ve hurt her beyond her limit.

“This is what I mean by a vicious circle,” she chokes out, “we’re back to the same place again. You tell me you love me, then I ask why you did what you did, you say you don’t know and I can’t forgive and forget it.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I tell her, “but you know it as well as I do, we’ll go crazy without each other. I’m already losing it and so are you-“

“Oh thanks,” she scoffs, sarcasm clinging to her tone, “good way to win me back there, telling me I’m a mental case, real attractive.”

I wince then regain composure.

“You don’t drink,” I say, “you’ve never been a heavy drinker and now what? You suddenly are.”

“I’m allowed to do what I want,” she spits back, “habitual or not.”

Something about the way she is so defensive about being so reckless makes me feel sick to my stomach. I don’t want to be the reason she destroys her health.

“So you expect me to sit back and watch you hurt yourself!” I yell, suddenly angry, more with myself than ever at her.

“Well you’ve had no problem hurting me before,” she snaps, her voice almost acidic.

I fall silent. What is there left to say? She’s right. She has me backed into a corner of speechlessness. I’ve run out of defences to plead.

“You know what Grayson, it’s fine,” she says bitterly, harshly wiping away tears, “people move on I get it but couldn’t you have just said it to my face before you went behind my back? You knew, you knew I was insecure about her and you still went ahead and kissed her. What kind of sick person does that?”

She looks like she’s physically in pain, it agonises me to even watch her, let alone realise that I’m the one who caused this. Guilt consumed me so long ago and yet it feels like my first taste all over again.

“I don’t know how to tell you this again,” I fumble over my words, my hands shaking, “it meant nothing, I felt nothing.”

“Then what made you do it?” she sobs, “what made you do it?”

“I don’t know,” I ramble, “she was there and she was upset and I felt bad and I’d just spent the last 24 hours with her and she reminded me of you and so I got confused-“

“Confused.” she says darkly, she looks livid, “Confused? We’re completely different fucking people, Grayson. Please don’t try and feed me that excuse because it won’t wash with me!”

“I don’t know, I really don’t then,” I reply, holding my hands up to surrender, “I don’t know why this happened or how, all I know is that I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life.”

“Good,” she snaps, “as you should, now are you done here?”

I look at her longingly, my eyes latching to her body. I don’t want this to be goodbye but if it has to be then I want to remember every inch of her.

“If you promise me you’ll be careful,” I murmur, barely audible.

Her face scrunches up, “don’t tell me what to do.”

“You scared me last night,” I admit, softening my voice.

“I’m a grown woman Grayson,” she sneers, saying my name so coldly I feel it burn in my chest, “I can do what I like, I don’t care if it scared you, get your big boy pants on and get over it.”

“That wasn’t you,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” she laughs gently with a bitterness caught in her throat, “and I thought this wasn’t you but I was wrong too.”

“I don’t want you to waste away because of me,” I tell her.

“Oh, you do like to flatter yourself,” she shakes her head with a sad smile, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

I look at her as earnestly as I can, “I’m serious.”

“Grayson if I scared you so much,” she states simply, folding her arms across her chest and taking a dangerous step closer, “then why not just leave?”

“I couldn’t leave you like that,” I reply with the truth because I’ve lied far too much.

“Why?”

“Because I love you,” my voice cracks, “and no matter how much you scare me that fact doesn’t change.”

“You should’ve left,” she replies coldly, staring dead at me, like she’s trying to keep her emotions in check to defy the glistening tear stains on her cheeks.

“I know,” I respond quietly, “and I tried but you asked me to stay.”

“I was drunk,” she exclaims, raising her voice, “and being an idiot, I didn’t know what I was saying!”

“And if I’d left would you be any happier?” I shoot back, anger taking hold for that split second.

She falters, “no because the bottom line is you’ve hurt me more than I know I could hurt, so nothing you do can be worse.”

My heart throbs.

“I’m sorry,” I say, knowing the word will never be enough.

“That’s meaningless to me,” she shakes her head.

“I know but I’ll still say it until I’m blue in the face,” I shrug.

“Be my guest,” she replies, stepping backwards, “it’ll still be meaningless.”

She’s stepping away, she wants this to come to an end, she’s scared it won’t. I don’t want to let her go but I will. I ask myself if this is our last conversation. If so, I have to take the gamble.

“Being away from you is torturing me,” I say.

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you had your lips on hers,” she only shrugs in reply, opting for her stony tone, unsympathetic eyes meeting my own pleading ones.

“I know it’s torturing you too,” I whisper.

The world comes to a standstill for a moment and I feel like I’m in a place between life and death. A surreal sort of slowed experience where it doesn’t feel quite real but not quite synthetic either. Waiting for her to reply sucks the oxygen from my lungs.

“Of course it is, you idiot,” she groans, “I’ve got double the torture because not only am I now alone, I was betrayed by someone who I thought loved me.”

“I do love you,” I tell her.

I hope she can hear the emotion in my throat. She knows me well enough to know I could hide it, but I don’t want to. I want her to know that I feel more for her than I’ve ever felt for anyone else on this planet. I need her to know that she is everything to me.

“Empty words Grayson, all of them,” she replies. It’s what happens when you hurt someone so pure too many times, you ruin them. “The ones you said before and the ones you’re saying now, they’re meaningless to me,” she shrug.

It feels like it’s the end and it is consolidated as so when she walks away from me. She’s finished, she’s done. War is over.

But selfish me can’t let her do that, selfish me is still fighting, selfish me is taking over my brain and selfish me needs to try one last thing, as awful as it is, he has to.

“No they’re not,” I say loudly.

She stops, frozen in place. Her head whips around, fast, “are you seriously doing this?”

Her eyes blaze with the purest of fury. I begin to think I’ve done the wrong thing, but there’s no turning back now.

“You told me you loved me last night,” I blurt out.

I can’t believe it’s come to this. I hadn’t wanted it to but I don’t feel regret. I can’t hide this from her too.

She stares me dead in the eye, “I know.”

The wave of shock almost knocks me flat.

“You know?” I gape, jaw dropping. This whole time she knew and she just didn’t say anything.

“Of course,” she tusks, rolling her eyes, “I said the stupid words.”

“But you said-“

“I lied,” she snaps sharply cutting me off.

My eyebrows furrow, “why?”

“This reason,” she points to the both of us as my eyebrows draw together even tighter, “to avoid this.”

“What is this?” I ask. I need to clarity, I need to know what’s going on inside her head.

“This conversation,” she says, “I don’t want it.”

“Why?” I ask again, the painstaking monotony of the word making me feel like a petulant child.

“Because,” she meets my eye and her voice wavers for a moment, “I don’t want to look you in the eye and tell you it’s over again, because this time I don’t think I’ll cope.”

“Then don’t tell me it’s over,” I blurt out.

I never think straight when she’s involved, it’s always this mess of chaos in my brain and I say and do things without thought, without fear, without overthinking,

“But it is Grayson,” she replies, pain ripping through her voice, “it was over the moment you put your lips on hers.”

