#wish i remembered how ryans hair felt as i combed my fingers through it

[1980ssunflower]

Started tearing up while literally looking for what pics to use hfdjsk

[bookjonsa]

"Of Sansa brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. You know nothing Jon Snow" seems straight out of a cheesy romance novel lol. Lets be honest here.

Yeah, that's our Jon, a romantic at heart:

Calling his half sister Sansa “radiant”:

Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall. 

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Dreaming about his mother:

Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

Playing the hero: 

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight,*" Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne.**"

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

*Ser Aemon the Dragonknight, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he crowned Queen Naerys his Queen of Love and Beauty.

**Ser Ryan Redwyne, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he crowned Queen Alysanne his Queen of Love and Beauty.

Giving courtesies:

"I don't even know your name."

"Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower."

"That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. 

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Playing the honorable knight:

After that he had taken to using Ghost to keep her away. Old Nan used to tell stories about knights and their ladies who would sleep in a single bed with a blade between them for honor's sake, but he thought this must be the first time where a direwolf took the place of the sword. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

Straight out the book of courtly love...

Wooing a girl:

If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

Wishing for a domestic life:

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

Calling his mare “sweet lady”:

The mare whickered softly as Jon Snow tightened the cinch. “Easy, sweet lady,” he said in a soft voice, quieting her with a touch. Wind whispered through the stable, a cold dead breath on his face, but Jon paid it no mind. He strapped his roll to the saddle, his scarred fingers stiff and clumsy. “Ghost,” he called softly, “to me.” And the wolf was there, eyes like embers.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Being friends with soft boys:

Whatever pride his lord father might have felt at Samwell’s birth vanished as the boy grew up plump, soft, and awkward. Sam loved to listen to music and make his own songs, to wear soft velvets, to play in the castle kitchen beside the cooks, drinking in the rich smells as he snitched lemon cakes and blueberry tarts. His passions were books and kittens and dancing, clumsy as he was.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IV

Sam remembered the last time he’d sung the song with his mother, to lull baby Dickon to sleep. His father had heard their voices and come barging in, angry. “I will have no more of that,” Lord Randyll told his wife harshly. “You ruined one boy with those soft septon’s songs, do you mean to do the same to this babe?” Then he looked at Sam and said, “Go sing to your sisters, if you must sing. I don’t want you near my son.”

—A Storm of Swords - Samwell III

The boy claimed to be eighteen, older than Jon, but he was green as summer grass for all that. Satin, they called him, even in the wool and mail and boiled leather of the Night’s Watch; the name he’d gotten in the brothel where he’d been born and raised. He was pretty as a girl with his dark eyes, soft skin, and raven’s ringlets.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VII

“Night gathers, and now my watch begins,” they said, as thousands had said before them. Satin’s voice was sweet as song, Horse’s hoarse and halting, Arron’s a nervous squeak. “It shall not end until my death.”

(…)

He could smell Horse’s unwashed breeches, the sweet scent Satin combed into his beard, the rank sharp smell of fear, the giant’s overpowering musk. He could hear the beating of his own heart. ”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VII

Satin was all grace, dancing with three serving girls in turn but never presuming to approach a highborn lady. Jon judged that wise. He did not like the way some of the queen’s knights were looking at the steward, particularly Ser Patrek of King’s Mountain. That one wants to shed a bit of blood, he thought. He is looking for some provocation.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon X

Imagining his half sister Sansa calling the lands beyond the wall “an enchantment”:

The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond. Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even the mud puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice.

So there is magic beyond the Wall after all. He found himself thinking of his sisters, perhaps because he’d dreamed of them last night. Sansa would call this an enchantment, and tears would fill her eyes at the wonder of it, but Arya would run out laughing and shouting, wanting to touch it all.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Giving up his deepest desire and by that, refusing to despoil his half sister Sansa of her rights:

“How can I lose men I do not have? I had hoped to bestow Winterfell on a northman, you may recall. A son of Eddard Stark. He threw my offer in my face.” Stannis Baratheon with a grievance was like a mastiff with a bone; he gnawed it down to splinters.

“By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa.”

“Lady Lannister, you mean? Are you so eager to see the Imp perched on your father’s seat? I promise you, that will not happen whilst I live, Lord Snow.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon I

Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”

“I have heard all I need to hear of Lady Lannister and her claim.” The king set the cup aside. “You could bring the north to me. Your father’s bannermen would rally to the son of Eddard Stark. Even Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse. White Harbor would give me a ready source of supply and a secure base to which I could retreat at need. It is not too late to amend your folly, Snow. Take a knee and swear that bastard sword to me, and rise as Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

How many times will he make me say it? “My sword is sworn to the Night’s Watch.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

And of course, as if he sensed he was going to die, informing us that his fondest memory of his half sister Sansa is the following:

He thought of Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. Kill the boy and let the man be born. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon’s breathless laughter. Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird’s nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back …

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

He's so fluffy!  I'm gonna die!

Thanks for your message.

Good night.

[alj4890]

None But You

(Thomas Hunt x oc*Amanda) in a regency era romance as requested by @pixieferry​

A/N So sorry this took so long. Migraines and writer’s block are making life so pleasant. We are slowly coming to the end of our series. I have loved how Thomas is in a regency AU. That proud man oozes Mr. Darcy vibes. Let’s see how everyone reacts to the shooting and plans to depart the Rawlings’ residence.

@graceful-popcorn   @krsnlove   @alleksa16   @hopelessromantic1352    @pixieferry   @emceesynonymroll   @buzz-bee-buzz   @hopefulmoonobject    @rainbowsinthestorm   @lxaah11   @my-heart-beats-for-ya @everythingmarvelsherlockspn @friedherringclodthing   @aworldoffandoms   @ab1901   @i-bloody-love-drake-walker  

Masterlist

Summary: Everyone comes to terms with Lord Ryan Summers being shot. Was it an accident? Or, was someone else the intended target? We also begin our journey to Lord Hunt’s home, Kirkwood Manor for the wedding.

Part 12

"Shh." Lady Henrietta Rawlings held her daughter close. "All will be well, darling."

"Oh Mamma." Millie cried. "I cannot lose him. Not after I realized" She trailed off as another sob tore through.

Henrietta smiled softly to herself. It had come as a pleasant surprise to find that her daughter had fallen in love with the one man she and Lord Gabriel Rawlings wished for her.

When Millie burst into tears upon hearing the news that Lord Ryan Summers had been shot, she knew her daughter must truly care for the man. After leaving Lucy in charge of the guests, she took her daughter to her bedroom so that she could cry in privacy.