“I don’t love her,” I tell her again, she’ll never hear it enough but if I stop saying it I fear she’ll believe I do.

She shakes her head and her bottom like trembles, “that doesn’t change what happened.”

“How can I prove it to you?” I ask, trying to reach out for her in my desperation, “what can I do?”

She moves away so my hands can’t clasp hers. I’ll beg her in my hands and knees if I must.

“Grayson you have to understand that I can’t trust you anymore,” she explains, “and how can I be in a relationship with you if I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t know,” I murmur, “but we could try, you could rebuild the trust.”

She pauses for a long while, not moving, barely breathing. She limbs rest still as she analyses me, her eyes trailing up and down me slowly until they finally meet my eye and stop themselves from wondering. I can only hope she sees how much I mean it, the eyes are the window to the soul, she once told me. How clear is that window now?

She takes one step in, a single tear glistening as it rolls down her cheeks, “how do I know you don’t love her,” she whispers.

I take her face into my palms and I kiss her, deeply, smoothly. I say a thousand words without uttering a sound and I already know she feels every single one of them before we’ve stopped.

We break away naturally, “because I didn’t kiss her like that,” I say breathlessly.

“I won’t forgive you with just a kiss,” she shakes her head, pushing me away gently, “you can’t win me over with sweet talk.”

“I know,” I murmur, fingertips lingering like a ghost touch on her hips.

“And if we’re going to be us again it’s going to take time,” she responds, taking a step away so my hands fall from her body and we’re just two people looking at each other, “a long time.”

“I’m fine with waiting,” I tell her, “I’ll wait forever just to be with you.”

Every word is the truth, every word I mean.

She looks at me and I can’t quite read her, though she looks in deep thought, “you have the next stage of the game now,” she reminds me quietly.

“I don’t care,” I shrug.

And I don’t. This stupid game has caused me nothing but misery and I don’t want any part of it anymore.

“Go,” she whispers with a smile that still looked sadder than usual, “I need time.”

My heart clenches.

“Forever, I’ll wait forever.”

a/n: ahhh it’s so bittersweet to end this series!! I can’t believe how much it grew, starting from that one little fic to this whole story I somehow created?! special shout-out to @inmyheaddd and @midiosaamor for being my biggest cheerleaders 💘💘 I love you with all of my heart and thank you so much, but also thank you so so so INSANELY much to anyone else who had liked, commented or read this fic, it means more than anything to me

okay so this is PROBABLY a controversial ending because she doesn’t get back with him but she doesn’t not get back with him, I’ll leave the decision to you guys… (I know it leans towards she probably will BUTTTT hear me out: this is fiction and I wanted the main character to end with with grayson and I think it’s not like she just got back with him, she has conditions, she’s being cautious, but her love is so overwhelming that she still wants to be with him even though he brain is telling her no)

ANYWAYS i hope you enjoyed this final part, a little bit of me is scared it’s too underwhelming but I liked it :)) thank you all again <33

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[neege]

i need more!!!!! wolstar + Sirius almost dies <3

And more you shall have!! This was so challenging for me because I usually find it a lot easier to write humor, but I hope I did this justice!!! ❤️

"Remus."

God there's so much blood. How can someone losing this much blood still be alive?

"Remus, baby."

There's so much blood!

And it's not stopping. He's throwing every single healing spell he can at it, but he didn't see the spell when it was cast, and all he has on him is his wand. He doesn't even see anything nearby that can stop the bleeding. His shirt is already soaked in it.

God, he's bleeding everywhere.

"Moony..."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry I'm trying everything I can, I know it must hurt-"

"Moony, my love..."

Remus feels shaking fingers skim his cheek. The coolness against his face lets him know that there's now blood—Sirius's blood—smeared where his fingers have touched.

"I'm trying! I'm trying just hang on-"

"Baby, look at me..."

Remus doesn't.

He focuses instead at the gaping wounds carved into Sirius's skin. He's helplessly moving his wand over the body below him, racking his useless fucking brain for anything, anything that will help. That will save-

"Remus, please look at me."

It's the please that finally rips Remus's gaze away from the injuries he's desperately trying to heal.

Sirius is breathing in ragged, painful wheezes, but his eyes are clear. He looks into deep grey eyes, dark like storm clouds, and feels his own well up immediately.

"Have I-" Sirius's voice is weak, "Have I ever told you..."

It looks like it's taking every last bit of his energy to get words out, but he's smiling slightly. Something sad and tired and resigned.

Remus can feel the grip on his fingers get tighter.

"You know, you look so- so sexy when you're freaking out."

Remus let's out a startled laugh that dissolves into a gasping sob.

He collapses onto Sirius, gripping his shoulders, his hair, any part of him he can reach as if he'll be able to keep all the life in him from bleeding out under his hands.

"Sirius, I'm so-" He lets out a broken sound, and it's loud in the empty room. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry-"

"My love-"

"I'm so sorry, I can't fix it, I'm so sorry-"

He cries and cries, all the while Sirius is murmuring any and every word of affection he's ever said to Remus; like he needs to get them all out now. Like he'll never have another chance.

Baby-

My love-

Moony, darling-

I love you-

"I love you, I'm sorry, I love you-"

Remus feels Sirius go slack in his arms moments before he's ripped away from him—kicking and screaming and probably doing more damage than anything else.

He sobs into James's shoulder first, still standing in the safe house they were ambushed in just an hour before. He's covered in blood and can feel the rage in James's voice as he screams at Moody to leave them alone for fucks sake!

Then he cries again, this time with Lily. They're sitting in the waiting room at St. Mungos.

He cries now, gripping Sirius's hand while he lays motionless in a hospital bed. He's been waiting here for days, and every time he thinks he's done crying, the image of Sirius bleeding out beneath his fingers flashes behind his eyes.

The only sounds to be heard are from the healers in the hallway outside, and the small brokenhearted noises Remus is letting out as he cries.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're sexy when you're in distress?"

A croaky voice speaks, and Remus whips his head up to stare at the exhausted smile on his boyfriend's face.

"Sirius!" He's climbing onto the bed before he can even think about whether or not it might hurt the other man, "Sirius, oh my god! You were dead Sirius-"

"Well, you can't get rid of me that easy-"

"Oh my god, you were dead and I didn't know what to do, I couldn't fix it, I'm sorry-"

Sirius shushes him gently at that.

There are tears streaming down his face, and Sirius reaches shaky fingers up to wipe them away. They're both quiet for a beat.

"Is it an inappropriate time to mention that you crying gets me all hot under the collar?"

Remus laughs, smiling so big it hurts his cheeks, and leans down to pepper kisses across Sirius's face.

His forehead first. Then his nose. His jaw. His cheeks. His eyelids. His brow.

His lips.

In a moment he'll call in the healers. They'll want to look him over and check his wounds. He'll need to notify James, Lily, and Peter—they'd all gone home for a change and a shower—and the Order will need to be called as well.

Remus doesn't move to do any of that.

For just a little while longer he'd like to feel Sirius underneath his lips—so beautiful and brave, and so very alive.