Her smile dimmed as she remembered that the young marquess might not survive his wound. She couldn't bear the thought of her daughter finding love to only lose it so quickly.

"Stay here." She ordered. "I'll go see what the doctor says."

Millie blew her nose while nodding. "Please find out all you can."

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

Thomas and Chris decided early on to escape members of the house party. With Amanda in tow, the three claimed one of the empty parlors.

Guests were frantic with gossip and predictions that Lord Summers would die from his injury. Ladies were sniffling in their handkerchiefs, lamenting the loss of a young man of both excellent breeding and fortune. Some of the visiting gentlemen took advantage of the situation to offer comfort to the more desirable matches.

Once Sir Chris shut the door, the three relaxed as best they could under the circumstances.

"How is Lord Ryan?" Amanda asked "Have you heard anything yet?"

"The doctor was able to remove the bullet from his shoulder." Thomas poured a libation for himself and Chris and then a glass of sherry for his lady. "It was a miracle that it missed anything vital."

"That is a blessing." Amanda set her barely touched glass down.

"What I want to know is," Chris bit out, "how the bloody blazes, forgive me, my lady, do a group of seasoned grouse hunters manage to shoot a man?"

Thomas gripped his glass. "Ryan was standing beside me." He took a healthy gulp in the hopes the brandy would burn away the image of his friend bleeding before him. "He then stepped back to ready his rifle."

Amanda covered her mouth. "You would have been shot in the back if he hadn't moved."

He nodded. "Seems odd that after enduring days of tense encounters with the duke that a man next to me is struck down by a stray bullet."

Chis snorted. "Tense barely scratches the surface."

"Has any gentleman stepped forward, claiming they shot Lord Ryan?" Amanda asked, praying it was truly a fluke accident.

"Not that I'm aware of." Thomas quirked an eyebrow in question to Chris.

"I haven't." He answered. "I believe that Lord Gabriel and Michael are going to question everyone."

While Thomas and Chris continued to speculate the shooting incident, Amanda's attention was drawn toward a flurry of activity outside the window.

Carriages were pulling up outside. Some of the houseguests were taking their leave. There were many that hoped to be the first to share the gossip at the many ton events that awaited them in London.

Her eyes darted to the left. Duke Viktor Montmarte stepped forward after giving a farewell to a trio of ladies, tittering at his flirtatious comments.

"I believe we should corner Montmarte's valet." Thomas explained. "I find it strange that he accompanied his grace for the hunt."

Chris softly cursed under his breath. "I didn't notice he was there. What gentleman has a valet that is also well versed in reloading rifles?" He set his glass down in the midst of standing up. "Where is the scoundrel?"

"They've left along with others." Amanda replied. "I do not think we will ever know who truly shot Lord Summers"

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

"Papa?" Millie whispered outside Ryan's chambers. "Are you certain he is being properly cared for?"

Lord Gabriel's lips trembled with mirth. "Feel free to check on him if you wish. I was planning on sending Sanders in periodically to make certain the marquess is resting comfortably."

"Periodically!" Millie gasped in outrage. "Lord Ryan should have someone at hand until he is strong enough to leave his bed."

Lord Gabriel decided to withhold the information that Lord Ryan had regained consciousness earlier and had no trouble whatsoever with getting up to find a softer shirt to change into.

He had already spoken to Henrietta about letting Millie nurse the gentleman in the hopes the two would finally see that they belonged together.

"My dear," her father said in a condescending tone he knew would spur her on to defying him. "He will be fine on his own for the rest of the evening. We have guests we must entertain and help prepare for their departure on the morrow. You should--"

"Hang the guests!" Millie snapped. "If they are too witless to know how to act when a man lies at death's door, then they deserve no such courtesies!" She opened Ryan's door and slipped inside.

Henrietta popped her head around from around a corner. "You handled that well."

Gabriel chuckled as he walked over to her. "I've learned over the years how to get my ladies to do exactly what I wish."

Hen's eyes narrowed on her husband. "What was that?"

He winked at her as he escaped downstairs. "How else do you think I managed to trick you into bringing up marriage before I did?

"You wretched beast!" Hen screeched.

He laughed as he dashed downstairs.

Her lips eased into a smug smile once he had disappeared. "Foolish man. If he only knew I knew that was his plan all along."

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

Ryan's eyes flew open when he heard water being poured. He scanned his dim chamber and nearly bolted upright when he saw Millie wetting a rag.

Curious to what she planned to do, he closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

She tiptoed over and gently placed the cool rag on his forehead.

He peeked at her from under his lashes. Her teeth were tugging at her bottom lip as she observed him. There was a crease forming in the middle of her forehead as her eyes narrowed somewhat in thought.

He relaxed when he felt her fingers gently combing through his hair. It was a soothing, almost loving touch that he felt down to his toes.

It took all his willpower to remain still when he heard the click of his door opening again. If anyone were to catch Millie alone in his bedroom, the scandal would rock the entire ton.

Millie's head jerked up at the intrusion. When she saw who it was, she decided to not bother being kind.

"What the devil are you doing here?!"

Victoria paused before shutting the door. "I could ask you the same question."

Ryan flinched from the hiss in the intruder’s tone. Both women noticed the movement and lowered their voices for his sake.

"I am nursing Lord Summers." Millie ground out.

"I believe he would prefer my tender ministrations over yours." Victoria's smile was a touch brittle. "After all, he has made a point to spend more time in my company than anyone else's."

Millie bristled at her not so subtle meaning. "Be that as it may, Lord Ryan is a guest in my home. Therefore his care falls under my responsibility."

Ryan frowned somewhat at that statement. He didn't want her to feel obligated to care for him. He had hoped she was doing so for a deeper, more heartfelt reason. This irritated him even more that he desired such an emotion from the bane of his existence.

"Well, I have a way with men that helps speed their recovery." Victoria countered smugly. "Why don't you go and try to obtain that which you don't have."

The lady made a shooing motion with her hands as she approached the bed.

"And what exactly have I yet to obtain?" Millie's voice had lowered and sounded more sinister than Ryan had ever heard. He cracked open his eyes. Never had he been more grateful to not be the recipient of her temper.

Victoria was oblivious to the effect her provocations had on the young lady.

"Poor little Lady Millicent." She sadly shook her head. "It must be devastating to have your closest friend, who we must admit is not a great beauty, make such an advantageous match in the midst of her first season while you have yet to capture attention from any gentleman within the span of nearly three seasons." Her lips curved into a mocking smile. "Even now the less popular ones are not inclined to give you anything but a cursory glance."

Millie was practically shaking with her anger. "How dare you?!"

Victoria ignored her, moving to fluff Ryan's pillows.