[deesseshesca]

PAC: What vibes does your future relationship give off ? (18+)

Yankee Doddle went to town riding on pony.

LOVE READING FLASH SALE (LINK)

ALL READING REGARDING SEX AND LOVE IS 75 % MAKING IT ONLY 20$

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PILE 1

SONG : TAKE YOU DOWN - SZA

SORRY BABE BUT YOUR READING IS LONGER 😭

PILE 2 

SONG : BABY - REMA

6 swords (reverse), judgement (reverse) 8 wands, King pentacles (reverse) 

This is the friend of your older brother. He’s writing a paragraph as a text while he's drunk… which he will never send. He may engage in dangerous behavior because he's behind the wheel texting it but he's not driving … just sitting there. Like he took a moment away from the party to catch some fresh air.  

There's so much sexual frustration and tension in his body is incredible. 

There's a clicking of keys… which is important. Is like his pondering if he should leave or spend the night over like it was planned. I don't think he will actually drive … should he leave, he would tag along with other boys to an actual party. Is like your brother has a lot on his mind regarding another girl from uni … you will not know. You will just be shocked he came back from campus earlier. Even your mom, like her heart might stop. Lol she is so sure for a moment that your brother got kicked out, your brother may have problems accepting answering to more important people ever since he’s a child. Like he’s not annoying or rude, he may come like that but he actually has good reasons to act up. He may be a crash out, but it's always been justified. Lol the bffs are going through it with women … they both seem to deal with it the same way … running away. They may actually act like fucking twin brothers at times. 

What the actually fuck ? I though I actually dealt with my fucking heart. I aint even lie, this past years I try to take my fucking distance with you. I mean I am trying to stay alive and keep my balls. Do you know what would happen to me if your brother could read my brain ? Especially with the past I have, fuck what past … I am too emotionally available with females … he’s not wrong keeping me away from you . I mean … I may not be worth you but can your homeboy dream ? I did not know you have to ask permission to think ? Why do I have to ask permission to use my own brain while you take possession of my thoughts 24/7 like you are paying the bills in this bitch. Your brother told me, we were going to surprise you today. I know he’s was running away, I am always going to have bro back but fuck why do I have to fucked in the process ? You were in your bed, your long hair braided, legs hanging, wearing your short booty shorts, white tee dancing to some pop girl music (his snorting). Dancing like a maniac (explosion of laughter). The scream that came out of you is deserving of an Oscar but the way I had to keep my composure  when you jumped in my arms after hugging your bro was something. Fuck I miss having my hands around you, I miss caring for you, I miss your face, your scent and even your weird habits. Than you came downstair cooking something for me and the bros because your mom was caught up in a meeting and we can’t fucking cook to safe ourselves. Again I had to keep my composure, while your body was moving lazily to the music in your headphones. Keep my eyes on the game, keep my focus on the conversation, keep my attention on the character on the screen. When all I wanted to do was peeking at you. Than like you wanted to torture me … you put the plates a front of us with smile before running back upstairs to your bedroom. All I could think about for the rest of the evening, while drinking was do I claim a need to the bathroom so I can stare at you through the door … FUCK when did I become a such creep ? 

That man grew up in a house where spanking, physical abuse was the way to discipline. 

You often grow up, watching him with purple eyes, you thought maybe he had a temper he was hiding you because he's always calm whenever he deals with you, your family, fuck almost everybody, yet…

For some y’all actually know him since childhood and he always had bruises on him, so you never question it. When  you were younger you even though he had a purple birth scar. This shows the frequency and the normality of the assault he endured for your kid brain to normalize it. 

For some of you, that are fucking shock about that text … to confirm is him … go ask him about his family, childhood or parents, that will be your confirmation that's the pile for you. 

For the one too shocked to believe it, remember that energy is ever changing but if you keep up living the way you do, you will in fact finish your life with  the bff of your older brother. To unclaimed, change something … To claim … no need is already yours (I just saw someone giggling … LOL) 

This collective y’all are really shocked he will actually be interested in you because he treats you like a little sis… from my humble tarot reader opinion … he is too protective and soft for it not to be romance. The intensity in which he holds your gaze is too much to just be platonic 

I just heard : ‘’But nah girl…’’. BABE IF YOU DON'T WANT IT, CHOOSE SOMETHING ELSE. 

The card also shows that he is terrified to show care, empathy and love. You guys have no idea how stoic he is whenever he is interacting with his environment. The fact that he he check on you, the fact that you can call him when you need help (availability), the fact that he reply quickly (you don't how many people he leaves on deliver … ), the fact that he goes out of his way to always bring your fav snack, the fact that he always make sure nobody is annoying you at work, school or even calm your brother down when his become too smart with you . Or the FUCKING fact that he actually smile at (even though is fucking small), the fact that he don't mind hugging you. He's only that soft for you, there's not a single girl he fuck, been a relationship with or even flirt with in which he was this attentive and kind. 

He’s a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. 

VIBES: Crush, brother bff, secrecy, secret admire and one sided romance 

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PILE 3

SONG: JONI - SZA FT Don Toliver

POV is your past self and future self. Is like a small note. Maybe you guys use the note in your phone like a diary. 

The Chérie D’Amour coming from PILE 2, this is your POV from the situation in PILE 2. Also your brother doesn't know you are out there living an all year hot girl summer and have a whole roster. They only see you as your innocent self. Funny enough (my own  observation), now I understand how hard it is for you to believe what I wrote because you are the same. The dude plays mister nonchalant, while you play Miss Innocent. Both of you have a facade that does not exist with each other. Like you guys actually have an intimate bond with each other. You allow yourself to be soft with him and he allows himself to accept it.

PAST: 9swords, 9 wands (reverse) 

 You are on the bus. A week after a crazy night where u spend the night at your one night or maybe sneaky link. You just have an epiphany 

Honestly … I want more. Is it crazy to say. I want someone to hold me close while playing in my hair. I want someone to look at me like I am the star of their life, like maybe if they look away I may vanish. I want to be the banter of their existence. I want to be the reason for their every breath. I want to go on vacation with the one that loves me. The one that will spend hours, hours and his money just to see a smile on my face. Someone ready to die to hear me laugh. Someone who is just like Jack, will let me, Rose stay on the door  because he prefers a cold death than letting me feel the pain of Atlantic water. Someone will pick me up bridal style after I call him because I am too drunk with my homegirl and can't make my way home. I want someone to comfort me when the tears are rolling down  my cheeks, I want someone to drop anything when my voice has a subtle shake and I want someone to be my safe haven. I want someone who will enjoy spending time with me even when all we do is sit in silence in a quiet room. I want to slow dance in the living room while the dinner is cooking. (Bitter laugh) What the fuck for ? Even if the one came I will destroy it the same way I destroy the marriage of my parents. Maybe all I actually need is a break from having sex. I am tired of getting disappointed , I am tired of sexting, I am tired of the 2 am booty call, I am tired of being easy, I am tired of hair pulling, the spitting, the fucking, the aftercare, the uber, the walk of shame and the fucking hole that's keep growing deeper every time I come home to an empty house after giving my all to another looser because I can’t seem to attract he right one and I am too lonely to refuse anyone.

I am tired of feeling lonely . 

Future : Knight swords, Hermit 

I am hearing : ‘’ Omg he hears me ! Omg he knows my name’’ 

This one is a note but the intention behind it is almost like a prayer.

Please don't take him. Let him love me. Let him stay in my life. (Your eyes are burning with tears, none fell, you are holding on for dear life. You are sitting in your bedroom). I will do anything you ask. Don't let him resent. Let him love me forever. Don't let life take his warmth away from  me. I love every part of him, I love his tattoo, I love his grumpy attitude, I love the way he holds on to my hand. The way he always longs for some physical contact with me otherwise he loses his mind (bitter laugh, oh no… babe you broke … the tears are flowing slowly). I love the way he trust me with his Lego collection, with his car tools and on his bike. I love the way he let me in, my pretty boy, my very pretty boy, he don't deserve all that (Fuck … I finally got the vibe … he may have been in altercation or just an argument with his family which trigger him extremely which made him take its distance. Like you know he's in a dark place but he refuses to let you see him like that (aww now my heart is breaking … y’all going to make a cold ass bitch emotional, now he’s asking me if you are crying. He hates when you cry and it would put him in so much pain to know he is the reason for it). Usually he is transparent and you have amazing communication. That why you are ugly sobbing because it must be very bad, if he is taking his distance). He always comfort me when my periods hurt, when my mom say mean things to me, when school is too hard or life become to overwhelming. Even when I am trying to ignore him, he drop everything for me. I don't know what else to say … you must let him love me. Who else is going to look at me with so much love, caress me with so much passion, make love to me, worship my body with kisses, tell me how much he loves me and how hard is going to work so I never regret choosing him. 

Technically it's stop here …because you are sending him a voice note but since I love y’all let me add it here. I apologize because it might be too messy to read. 

Hiccup, hiccup, (his name), breathing trying to keep it in, breaking down in  tears, talking while having hiccups :  just so you know I love you. Please don't leave me behind, pretty boy. You remember what I told you … you ain't have to feel ashamed for what you did. Baby please come to me, we can work it all. Let me comfort you. 

Breakdown again:  Fuck I am stress. You better comeback (weak attempt to a bossy tone). Please (pleading tone). 

VIBES : Forbidden romance, one bed proximity, touch her and I will kill you, I want and see only her, I don't deserve her, she's too good for me, he's the only one that truly loves me and know me, we should not be doing this but can't seem to stay away from each other.

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PILE 4 

SONG : STAY - Adanna Duru FT Leven Kali

POV YOUR FS. 

I actually shuffled some cards but y’all nasty step dad came through. He's a fucking pervert Chérie d’Amour and I am so sorry you had to deal with this looser in your childhood. I am fucking sorry your mama did not protect you more. 

Your husband DONT PLAY WHEN  IT COMES TO YOU. 

Is a text after the first night spent together. 

Hey beautiful,

I know we just hang up and you probably sleeping rn. Fuck sure is 3 am in the morning but I cant get enough of you. I hate the fact that I can't dream because sleep is keeping me away from you. I want to spend every one of my seconds on earth dedicated to you. Texting you, calling you and hearing you. I am so obsessed with you girl … so you know we are lock in, lock in. There's nobody but us. I don't care if you're mad or tired of me, we are going to work this out. I see the bigger picture with you baby. That not the only picture I have of you… I love kissing you. When your lips lay on top of  mine, my eyes I can't help but close, pushing into a transit state of pure bliss. I love having sex with you, your moans are like  music to me. You have such a beautiful voice, I know I always compliment you about it. I guess you awakened a new kink in me babygirl.I  can recognize your voice, touch and scent in a room full of strangers because my soul knows you. My fav habits of yours when it comes to loving me … is the way you kiss my forehead, my eyes, my cheek and my lips in one setting just to make me smile. I love staring into your pretty face. That’s probably why I stare that much at my phone when u aint around. And she gets even prettier when I am thrusting in and out of your tight pussy. I love when you baby me, even though I am 6’4 (maybe taller) and 3x your weight. I love being the small spoon. I love being your good boy. I love finding safety in your arms. I aint joking girl … I am going nowhere. I LOVE IT HERE. 

VIBES: Commitment, marriage, long lasting romance, wedding day, husband and wife and growing old together 

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[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

i yearn for ponyboy angst after johnny and dally die and for once he needs darry and not soda...or more of the curtis bros grieving their parents/their friends/their childhoods together. just curtis bro angst all day every day. love ur stuff!

AGH!! TY LOVE!! this ask has been truly rottin' in my brain I thought about it durin' my ENTIRE shift today!! I hope you like it!! fic under the cut!!

also song >:D

"Pony?" Darry's sayin' my name in a way that implies he's been sayin' it a while. I blink at him 'n I don't know where I've been. My fingers are all wrapped up in my jeans, white-knuckled. I try to relax but my body doesn't listen to me one bit, so I forget it.

"I've been callin' you, where were you at?" He crosses the room 'n taps a finger gently to my temple, brushin' my bangs off my forehead.

I shrug 'n he worries at his lip. "Somewhere else, I guess." Darry looks stricken but that's how he always looks nowadays: worried.

"I gotta talk to you about your hair, Pony baby." I inhale sharply 'n Darry's face twists up a little more. He moves all slow, eases down onto the couch beside me 'n wraps an arm around my shoulders like I might fall to pieces.

"I'm not colorin' it I swear to God I'm not-" Steve had made a joke, some comment, maybe even just a suggestion, that I dye my hair back to its normal color. I don't think he meant anythin' bad by it. I dunno. I can see it more now. Darry's rough 'cause he's scared. Steve was mean when he meant to be kind. I think Dallas was like that. Rough 'cause he didn't know how to be soft.

I think I said somethin' awful to him. I was always doin' that. Bein' cruel 'cause it all hurt so bad. Last week Darry 'n I had fought 'cause it's all we knew how to do 'n I'd told him I bet he wished I had died that night. Just like-

I didn't mean it. I never meant it. I didn't know how to not mean it.

"Honey?" I shake my head. Darry's lookin' at me again with big scared eyes 'n I know I've done it again. Gone somewhere.

"Sorry." Darry cups the side of my face, there are new wrinkles alongside his eyes. He always looks like he's just waitin' for somethin' bad to happen.

"S'ok, baby. I ain't gonna make you do nothin' to your hair." Soda's beside me now, too. I don't remember when he got there. "We've been talkin' 'n baby... we need you to let us help you wash it."

I flinch. Hard. Straight back into Soda's arm 'n know he had it there, ready to brace me. "No." Darry sighs, glances over my head, 'n Soda gathers me up into his arms.

"Look, honey. I'm not gonna make you. But I think... you'll feel a bit better. You don't gotta take a shower or nothin'. Maybe a bath?" Darry tries, reachin' out 'n coverin' my hand in his.