Millie snatched her wrist and roughly pushed her away.

"You wicked little viper." Victoria snapped, wrenching her arm free. "Do you honestly believe he would choose someone like you over someone like me?" She narrowed her eyes on Millie. "You are nothing but an annoyance to him."

Ryan noticed the color drain from Millie's face. Her hesitation touched his heart. In that brief moment, he realized that she believed he wouldn't choose her.

"Millie, are you--," Victoria's laugh echoed in the chamber, "You are! You are in love with Lord Ryan."

The man fully opened his eyes to see how Millie would respond to what had to be a farfetched notion.

Her blush and twisting of the rag in her hands appeared to point toward it being true.

"Oh this is rich." Victoria snorted while laughing again. "You'll never be able to show your face in London again after everyone hears about this." Her malicious smile reappeared. "Not only have you caused a scandal, but you fell in love with a man that barely tolerates his acquaintance with you."

Ryan spoke up when he saw the tears building in Millie's eyes. "Leave my room. Now."

Both ladies jumped and turned to look a him.

Victoria smiled sweetly. "My lord, I've already told her that she is unwanted." She went to pull the covers up over his chest.

Ryan caught her hands. "You are the one that is unwanted, Ms. Fontaine."

She narrowed her eyes. "You must be delirious, sir." She forced another sweet smile. "I'll call for the doctor. A fever might be setting in."

Ryan's polite veneer that he had worn throughout his life was nowhere to be found. Millie watched in a state of disbelief as he set the misguided woman straight.

"Ms. Fontaine, I have unwillingly endured your forced company this entire visit." He began. "If not for my respect of Lady Cora and Lord Michael Rawlings, I would have cut any and every conversation with you." His words were clipped and held an edge sharper than a blade. "My patience has reached its end."

He turned toward Millie. "My dear Lady Millicent, will you please pour me a glass of water?"

She gave a brief nod and hurried to get him what he asked for.

Victoria, upon realizing she was being ignored, decided to leave and spread what gossip she could.

She was in for quite a surprise on learning that Lord and Lady Rawlings had already explained the situation to their remaining guests, making Millie's actions all above board.

"Here." Millie slipped her arm behind Ryan's shoulders.

Instead of admitting he could easily sit up, he decided to play along, struggling with every movement. He weakly grasped her hand that held his cup and took a long, slow sip.

"Thank you." He exaggerated a groan as he sank down against the pillows. "That altercation took a great deal out of me."

Is there anything else I can do for you?" She worried over him.

"What can be done at such a dark moment?" He asked, tinging his voice with sadness. "I have been brought to my lowest." He covered his eyes with his uninjured arm. "How does one go on after this?"

Millie hemmed and gently grasped his hand. "My lord, you will come back from this. I know you have a deep strength that will aid in your recovery."

"My life will never be the same." He said in a gravelly voice. "What will become of me?"

Millie swiped at her stray tears. "Ryan, I--"

"Nothing but a lifetime of pity." He wailed, getting into his role of injured gentleman. "No lady will ever wish to marry me for myself. I will only be desired for my wealth and title."

"That's not true." Millie argued. "You--"

"She won't be able to look at me without seeing a once dashing, handsome man wounded beyond repair." He continued, peeking from under his arm at her.

"Ryan, you're going to be fine." Millie insisted. "You must recover. I need--"

"This is the end of Lord Ryan Summers." He interrupted. "The man you once knew who made ladies' hearts race is no more." He let his arm fall weakly to his side. "I am forever scarred."

Millie narrowed her eyes. "Is that all you care about?"

He turned toward her. "Is what all I care about?"

"Your effect on women." Millie bit out. "One would think a brush with death would cause a man to rethink his life and strive for something more."

"Millie, I-" he began, struggling with his laughter.

"Perhaps Victoria should tend you." Millie stood up and threw the wet rag in his face. "I am not the kind to give you the comfort you so rightly deserve."

"Now Millie," Ryan tossed the rag on the table, "I prefer your tender--" he grunted when she pushed him back down on the bed.

"I cannot believe I worried over you!" She pointed at the bandage at his shoulder. "You're perfectly fine!"

"I was shot in the shoulder." He argued, sitting up once more. "And it hurt like bloody hell removing the bullet."

"Not nearly enough!" She snapped. "You deserve so much more discomfort."

"Millie!" Ryan scrambled off the bed and blocked her exit. "Now Millie, you know you love me."

"I do not!" She screeched. "Whatever," she searched for the appropriate comparison to her previous feelings, "weakness I might have felt, it has thankfully disappeared." She waved her hand. "Kindly move."

"No." He folded his arms, then winced at the pain it caused.

The flash of anger Millie felt disappeared at glimpsing his actual pain. "Oh Ryan." She stepped forward and gently touched his cheek. "You must take it easy."

She slipped her arm around him and guided him back to his bed. She once again fluffed his pillows and covered him up. The entire time, she insisted he allow her to care for him.

Ryan's lips curved at her fussing over him once more. A man, he thought, could get very used to this.

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

"Did you discover anything?" Amanda asked.

Thomas had pulled her off to an alcove after dinner. He kept her hand in his as they discussed his fruitless search for the shooter.

"Nothing pertinent. The few gentlemen that have remained for another night were all focused on the grouse." He lifted her hand to his lips. "Perhaps it was an accident after all." He grimaced with his next thought. "What if Montmarte's game was simply to cause me doubt and misery? To ruin our time together as a newly engaged couple."

"That is a possibility." She conceded. "Though I believe our original stance to remain guarded around him was wise. He does not strike me as a man that chooses inaction." She smiled softly as he brushed another kiss against her knuckles. "At least he is gone."

Thomas nodded, a hint of a smile forming. "Yes, and we will soon be at Kirkwood Manor." His eyes lifted to hers. "I am anxious to acquaint you with your new home."

"Oh?" Her teasing smile appeared. "Not for the wedding then?"

"That goes without saying." He grumbled. "You are very aware of how much I am looking forward to that."

She laughed, squeezing his hand. "I am looking forward to both."

Thomas hesitated, then leaned closer to whisper. "Even though Montmarte is gone, I would prefer keeping watch over you tonight." Before she could argue, he held up his hand. "I promise to rest during our journey tomorrow."

"Very well." Amanda conceded. "I see that you refuse to be swayed." Her breath hitched when he pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of her wrist. "I will see you later "

Thomas watched her wish her aunt and the Rawlings family goodnight on her way toward the stairs. His lips firmed in a frown as he wondered if they were truly once and for all rid of Viktor Montmarte.

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

The next morning...

"Are you certain you feel up to leaving this morning?" Millie asked.