"No." I don't know what it was. I'd gone through the damn fire 'n come out scared of the fuckin' water. That night in the fountain was a million years ago. Glory, I don't know how I had space in my head to even remember it.

But I did. Fuck. I did.

"Hey Pony? Can we try somethin' else then? If you humor me?" Soda's tone is pliant 'n a little too bouncy. It gets like that sometimes. But someone has to be alright. So we don't mention it.

He climbs off the couch, pulls me gently up 'n I don't fight it. Darry's got a hand on my shoulder 'n Soda's got his arms around me still 'n they were like this more. Since. Like if they weren't always touchin' me I'd fade right away into nothin'. Sometimes it was nice. Sometimes it made me want to bite 'n tear 'n fuckin' scream.

The kitchen counter is clear, a couple towels folded onto the table, a chair tipped back against the sink. Soda guides me over to the chair, asks me a million questions in those big brown eyes he has that I don't know how to go about answerin'.

Are you fine? Is this fine? Does this remind you of- Does this remind you- Does this-

"Look, if you sit here you can rest your head back 'n I can wash your hair out without havin' to get you any closer to the water. D'ya think... that's somethin' you can stomach?" Soda's off to my side doin' all the talkin' but I'm lookin' straight out at Darry. He's still got a hand on my shoulder 'n Jesus. Has he always looked at me like that?

He shifts his weight 'n furrows his brow. His hand comes up slowly like I'm a spooked animal that might bolt. Some kicked dog. Some scared foal. He cups the side of my face 'n it occurs to me. It's the same place he'd once struck.

Odd. Both times touched in fear. A million years apart. I'm not even sure he notices.

"Pony?" I finally tear my eyes off Darry 'n when I twist my head, he lets his hand fall back to my shoulder.

"Ok." My voice aches. It always does. Maybe from the smoke. Maybe from the cold burn of that still water rottin' in my lungs even now. "Ok, I'll try." The look that Soda 'n Darry shoots over my head is filled with such a palpable relief I nearly cry.

"Ok, baby. I know this isn't easy. D'you think you can... take his jacket off?" Soda already has both hands around my biceps, just gently restin' there like he knows I'm gonna flinch again. "I ain't gonna take it-" My eyes flicker to Darry 'n hurt flashes across his face (not meanin' it, not knowin' how not to)- "'n neither is Dar. I just don't wanna get it wet 'n mess it up, ok hon? But if it's too much I can just try my best to avoid it?"

I clutch at the collar. 'N I can hear his voice clear as day. You better not fuck that leather up. You have no idea how much trouble it was to steal.

'N I almost laugh. Almost.

"He'd kill me if I let you give it the kitchen sink treatment." 'N my voice sounds all thick in my ears. I want to laugh. I want Dallas to knock me up the back of my head for even thinkin' of it. I want-

"Oh, Ponybaby." Soda's arms are around me again. I'm cryin'. When did I start cryin'? Why? 'N it's one of those times I don't want them to hold me. Jesus. It makes me want to run. To let the ache in my throat dissolve into the burn in my lungs. I want to bite 'n tear 'n scream.

But all I can do is sit there. Stiff in the arms I wish I could melt into.

"Soda." Darry drops a hand onto his shoulder 'n gently pries him off of me. When he takes his face out of my neck his cheeks are wet 'n I don't know whether it's my tears or his. "He's not-"

Here.

For a long moment, none of us move. Like a gunfight. Or a caged animal. 'N then I drag blunt nails under my eyes 'n scrub my face 'n Darry blows out a long breath like he'd been holdin' it. He lets go of Soda 'n we all go back to pretendin' nothin' happened. Or at least I do.

"Do you... want help?" When I look down my knuckles are white against the collar. I flex my fingers 'n they burn like that time I'd split them against some socs' jaw. Or that night Johnny 'n I had slept in the backyard out under the stars 'n the cold scalded along my hands 'n cracked my skin 'n I'd bled 'n bled 'n bled-

"Don't make me do it." 'N when I'd looked up at Darry I knew he understood what I meant. I squeezed my eyes shut 'n felt hands roughened by labors of love that had done nothin' but leave him with callouses 'n scars rest at my neck. He pulls the jacket off quickly 'n the rush of winter air slinkin' through the cracks we'd never be able to seal up scorches against my bare arms. I don't open my eyes until Darry presses the bundle to my chest.

When I look to Soda again, his face is dry 'n he's wearin' this encouragin' little smile that tugs too tight on the edges of his mouth. "You ready, Pony?"

I nod. Just a bob of my chin that takes every last ounce of strength in me. Darry turns, yanks another chair close to my side 'n Soda guides my head down to the sink.

The tap flips on. A lonely titterin' against the empty bowl. I don't control anythin' that happens after. Not the low, whimperin' sob that snakes out of my mouth. Not the way my shoulders jar up 'n away. Not my nails bitin' into Darry's arm so hard they leave bloody, half moons in their wake.

"No. Soda, no. Soda. I can't." Darry smooths one hand over my forehead 'n I reach for his wrist, catch it tight 'n hold on like if I don't let go he can keep me out of that night. If I can keep him here I can't go back.

"Pony?" Soda drops down so he can see my face. Reaches out to wrap me in his arms 'n I flinch. Fuckin' flinch. Right back 'n up into Darry's lap.

'N none of us are movin' again. Soda's falterin' in place, arms half reached out 'n face a mask of hurt 'n Jesus why do I always hurt the people I love? Why can't I stop bitin' the hand that wants to hold me?

"What is it, Pony? Are you here?" 'N I can't make my voice or body or anythin' work the way it should. But before I can stop it I choke out-

"Darry." 'N Darry lets out a little noise from somewhere so far in the back of his throat it comes out like a whimper.

"Oh, little colt." 'N suddenly his arms are around me again. My face is pressed into his chest 'n I'm heavin' deep sobs that have been rottin' in my chest for too long. Since before Dallas or Johnny. Before the week in the church or that night in the park. Maybe since Mama. Since Daddy. Since the last person to call me that was put in the freezin' Tusla earth.

"I love you." 'N it's whispery 'n waverin' 'n also the surest thing I've ever heard. 'N this time when I feel Soda return to my side, feel Darry open his arms 'n hold us both like were disappearin' before his eyes I just let myself be held. "You're here."

I am.

'N then he's shiftin' 'n I'm clutchin' his shirt tighter 'n he's pettin' my hair 'n tippin' my head back 'n not makin' me let him go though I'm too goddamn old 'n too big to be beggin' for my older brother.

"Keep your eyes closed, colt." 'N Soda's whisperin' somethin' low 'n soft 'n just louder than the sound the tap makes as it drip drip drips against the sink. 'N when the water runs along my temples 'n along the line of the scar that I'll carry until I die from the night I lost two brothers I don't think of the fountain.

No.

I think about the hot afternoon I won my first track race, felt sweat slide along my brow 'n saw the sun glint off Dallas' silver tooth even from way up in the stands. Hear the whoop of his voice still marred thick 'n heavy with his New York drawl. I think of runnin' home through the lot dodgin' the fat rain drops 'n stoppin' only to let Johnny catch up. Throwin' my head back 'n laughin'. Of the spray of a passin' car. I think of Soda laughin' as he flicks the spatterin' of water left on his hands at my face when we finish the dishes 'n mama not even scoldin' us.

I think of Darry's hands wet from the laundry as he runs a thumb absently over my face. Memorizin' it with calloused fingers when he thinks I've dropped off to sleep. The gentleness of his achin' love for us. Low 'n constant 'n how had I ever missed it?

"We're done, honey." 'N then I'm buried in his chest again, Dallas' jacket pressed against my stomach 'n Johnny's letter tucked into the inside pocket closest to my heart. Bangs drippin' cold between my brow, along my nose, 'n minglin' with tears never gone long enough to dry. 'N for the first time since it all, I'm right here. 'N it doesn't even hurt. It just aches.

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

Go, Touch Some Grass-Kokonoe Mercury X Reader

I think this is the single longest thing I have written for this blog. I might also make a part two to this later but I doubt I will.

Anywho, sorry for the inactivity as of late. I just haven't really had the energy to write and because of that I've probably gotten very rusty so this is more than likely not up to my usual standards. My apologies for that.

With all of that aside, I hope you enjoy!

Kokonoe Mercury was absolutely furious.

“Where’s Tager?” Kokonoe growled out as she stomped down the halls, glaring holes through any unfortunate researcher who crossed her path.

“Miss Litchi sent him on a wild goose chase to ensure you didn’t use him to bust into your office.” you responded as you walked behind the irate woman.

Kokonoe attempted to further clench her hands into fists but, due to the bone crushing amount of force she had already used when she learned of what Litchi had done, it was an exercise in futility.

Kokonoe wheeled around the corner and nearly barreled over some poor janitor in the process.

“Sorry about that.” was all you had time to say to the janitor before you had to leave him and break into a jog to catch up with Kokonoe who was nearing her target.

Kokonoe practically bust the door down as she stormed into Litchi’s office.

“Ah! What brings you her-” Litchi began with a smile before she was interrupted by the furious pink haired woman before her.

“Save it! Why the hell can’t I get into my office! Or the labs! Or the storage closets!” Kokonoe snapped at Litchi.

“Oh my! I have no idea! What makes you think I would have any idea what would cause that?” Litchi responded with a voice dripping with false shock and a smirk on her face as she placed her head in her hand.

Kokonoe promptly reached into her lab coat and pulled out a piece of paper that she then slammed onto the table.

The piece of paper read “Go, Touch Some Grass!” with a drawing of Litchi’s winking face in chibi form.

You had to bite your tongue to keep yourself from saying “I don’t think Miss Kokonoe knows what grass is, seeing as she never leaves the lab.”

“Hmm… This is a very flattering drawing of me, don’t you think?” Litchi asked, causing Kokonoe to let out a scream of primal rage and launch herself at the woman.

Or, she tried to at least, she only got halfway before you grabbed her by the back of her collar.

“Let me go dammit! Let me at her! I’ll show her who needs to go touch grass!” Kokonoe hissed as she thrashed and writhed in mid air.

She was concerningly light, barely feeling like she weighed more than one of the boxes of microscopes that needed to be ordered every time an explosion occurred in the lab.

“Before you do that, can you tell me this, how long has it been since you ate a meal?” Litchi asked as Kokonoe continued to thrash around.

“I had-” Kokonoe began before being cut off.

“Meal replacement bars and shakes don’t count. Neither does candy.” Litchi clarified, making Kokonoe go still and quiet as she racked her brain for the answer to Litchi’s question.

“It was… the 15th!” Kokonoe declared, seeming proud of herself.

Litchi proceed to point at the calendar, showing that the current date was the 7th.

Kokonoe scowled in response to this and crossed her arms in irritation.

“What do you want out of me?” Kokonoe grumbled.

“I want you to go to your apartment, and grow something from one of these seeds.” Litchi declared while opening one of her drawers before tossing a pack of mixed seeds onto the table.

Kokonoe looked at the seeds for a solid minute before saying “I could do that in thirty minutes in the lab.”

“I know you could, but, until you learn how to take better care of yourself, you won’t be doing anything in the lab.” Litchi declared.

Kokonoe’s face began to turn red from rage before she took in a deep breath that she held in before letting out.

“How long will all of this take?” Kokonoe grumbled.

“In all honesty? I don’t expect you to be back for about two months.” Litchi declared, making Kokonoe gasp before yelling.

“ARE YOU CRAZY!? TWO MONTHS!?”

“You could prove me wrong, but as I can say with certainty, you and nature do not get along.” Litchi responded.

Kokonoe ground her teeth together, trying to concoct a way out of this predicament.

Unfortunately, Kokonoe was pushed onto the back foot by Litchi Faye Ling.

That means no amount of death stares or threats will move her opponent.

And people had the audacity to call Kokonoe stubborn.

Kokonoe went limp, accepting defeat.

“Fine. But I’m taking your best assistant as collateral!” Kokonoe declared, hoping that this would, somehow, force Litchi into re-considering her demands.

“We have a deal!” Litchi declared before turning her attention to you and spoke.

“You can put her down now. Be sure to pack up everything you need before leaving!”

You promptly lowered Kokonoe onto the ground and began to walk out the door before being stopped by Kokonoe.

“Hey! I said your best assistant! Not MY best assistant!” the pink hair woman exclaimed.

“That is my assistant. I let you borrow them for an extra set of eyes during an experiment while Tager was off on errands and you never gave them back.” Litchi explained with a smile that held a small amount of venom.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You and Kokonoe sat next to one another as the tram followed its course down to the residential area.

The two of you stuck out like sore thumbs with the pure white lab coats the two of you wore, the scowl on Kokonoe’s face, and your relatively calm expression.

You had long since gotten accustomed to the pink haired scientist and her… ornery moods.

In fact, due to your constant exposure to her, you had the nebulous honor of being one of the few who were unaffected by her temper when it boiled over.

Speaking of the devil herself, you turned your attention to the woman as she reached into the sleeve of her coat and pulled out a piece of her iconic silvervine candy.

“I’ve got a question for ya.” the woman grumbled.

“I will attempt to answer it to the best of my abilities.” you replied.

Kokonoe grunted before twisting her head to the side with the back of her hand, causing a series of cracks to enter your ears.

“If you’re one of Litchi’s assistants, why’d you stick around to work with me?” Kokonoe asked with a suspicious tone to her voice.

“Curiosity. You have quite the reputation as a slave driving monster around the water cooler.” was all you said in response.

This forced a wheezing cackle from Kokonoe’s chest.

“You aren’t the type to mince words are you? Remind me to take you off of Litchi’s hands when we get back!” Kokonoe exclaimed as she continued her cackling.

“I will keep that in mind.” you declared as you waited for Kokone to regain her composure.

Kokonoe continued to laugh for a few more moments before claming down.