Ryan gave his thanks when one of the servants poured him a cup of coffee. "I do." His dimples deepened with his charming smile. "With you caring for me during our journey, I know that I will be fine."

His smile grew at the rosy hue forming on Millie's cheeks.

"Good morning." Amanda greeted when she and Thomas entered the dining room. "Lord Ryan! I am very pleased to see you up and about."

He stood and kissed her hand. "Nothing will stop me from seeing you and Thomas wed." He winked at her. "I have a vested interest in your marriage."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "I believe I was the one to actually court her."

"I'd like to think mine, Lady Millie's, and our closest friends' influence had a hand in nudging you toward the altar.

Chris and Matthew joined them at that moment.

"If I recall correctly," Chris grinned over his shoulder while filling his plate at the sideboard, "Our dear Thomas was very much against the notion of holy matrimony with any lady he came into contact with."

"He even encouraged other men to make a match with a certain lady." Matt added, chuckling at the glare Thomas sent him.

Amanda couldn't help but laugh at their teasing. She reached over and grasped Thomas' hand.

His eyes met hers. Seeing her warm smile, his frown disappeared. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Though he wouldn’t admit it, he was grateful they had such interfering friends.

Millie sighed at the tender action, thrilled beyond measure that all was how it should be. Nothing was standing in the way of those she cared for. 

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

A few hours later, Millie was ready to commit a murder before the wedding. With Ryan injured, she had readily agreed to riding in his carriage with him. Lady Lucinda was riding with Millie’s parents so that Amanda and Thomas could enjoy some alone time in his carriage. All seemed to point toward a pleasant journey for everyone.

Then Sir Chris and Lord Matthew insisted on joining her and Ryan.

It might have been pleasant if not for their teasing and hints that Millie and Ryan felt something deeper than mere friendship. Then again, it most likely would have been a miserable ride. The man she thought herself in love with was irritable with every jostle to his shoulder.

“Perhaps you should have waited a few days before traveling.” Millie suggested.

“I am not about to miss a single moment of my closest friend finally settling down with a young woman I actually approve of.” He snapped.

Millie’s eyes narrowed. “Then perhaps I should have chosen to ride with my parents.”

“Heaven forbid you remain with me and help nurse me back to health.” He grumbled between gritted teeth.

“I can think of a few ways to nurse you.” she mumbled under her breath, imagining shoving a rag in his mouth. “Why don’t you try and rest?”

“Capital idea.” Chris interjected when it appeared that Ryan was about to bite their only feminine company’s head off. “Go to sleep, Summers.”

“You all make it sound simple!” He snapped. “And here I am, thinking that the movement of the coach makes this contraption a torture chamber on wheels.”

“If anyone is tortured it is us that are trapped with you.” Millie countered. She folded her arms and purposely turned so that her back was to him.

“You may leave at any time you wish.” Ryan pointed out. “I was a fool to think having you with me would be a comfort.”

Millie’s gasp of outrage caused the other two men in the carriage to shrink back within their seat. 

“I was more than ready to do all I could to ease your journey.” She hissed. “I had no idea though that not only are you stubborn but you are also prone to whining over every little thing.” She huffed and reached for a book to read. “I did not know I had chosen to travel with a petulant child.”

Ryan opened his mouth to deliver a crushing set down to the woman he thought he was losing his heart to. 

“Here we are, sir!” His coachman called out.

Millie peeped out the window at the inn they were stopping at for the evening. She scrambled down the coach steps when she saw her father helping her mother and Lady Lucy from their carriage.

Her eyes scanned the charm of the small town and she noticed that a number of carriages were stopping at the various inns that lined the main road.

Thomas and Amanda paused on their way inside to check on Ryan.

“I pray it wasn’t too difficult on you.” Amanda said once the gentlemen had made it out.

“I managed.” Ryan quickly assured her. 

Chris choked on his laughter. “He is a man to admire in how he suffers in silence.”

Millie was about to add her own cutting observation when she noticed how pale Ryan was. Sweat was glistening on his upper lip and he winced when he straightened his posture.

She stepped forward and took his uninjured arm. “Come, we should get you settled so that you can rest.”

Her sweet tone caught him by surprise. “Thank you.” He murmured, walking with her into the inn. “I do apologize for my rude behavior.” He grimaced at the pain throbbing in his shoulder. “I should have insisted you ride with your parents.” 

“I should have been more understanding.” She gently squeezed his arm. “I need to work on my patience.”

“And charity.” He added, grinning at her quick temper.

She met his gaze and reluctantly smiled. “That too.”

He leaned down to whisper to her. “Perhaps you shouldn’t work too hard. I will look even more churlish if you become too angelic.”

She laughed out loud, causing his smile to to grow. “Very well. I will only partially work on my lack of patience for your sake.”

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

“Thomas!” Amanda whispered. “What are you doing?!” She carefully opened the window to her room and stepped back so he could climb in.

“I wanted to check on you.” He replied, looking around her room only lit by a candle. “I have gotten into the habit of being unable to relax at night unless I see for myself that you are safe.”

She walked into his arms to kiss him, snuggling closer when he wrapped his arms around her. “What am I to do with you?”

“Marry me.” He suggested, pressing another kiss to her lips. “Then I can rest easy.”

She shut her window and tugged him over to her bed. “Hopefully you will once we reach Kirkwood.” 

He removed his coat and cravat before settling beside her. “Hopefully.” He reached out to hold her, repositioning her until her head lay on his chest. Thomas closed his eyes as peace seemed to seep into his very bones with the feel of her in his arms. Her hushed whisper of her love for him made him even more grateful that she would soon be his for the rest of his life.

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

Across the street, a man cloaked in shadows kept his eyes on the window that held the young lady and the man she was engaged to. He remained there, long after the candle was snuffed. Once he believed the man was not going to return to his own room, he left his post and reported all he had witnessed to his employer.

“So he is still keeping his nighttime habits, eh?” The duke chuckled while swirling brandy in his glass. He took a sip before returning his attention to his valet. “We will need to rethink our plans for the viscount and his lady.”

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

What if the main reason Ryan Stoker wanted to bring the dead back to life was because he wanted to see his one true love again? But due to the fact that they “didn’t turn out quite right” he had to watch someone brutally kill his s/o, so he had to watch her die again, her second death. I’m so mean to him but he’s still my boi.

I can’t believe you made me write this with my own two hands

YOU OWE ME FLUFF YOU NERD,,

God, he misses her so much. He wants to hold her in his arms again. He doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

He just wants her back.