“So, did the stories do me justice?” Kokonoe asked with a smirk.

You were quiet for a moment before responding.

“You have high but, for the most part, not unreasonable expectations of those that work under you. There is no inherent problem with that as it serves as a point to strive for and to exceed. However, for many the bar set is too high. That is my assessment. So, in my opinion, no, the stories are not entirely accurate.”

“Well, can’t say I was expecting a response like that. I was asking for your opinion, not a report on an experiment.” Kokonoe declared as she put her head in the palm of her hand.

“To be fair Miss Kokonoe, I am still on the clock. Technically.” was all you said in defense to your position.

The rest of the ride in the tram was spent in a relative, semi-comfortable, silence.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

By the time Kokonoe remembered where her apartment was, night had fallen.

Despite this, you continued to carry both your and Kokonoe’s suitcases as the two of you walked up the stairs and Kokonoe mumbled to herself about keys as she struggled to recall which one of the many on her key ring was the one for her apartment.

Soon, the two of you reached the apartment that belonged to Kokonoe, though it took a while for the door to be opened due to Kokonoe being forced to play trial and error with her myriad of keys.

As soon as the door was pushed open, a robotic voice greeted the two of you.

“Good. Evening. Miss. Kokonoe. Welcome. Home. You. Have. Been. Gone. For. Ninety. Days. Fifteen. Hours. And. Thirty. Minutes. Is. There. Anything. You. Require?” a small robot roughly the height and width of a garbage can with a duster in one hand and a vacuum in the other asked as it stood at attention in the entryway.

“No. Don’t worry about the guest either. They're with me.”

The robot promptly did a small bow before turning in place and walking off.

You were then led into the living room which, in all honesty, looked as if it was ready to be shown off and sold to the next potential buyer by a real estate agent.

In other words, it looked clean, clinical, and completely uninhabited.

“Welcome to my home away from home.” Kokonoe declared as she grabbed her suitcase from you, walked down the hall, and into a room, before slamming the door behind her and leaving you standing alone.

You clicked your tongue before muttering to yourself.

“This design of this place is very… human.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Kokonoe did not have any clocks in her apartment.

Mostly because if she was at her apartment, that meant one of two things.

The lab had exploded and was in the process of being fixed. She was practically on her deathbed from sickness.

As such, she fully expected to not wake up until her body declared she needed to.

To be fair, that expectation was filled, just not in the way she thought it would be when the smell of freshly cooked food entered her nose and roused her from her sleep.

“Ugh… What the hell is that smell?” Kokonoe grumbled as she rolled over and towards the window to gauge the time based off of the sun.

Based on the light entering her room, it was around ten-ish.

Kokonoe let out a sigh as she threw the covers off of her and trudged towards her door, kicking her discarded lab coat, and other articles of clothing to the side in the process.

Kokonoe yawned as she reached for the door’s handle before pulling it open.

This revealed you, your hand raised to knock on the door.

“Ah. I’ve made lu-” you began to say before cutting yourself off as you went red in the face.

You proceeded to grab the handle opposite from the one Kokonoe was holding and slammed the door shut, leaving the pink haired scientist deeply confused.

It took a few seconds for the still groggy and half asleep Kokonoe to remember that, before she went to sleep, she removed all of her clothes.

“Oh right. Most people care that other people wear clothes.” Kokonoe said to herself aloud before scratching the side of her head and turning on her heel to find something to cover herself with.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Kokonoe walked into the kitchen, wearing a t-shirt, a pair of sweatpants, and a pair of slippers with a fresh lab coat over it all alongside the expression of a person who was completely unbothered by the previous event.

That expression did not stay long as she noticed something had gone missing from the kitchen.

“Where the hell is my fridge?” Kokonoe asked, trying her best and failing spectacularly to keep her voice even.

You sat at the table, your head in your hands over a bowl of soup.

“Its contents were the wrong amount of alive.” was all you said in response, a tint of red still on your face as you tried to force the memory of Kokonoe minus her clothes out of your mind.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Kokonoe demanded before the conversation was interrupted by screams.

“HOLY SHIT! LARRY!!! GET THE FLAMETHROWER!!!”

“WHY DOES IT HAVE EYES!!!!”

“It means that.” you muttered before shuddering, composing yourself, and then gesturing to the pot on the stove.

“I have made soup.” you declared.

“Is it any good?” Kokonoe asked, crossing her arms.

“I give you no guarantees.” was your response.

“Meh, good enough for me.” the pink haired scientist declared with a shrug of her shoulders.

Lunch passed in silence save for the sounds of battle outside.

However, lunch did not last long and soon the two of you were getting down to brass tacks.

“Right, we need to go to the store, don’t we?” Kokonoe asked as she put her dishes in the sink.

“Correct. We require a replacement fridge, food, and material for you to grow a plant. I will cover a quarter of the cost for the fridge.” You responded as you put your own dishes into their place.

“A quarter? Aren’t you the one who threw it out?” Kokonoe asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I was not the one who let that godless creature be born. Also, I live on an assistant's salary.” Was your retort and your defense to Kokonoe’s reasoning.

“Fine. Just know I’m not happy about this.” the half beastkin woman declared.

“Duly noted.” was your response.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

After the plan had been decided, the two of you set out and onto the town.

Much like most things involving Kokonoe V.S. The Outside World, as you were coming to find, it became an all day debacle.

Especially with what happened with Kokonoe and that poor appliance salesman.

He made the very reasonable assumption that, due to the two of you coming in at the same time and looking at the fridges on display together, you and Kokonoe were a couple.

You thought Kokonoe was going to tear his head clean off when the words left his mouth. Thankfully, she only skinned him alive with her words and not any of the knives from the kitchen sets that were nearby.

Still, the day remained profitable despite the hiccup, and by the time night fell, the new fridge was installed and stocked with food.

Soon after that, the two of you fell into a rhythm.

Kokonoe would obsess over the plant, you would double check her measurements to ensure everything was going smoothly, then you would begin the most torturous task you had even inflicted upon yourself.

Teaching Kokonoe Mercury how to take care of herself.

First, you started with the basics in Laundry which was easy enough since most of her clothes could be sorted into whites and reds.

Of course, that came with her grumbling about how she could build a robot or get Taeger to do this for the entire time, still, it was progress.

But, then came cooking.

Foolishly, you thought that she would do well in cooking since it was as much science as it was art.

This was a very, very idiotic thought to have.

In five minutes she managed to turn a bag of rice into ash.

It took her ten to completely immolate a fish down to its bones.

After this disaster, you decided to put off trying to teach her how to cook until you had a fire extinguisher on hand.

Still, cooking related mishaps aside, everything was going well in forcing Kokonoe to learn that, no matter how hard she wished or how many drugs she put into her silvervine candy, she still had a body of flesh and blood.

She was, of course, filled with enough rage to burn the world to ash due to this, but that was something you expected when you were co-opted into this debacle.

What you didn’t expect however, was your side of the emotional coin.

Specifically, your growing admiration and care for her.