It’s not been long since Rian lost his beloved, but it’s passing so slowly it’s felt like an eternity. When he first lost her and was reeling in the grief, people told him the first year would be the hardest. Nobody mentioned that the second year would be just as hard. Or the third. He feels like he’s been wandering around without her for his entire life and the fact that the majority of his life is still ahead, without her, is terrifying.

To think that she might be back now, after he put in so much work to bring her back to him, is overwhelming.

(Name) is the first of these experiments within the Society that everyone thinks may actually work the way they want. He’s been trying and trying and trying to perfect the process, and now, after so many failures, it might work flawlessly with her. The rest of the members want it so badly to work, because they have seen how heartbroken and desperate a man Rian is over her.

It has to work. It has to. The Undertaker promised Rian he would have her back.

They all know how dangerous this is, and so at least two other members are hovering around the coffin as he waits breathlessly by her side. Everything has gone so right with her, and what will he do if he has to go home without her a second time?

When her body rises up into a sitting position, he feels his heart skip a beat. Even though there is the cloth around her eyes for everyone’s safety, aside from that, she looks almost like she did just the day before she died. Rian has painstakingly brushed her hair so it falls perfectly, and done her makeup precisely the way she wore it before. He’s even dressed her in her favorite gown.

God, he loves her so much. She’s so beautiful. He’s missed looking at her so much, and touching her, and seeing her smile when she realizes he’s staring at her.

(Name) makes a low, gurgling noise that speaks to dissociation. His heart aches for her; she must be so confused, separated from her body as she’s been for the past several years. Likely she has no idea where she is, what’s happened, and unaware of the fact that she’s been dead.

“Oh, my love,” he cries softly. Tears form in his eyes as he leans over to brush his fingers over her cheek. She’s still pale, and ice-cold like she was when he gave this same gesture at her funeral. Perhaps in time, she will regain her color and warmth. She’ll grow stronger and more aware, then they can be truly happy together. Her skin is softer than he remembers, which strikes him as promising.“I missed you. I ― I never knew if I would see you again… you’re my whole world, my heart and soul, you’re the breath I draw into my lungs… you are my everything.”

Despite her marked lack of response to his voice, Rian carefully places his arms around her neck to pull her close. All his hard work is undone when his hand grasps a section of her hair. When he takes a breath in, the perfume she’s been adorned with fills his senses, but underneath there is the scent of death, a sickly sweet rotten smell.

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t. This is his other half, his beloved (Name), the one person he can’t possibly live without.

Now that he has her back, maybe he can start to live again.

She makes another noise, and he holds her tighter, pressing a longing kiss to the side of her head. “I missed you,” he sobs against her hair. “I missed you so much, my darling, my sweetheart, my precious love. The only thing that has urged me to get out of bed every morning is the thought of seeing you again. Of holding you in my arms again, and kissing you, and having you back. I love you with my entire self and with everything that I am.”

His tears start to spill over. “We’ll pick up right where we left off, (Name), I swear!” he laughs, and pulls away enough so that he can look at her face again. There are no words to describe how much he just wants to look at her again. The empty hole in his heart that was left when she died is starting to regain its contents. He squeezes his eyes shut as tears roll down his cheeks.“You still have your ring, so ― so we can finally get married! And we’ll get a bigger house, and… and we can start a family! We can raise our children, and then we’ll grow old together, and ― and―”

His heartfelt list of wishes is cut short when he’s suddenly yanked backwards. One of the other members has wrenched him away from (Name), and he lands hard on the floor. “What ― what the hell?!” Rather than looking toward his darling, Rian aims a withering glare toward his fellow Aurora. “What are you doing?!”

“Saving your life, you bloody idiot!” The other man returns the expression twofold. “She almost took a bite out of you!”

“… What? No, no, no…” Rian’s heart sinks as he swivels his head to look toward (Name). The blood in his veins freezes when he sees the state she’s in now. One hand is on the casket, holding it so hard the wood is splintering. Her mouth is wide open, snapping every few seconds as if looking for something to bite down on, and there are horrible, animal growls coming up from somewhere deep in her chest.

It’s just like the experiments before that failed. All that happened is that it was a moment longer before the unstable nature took hold. She can’t see him, or hear him, or feel his touch. She may be moving, but she isn’t alive.

He’s failed again.

He shakes his head as if he thinks that alone will make this not true. “No, please… this can’t happen… please…”

The other member takes a step in front of Rian, drawing his gun. (Name) has begun an attempt at getting herself out of the casket, and if her motivations are anything like the other failures, she’s very likely acting on pure killing instinct. “I’m sorry, Doctor,” the other man sighs. It’s very clear that Rian’s fellow members wish this didn’t have to happen. Unfortunately, the fact is that nothing will stop these creatures except another death. Of course, they can’t simply shoot her; that won’t work.

“She’s like the others. Not viable.”

Rian’s shoulders quake with the effort of not allowing heartbroken wails to tear themselves from his throat. Where happened this time? Where is her soul, her personality, her emotion? Where is the woman he loves? Why can’t he bring her back?! “Please, no… not her… it ― it should have worked… oh, no, my darling, please…”

Even though he can’t bear to watch as several of the other Auroras hold (Name) back and begin the brutal, agonizing process of bashing her head in, he can still hear it. Every blow they give, every crack as the gun connects with her skull, every sickening squelch as blood splashes onto the floor. Rian is huddled in the corner, listening to the entire thing, unable to escape it.

Once the others tell him it’s safe, he doesn’t want to look. He doesn’t even want to move. She’s dead once more, and it’s all his fault. Why can’t he just get this right? What the hell is he missing?! Finally he gets to his feet, walks over to the coffin, and with shaking hands, he cradles his beloved’s corpse for the second time.

He doesn’t look at her face, but he tangles his fingers into her scarlet-soaked hair as he lays his head on her chest. He wants to vomit ― instead he sobs like a child who’s lost his best friend. His hand combs through her hair, lodging blood underneath his fingernails.

Despite knowing she’s gone, and she wouldn’t be able to feel pain anyway, he can’t bring himself to be anything less than gentle with her.

He takes her hand, pressing a broken kiss to her fingers. “Look at you,” he cries as he holds her hand to his forehead. “Look at what I’ve done to you. I’m ― I’m so sorry, my love… I’m so sorry… I miss you… I need you back… I’m sorry… I love you so much…”

Everyone else is silent as a graveyard to let him have this moment with her. Most of them worry that he’s going to leave now, because he didn’t accomplish what he set out to do when he joined their cause. Some of them are certain he won’t try again, that he can’t try again with (Name), that her body is too mangled now.

At last, Rian draws away from her corpse. His eyes avoid her head, hand clasping around hers so tightly his arm is trembling.

But when he speaks to the rest of the Auroras, his voice is even and decisive.

“Find out what. Went. Wrong.”

[splendidlyimperfect]

Sting’s entire life changed when he was eleven years old and his best friend Rogue told a secret that he’d promised to keep. Taken away from the father who abused him and the best friend who’d tried to save him, Sting tried to start a new life with his uncle. But the trauma wasn’t easy to escape, and eventually Sting turned to drinking to forget the things that hurt.

Now he’s an adult, and he hasn’t been sober in years. But when drinking nearly kills him and a near-stranger saves his life, Sting has a chance to turn his life around, and maybe become the man that Rogue deserves to love.

Chapter Summary: Sting starts to build a new life with Rogue.

Chapters (15/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Natsu Dragneel & Sting Eucliffe, Sting Eucliffe & Weisslogia Characters: Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel, Rogue Cheney, Gray Fullbuster, Weisslogia (Fairy Tail) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Past Child Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Trans Character, Trans Sting, Friendship, Childhood Friends, Sting-focused story, Sting is a disaster, Natsu’s a great friend, Rogue tries to do what’s right, Tumblr: FTLGBTales Series: Part 2 of i’m still standing

**CW for first sexual experience after sexual trauma

-----

re·​build | \ (ˌ)rē-ˈbild noun : to restore to a previous state; to build again

.

xv winter age twenty-one

.

Despite everything changing, life goes on.

Loving Rogue is like being up in the tree fort – familiar and aching all at the same time. There’s no hesitation in the way they touch, in the way Rogue’s fingers trace gentle patterns across Sting’s scars, in the soft press of their lips. He loves Sting so fiercely, and Sting doesn’t always feel worthy of the way Rogue looks at him.

“I’ve done so much stupid shit,” Sting says one day while they’re sitting on the couch, Rogue’s head in his lap while he braids Rogue’s hair.

“We all have,” Rogue reassures him.

Sting shakes his head. “Not like this.” He gets to the end of the braid and studies it, then combs his fingers through it and starts again. “Not… I just…”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Rogue asks. 

Continue reading on AO3

The question catches Sting off guard, and he doesn’t answer for a moment. Rogue knows a lot of things about Sting’s life already, but not everything. Sting had moved to a different AA meeting, because being around Rogue would make it harder to be honest, and they haven’t talked much about it since.

“Yeah,” he says as he combs Rogue’s hair out of his face. “But some of it sucks. Most of it, actually. I don’t want you to…”

“I love you,” Rogue reassures him, and Sting knows he means it. “You can tell me anything.”

So Sting does. He talks about his mom’s death and his dad’s drinking, about the hospital and Uncle Wes and Officer Kelly. He talks about coming out, about becoming Sting, and then about losing himself again. He talks about the first time he drank, and the last time he drank, and how it took him almost dying at Natsu’s feet to get his shit together.

“I’m glad you met Natsu,” Rogue says, tipping his head back into Sting’s hands and gazing up at him.

“I would probably be dead without him,” Sting says quietly.

“I’m glad you’re not.”

“Me too.”

~

Training at the academy is a lot harder than getting his GED, but Sting is determined not to fail. Having Rogue around makes things easier, even when Sting is terrified.

They get pictures taken in a mall photobooth after a date one evening. In the first three they’re laughing, and in the last one Rogue is gazing at Sting like he’s the only person in the world. Sting keeps the picture in his wallet, and any time he’s afraid, he pulls it out and remembers why he has to be brave.

Eventually they move in together. Uncle Wes comes to help Sting pack his things, and when he sees the stuffed bear propped up on Sting’s bookshelf, he nearly starts to cry.

“It felt like...” Sting hesitates, taking the bear from Uncle Wes’ hands and running his fingers over the worn fur. “It reminded me of you.”

“I wish…” Uncle Wes swallows, his words thick with emotion as he sits down on the bed and stares at his hands. “I should have come for you.” Sting frowns. “Before,” Uncle Wes clarifies. “When you were little. Before he hurt you.” He looks up at Sting and his expression is so distraught that Sting nearly starts to cry. “When I got to the hospital, and you were… I hadn’t seen you in so long.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Sting says, sitting down on the bed and running his thumbs up the stuffed bear’s arms.

“I didn’t know,” Uncle Wes says, reaching over and covering Sting’s hand with his own. “If I had, I would have come, I promise.”

“I know,” Sting reassures him.

“You used to live in Saint Portage,” Uncle Wes says quietly. “Just down the street from me.”

Sting frowns. “I—we did?”

Uncle Wes nods. “When you were born, your dad was busy with work, and I helped your mom out sometimes. We’d go to the playground just down the street. You always loved the swings.”

“Why…” Sting hesitates, sifting through his memories and finding nothing. “I don’t remember.”

“I know,” Uncle Wes says. “You would have only been three or so when your mom passed away and your dad moved you here. I missed you so much. I loved having you for Christmas, too – you were a terror and liked to try to unwrap all the presents before Christmas morning.”

Sting laughs, wiping at his face once he realizes he’s started crying. “Sounds about right,” he manages.

“After Grammie died, your dad never brought you back,” Uncle Wes says sadly. “I called him, asked to visit, but he just…” He sighs. “I knew something was wrong, I just didn’t know what. He wasn’t a nice man, and I wish I could have gotten to you before he hurt you like that.”

Sting sighs, shifting closer to Uncle Wes. “You couldn’t have done anything,” he says quietly. “That wasn’t the first time he’d hurt me. He’d just been hiding it better before.” Uncle Wes makes a frustrated sound. “I’m glad I ended up with you, even if I was awful.”

“You weren’t awful,” Uncle Wes says. “You were scared and traumatized, and I didn’t know how to make it better.”

“I didn’t either,” Sting whispers, voice breaking as he leans in. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Uncle Wes says, and when he pulls Sting into a hug, Sting lets himself feel safe in the embrace.

~

A week later, Uncle Wes brings over a box of Sting’s things from his house to the new apartment. It’s mostly books, but there’s a stack of old photos at the bottom of the box that Sting’s never seen before.

“I don’t remember these,” he says to Rogue as they sit on the kitchen floor and go through them one by one. Sting’s in most of them – a blond toddler with a wild mess of curls and dirty sundresses. In one of them he’s riding on Uncle Wes’ shoulders, and in another they’re at the beach, with Sting playing in the sand. “I wish I could.”

“Trauma does funny things to your brain, love,” Rogue says gently.

Sting sighs. “I know. I just look happy, and I wish I could remember feeling that way.”