This isn’t to say you didn’t admire her before this, but more so to say that before this your admiration for her was only professional.

Now though, you were admiring her as a person.

You always knew she was a stubborn person, it was par for the course in the field of science.

Now though, you saw that her stubbornness was something she applied in all facets of her life.

And as you continued to spend time with her, you also saw that her stubbornness and her care were one in the same.

Still, you knew it was better to keep all of that to yourself.

She was your boss and you were her assistant.

It would be better and far simpler for both you and her to keep it that way.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Kokonoe Mercury, for the first time in a very, very long time, didn’t feel like absolute crap.

Was this the power of three square meals a day, water, and regular doses of sunlight?

If it was, Kokonoe would be… inclined to not kill Litchi the second she got back her lab access.

Just ever so slightly.

The fact she stole you to be her assistant was also helping out.

It was also causing her an immense amount of headache as, against her better judgement, Kokonoe was getting ever so slightly attached to you.

She knew she shouldn’t based on past data.

Everyone she had ever made a bond with had left her, died, or worse.

It was a quantifiable metric.

And yet, here Kokonoe was, thinking of a way to try and even the score.

As loath as she was to admit it, you had taught her things.

To her, knowledge in all its forms was something invaluable.

Sure, she never felt the need to repay someone for teaching her something before but that's unimportant.

What was important now, was finding something worth what you taught her.

Maybe she could invite you to be her research partner?

No, no, no, she already had you as her assistant, that was almost the same thing wasn’t it?

She couldn’t up your salary either since the budget for the year had already been decided.

“Wait, that’s it!” Kokonoe exclaimed, a mad grin making itself known on her face.

Sure, she couldn’t raise your salary, but she could give you a way to take some strain off your budget.

She could just invite you to live with her.

Yes, that would be perfect! It would allow for the symbiotic relationship the two of you had to continue, and it would let Kokonoe continue to operate at maximum efficiency.

Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner?

It was a foolproof plan that benefitted both you and her!

Truly, the genius of Kokonoe Mercury is unparalleled.

If only she was this smart when it came to her emotions and other people.

[fimbry]

Signed up for a swampy art exhibit that I have to submit by the 6th... Have not started or decided what to paint, or ordered something to paint on... I got this. 👌

[queerofthedagger]

i love fingon so much just. he's so good and so reckless and he loves so fiercely it makes him do the most stupid shit, and in turn no one ever quite puts him first. I'm going to eat glass

[outismm]

Hi- I just wanted to thank you for your Huck posts, it's like the only positive thing in his tag and it made me happy 😭 He's so good and deserves more appreciation! Have you seen season 2 yet? I would LOVE to hear your thoughts!

EEEEEEE HELLLOOOOO!!!!! This ask made me so incredibly happy. There will never be a time when I am not ready to Scream from the rooftops about Huck. Okie this is all just going to be rambling. Bouncing off the walls, giggling, kicking my feet, etc. Spoilers for acts 1 + 2, I'll probably rb this with more thoughts after act 3.

Being bisexual is so embarrassing bc while other people are doing in-depth analysis of the beauty that is this show, and I'm over here spinning a goober around that has,,, MAYBE 10 mins of screen-time, or less.

I DON'T EVEN CARE THOUGH MY HUSBAND IS BACK!!! WE'RE SO BACK!!!!!!!

Truly the instant I clocked his glasses I started squealing and pacing my room MNASDMAN there is no hope for me.

As expected, babygirl is not doing well! The moldy food was a good touch. The terrors are terroring.

Also not Huck related - but loved the Moses vibes Victor was bringing out this scene? Lots of Moses imagery w/ him, just a great move on the writers + animators part, considering his backstory.

It's really important to me that he's terrible at this MANSDMAN

Not only bc it's really Woughe (tm), but just,,, I do love that Huck is a coward? He's a coward in a very human way. 99% of what he does is purely out of desperation.

Just a great character trait tbh!

Also the fact that he's so hesitant gives me the vibes that he's probably never/rarely done this? Like :

This is not the stance of a man who mugs people on the regular MANDSMAN he looks so profoundly out of his depth. The second Victor starts walking towards him instead of trying to run, he starts freakin' the fuck out.

Either he's not used to doing this, or he's used to doing this to ppl who don't/won't/can't fight back. Ack.

^^ He also makes a little sob here when he's holding up the knife. Very important to me.

UHHNGHNOUGHH!!!!

They fixed his hairline and took away his stutter and de-aged him - which are all tragic for me specifically, BUT that's forgiven bc YIPPEEEEEEEE he no longer looks like he's on the verge of death MNADMANSDMN.

I'll forgive Hextech Jesus for hitting him with the Twink Beam. for now.

Victor DID however take away his beautiful brown eyes, and that cannot be absolved.

LOVE how the marks on his face line-up w/ where Victor touched him. Magnificent. Amazing. Kissing the artists with tongue.

Also can't believe I never noticed this before, but the chip in his tooth? Wagh <3

I do appreciate them getting a bit of not-quite-closure? Honestly just nice to see Vi and Huck interacting again after the whole Silco fiasco.

Also - have we ever seen Huck stand upright??? I think?? this might genuinely be the first time we see him at full height???

He's really not as short as he seems!! He's just always curled into himself like a pangolin. Love that deeply.

Also appreciate him getting a gun pointed at him again, always a good time. I love seeing him scared and stressed out <3 MNASDMNAD

He still reacts the same, too! Shoulders all tense, a lil leaned back, lips pursed. Idk I just like how the animators keep the Vibes of characters. All those little traits.

Hm.

I don't approve of him being in a cult but I DO approve of him being in a dress. So once again it balances out.

To whatever artist(s) on the team decided that outfit for him, I'm transferring my savings to your bank account.

No comment.

Actually yes comment - seeing him not back down from a threat is such a contrast to how he usually acts. Woughe. Cult Commune Induced Character Development (mixture of yays and boos)

It's interesting to see how while Victor is able to cure ailments, it also pulls away aspects of the individual's personality. Like that's Huck but that isn't Huck, y'know? We see it way more obviously w/ Salo in ep 4, which is real cool

AND AGAIN, NOTHIN' GOOD LASTS FOR LONG.

Can't wait to see the consequences of this on his physical and mental health <3 need to see him going through it tbh. He will find peace eventually.

Not yet though. get up you gangly fuck there's still more terrors to experience AKJDSAKDJ

I feel like he still has quite a lot of Character Arc To Character Arc so I doubt he's just gonna be like. A Corpse And/Or Corpse-Adjacent. Next act. t'would be very disappointing AMSDNAMDN.

OUGHEEEEE. OKAY. once again anyone who read through all this gets a cookie and a little flower as a hat. runs away.

[overbearingstruggles]

@ alltimelow Sup, fools?

[tearlessrain]

seriously can catastrophes stop happening for five minutes my brain is already fried from the ones we're already experiencing

[drxgony]

so who wants to hear about my au where anders and nathaniel howe end up joining the warden to find the cure to the calling. old awakening gang getting back together.