Rogue shuffles closer and wraps his arm around Sting, kissing his temple as he keeps flipping through photographs. At the very bottom of the stack is the photo Sting loves – the one of him and Rogue with the dandelions.

“I remember this one,” he says quietly, running his thumb over Rogue’s shy smile in the photograph. “I was happy.”  

“Me, too,” Rogue says. “Mom says I was inconsolable when the dandelions died.”

“I picked you new ones, though,” Sting says, pulling together a vague recollection of blue skies and yellow flowers. “Right?”

“You did.”

“Good.”

When they’re done sorting through the rest of the box, Sting takes the dandelion photo and pins it up on the middle of the fridge.  

~

One afternoon, nearly eight months after they find each other, Sting and Rogue are lying in bed, curled up together as the sun spills through the window. Rogue’s propped up on Sting’s bare chest, gazing at him and brushing Sting’s curls out of his eyes. When his fingers touch the scar that runs through Sting’s eyebrow, his expression turns sad.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I wish I could have kept you safe, back then.”

“You did,” Sting replies, tipping his head to the side and kissing Rogue’s palm. “You were my only safe place. All those nights—every time I came to you and you let me stay, you kept me from getting hurt.”

Rogue sighs, leaning down and kissing the scar. “I didn’t understand,” he says. “If I had known what he—that...”

“You were just a kid, too,” Sting insists. “You did everything you could.”

“But if—”

“We can’t live in ‘if,’ darling,” Sting says gently. “We’re here now.” He tugs the elastic off the end of Rogue’s braid and wraps it around his wrist, then runs his fingers through Rogue’s hair. “I’ve loved you for a long, long time, and nothing’s going to take me away from you again.”

Rogue lets out a shaky sigh, shifting so he can kiss Sting. His fingers drift up Sting’s side, over his ribs, across the scars on his chest – the good ones, from six months ago, that make him feel more like the man he’s always been. Sting hums under the touch, pulling Rogue closer.

“I want you to make love to me,” he murmurs against Rogue’s lips. Rogue stills, pulling back and gazing down at Sting.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “We don’t—”

“I’m sure.” Sting’s hands are steady as he tucks Rogue’s hair behind his ears. Rogue knows about Ryan, about the pain and resentment and awful dreams. Sting cries sometimes, late at night when they’re curled under the blankets, and Rogue kisses his forehead and holds him close.

“Okay,” Rogue says, gaze soft and open. “We can stop anytime you want to. Only what you’re comfortable with.”

Sting nods. “I know,” he says, pulling Rogue back in for a kiss.

Rogue takes his time. He maps out the lines and curves of Sting’s body slowly, first with fingers and then with his lips, gentle kisses against soft skin. He touches every scar, even the ones on Sting’s wrists and forearms, and it feels like absolution. It’s like his body is forgiving him for hurting it, one kiss at a time.

“I love you,” Rogue whispers against Sting’s skin as he slides his hand under the band of Sting’s boxers. Sting lifts his hips, kicking away the fabric and doing the same for Rogue. They’ve been naked together before, but it’s never felt like this – holy and healing.

“Touch me?” Sting asks, pressing his forehead to Rogue’s and twining their fingers together.

“Where?”

“Here.” Sting rolls onto his side to face Rogue and settles their joined hands on the back of his thigh.

Rogue kisses him gently, fingers teasing and caressing and eventually slipping into him, slowly, like Sting is a precious thing. When Sting tenses he stops, but Sting quickly shakes his head and nudges him to keep going.

“Please,” he says, pressing his forehead to Rogue’s shoulder and gasping against his skin. He’s never felt like this before – never had someone touch him when he’s entirely here, sober and whispering yes. “It’s... it doesn’t hurt.” A quiet, breathy moan escapes him. “It feels good.”

Rogue curls his free hand around the back of Sting’s neck. “It’s supposed to feel good, love,” he says, and his voice is tinged with something quiet and sorrowful. “I’ll never hurt you.”

“I know,” Sting says. “I know.”

Rogue insists on Sting being on top of him, thighs shaking on either side of his hips, hands fisted in the sheet near Rogue’s hair. “There you go,” Rogue murmurs, stroking Sting’s back gently as he sinks down, taking Rogue inside him. “I’ve got you.”

“Fuck,” Sting whispers. He slows and then stops, just because he can, and Rogue doesn’t complain. He just keeps murmuring quiet reassurances, staying perfectly still and letting Sting take the lead.

“You’re gorgeous,” Rogue says, rubbing his thumb in circles over Sting’s hip. “You’re perfect.” Sting shivers, then shifts down the rest of the way, gasping at the sensation. It’s so different. He’s not broken, not aching, not just a warm body that’s too tired and scared to say no.

With Rogue, he’s important. Under Rogue’s gentle touch, with Rogue inside of him and underneath him, Sting feels precious. Loved. Safe.

When he slowly starts to move, a quiet curse spills from Rogue’s lips and his fingers tighten around Sting’s hip. He tips his head back and his hair spreads across the pillow like spilled ink, and Sting’s never seen anyone so beautiful in his life. When Sting leans down and kisses Rogue’s throat he can feel Rogue’s pulse, thrumming beneath his skin as he whispers Sting’s name.

Sting knows Rogue’s holding back – he’s trying to hold still, instead letting Sting move and figure out what feels good. Sting rocks forward, listening to Rogue’s breathless moans and smiling because he did that. He made Rogue feel good.

“You can move,” Sting says, voice shaky as he brushes his lips along Rogue’s jaw. “It’s okay.”

Rogue shivers, sliding one hand down to Sting’s thigh and very slowly thrusting his hips up. The movement sends sparks through Sting and he curses next to Rogue’s ear.

“Do that again,” he says breathlessly, and Rogue does. Everything is warmth and light, and tiny sparks of pleasure that build and build. Rogue’s face is open, and he keeps making tiny, joyful sounds between whispers of Sting’s name.

“You’re so good,” he whispers, pulling Sting in for a kiss. “You feel so good. I love you so much.”

And then he shifts his hand down between Sting’s legs and waits for a nod before touching Sting’s cock.

“Fuck,” Sting whispers, dropping his forehead to Rogue’s shoulder and shuddering. “Yeah, th-that…” Rogue thrusts upward again, stroking Sting with one hand while caressing his hip with the other.

Rogue moans and pants and kisses beneath Sting’s ear, and when he whispers, “Let go, my love,” Sting does.

The sensation is overwhelming, starting from where Rogue’s touching him and flooding outward until he’s shaking. Everything feels warm and his cheeks are flushed, and a wave of dizziness washes over him as Rogue moans his name.

Sting doesn’t realize he’s crying until Rogue pulls him close, rolling them both onto their sides and kissing Sting’s cheeks. “It’s okay,” Rogue says as he wipes away the tears. “You’re safe. What’s wrong?”

“I…” Sting can’t speak, still trembling and not quite able to breathe. Rogue takes Sting’s hand and places it on his chest, then takes a few deep breaths for Sting to follow. Eventually the shaking subsides and Sting’s left feeling warm and exhausted.

“Did I hurt you?” Rogue asks, concerned.

“No,” Sting says quickly. “No, it felt… that…” Heat rushes to his cheeks and he stares down at their joined hands. “I’ve never…”

“Never what?” Rogue asks gently.

“Never…” Sting gestures vaguely between them, refusing to look Rogue in the eye.

“Wait,” Rogue says suddenly. “You’ve never had an orgasm before?”

Sting shakes his head, willing the red to disappear from his cheeks as he presses his forehead to Rogue’s chest. “I didn’t… I never touched myself, I hated all of it, and then Ryan didn’t care, ever, and I thought…” He exhales. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

Rogue makes a sad sound and pulls Sting close, kissing the top of his head and wrapping an arm around him. “It’s supposed to feel good,” he says, voice muffled by Sting’s hair as they cuddle in the afternoon sun. “And I promise it always will.”

[unbrckenwallsxinspo]

Trigger // SELF PARA

When: April 1st, after midnight

Where: Devon and Alyssa’s House

Summary: Kinsley Maxwell decides to play an April Fools prank on Devon, but it goes horribly wrong.

Trigger Warnings: Guns, mentions of death, murder, suicide, and drugs

Mentions: Devon, Ryan, Tavin, Alex, Kinsley 

@thewiildthings​

🖂 Incoming message! From: ronimaxwell@gmail.com To:devprescott88@gmail.com I found some old pics of Jade that I thought you might like to have.

A few years had passed since Jade's murder. Devon was now only a couple weeks away from his 25th birth, he was raising their daughter as a single parent, and still lived in the two story cabin home that his in-laws had helped them purchase.  He wished he could say that life was good, but deep down, there was still pain that just wouldn't disappear no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. No matter what he did, he still lived with the memory of watching Jade take her last breath.

It was after midnight in Nashville. He should've been asleep, but instead he was on his laptop, looking at the email that his mother-in-law had sent. Four pics of Jade that he'd never seen before. The first one being when she was only about four months pregnant with Alyssa and went to a late night diner with friends. The second being her with friends at a hotel about a month before she and Devon got married. The third was her wit friends atsome electronics store in a town they didn't recognize. The fourth was one that Devon had taken of her while on a lunch date after their wedding. So many good memories. No more to be made.

A year after she died, Devon tried to take his own life. Months of therapy followed until he finally stopped going. In his mind, he no longer needed the help. For a few years, that mindset worked. Until recently. Lately he'd begun to sink back into a depression, suicidal thoughts and all. Alyssa was the only reason he hadn't ended his life. She was his reason for living. Still, he was haunted by nightmares of Jade's death. He blamed himself for it happening. After all, he shouldn't have tried to escape, then the robber wouldn't have felt the need to fire his weapon. So it had to be Devon's fault, right?

"Daddy?"

He clicked out of his email and closed his laptop as soon as he saw the seven-year-old in the doorway, clinging to her teddy bear and rubbing her tired blue eyes. "Hey, love, can't sleep?"

Alyssa shook her head and climbed onto the bed, nuzzling her face against Devon's shoulder. She knew how to make him feel safer without even trying. Wrapping his arms around his little girl, he laid back against the pillows, a heavy sigh leaving his lips as he looked at the clock on his nightstand. It was 12:30 AM. He'd surely be awake until it was alright daylight out. That was often how his nights turned out.  Good thing he had tomorrow off from work.

"Daddy?"

"What's up, kiddo?" He ran his fingers through her hair, forcing himself to smile as he lovingly kissed her head. 

"Do you think I'll ever see my mommy again?"

The question was anything but simple. He believed they would see Jade in the afterlife, but he knew what Alyssa really meant, and he couldn't give her the answer she wanted. That broke his heart.

"Someday, baby." He gulped, rubbing her back. He was kind of relieved when she didn't push the issue farther. Normally she had a lot of questions about pretty much anything and everything, but he preferred that she not ask too many questions about her mom. He never had the right answers.

Their brief conversation was interrupted by something outside. Something that Devon didn't recognize. He supposed that it could have been the wind or a trashcan falling over or a bird or something, but it sounded like none of those things. So Devon's fight or flight response was quick to kick in. 

"Stay here. Try to get some sleep." He murmured as he got up from the bed. A few months after Jade died, he purchased a pistol without telling anyone. He kept it in a safe in his closet and only he knew the combination. Maybe right now he didn't need the gun, maybe there was a logical explanation, but that knocking...it didn't sound good, so of course his first reaction was self defense.

"Dad--"

"Stay here!" He whispered before he walked into the door, shutting the door behind him. He was about to head downstairs when he heard the familiar ring of his phone, which was coming from Alyssa's room. Huh. He must have left it there when he was putting her to bed earlier. 

He hurried into her room and grabbed the phone, answering with urgency. 

"Hello?!"

"Hello, friend. Remember me?"

"Who is this?!" Devon snapped as he pointed the gun in front of him, inching slowly out of the room and towards the stairs. 

"You mean you don't remember me? From the Flash Mart?"

Chills went down Devon's spine. The Flash Mart was where Jade was killed. But her killer was in prison! He couldn't possibly be calling. This had to be a joke. A sick, evil joke. 

"Come on, Devon. I met you and that lovely wife of yours for a few minutes. Lovely couple, you two were."

"Whoever you are, you better leave me alone or I'm calling the police!" He yelled before promptly hanging up. He choked back sobs as his shaking hand clutched the gun tighter, walking slowly down the stairs. To his horror, his front door was wide open, wind blowing leaves across the floor. And in the doorway was a tall, hooded figure wearing a hockey mask and holding what appeared to be a machete. A bloody machete.

BANG!

Devon didn't notice that the man had practically jumped back through the doorway in fear, as a bullet struck the floor and another at the wall. His mind was spinning, but he was focused enough to fight back against the perceived enemy. This was not happening. This was NOT happening.

"BRENDON, YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE JASON VOORHEES OR SOMETHING, NOT MY SISTER'S KILLER, YOU MORONIC ASSHOLE! Tavin, seriously, get over here now. Devon's got a gun! Shit shit shit...No, I'm hiding behind the car!"

Devon paused at the sound of Kinsley's voice. He knew this was some kind of prank that she'd come up with, but his mind was racing and his muscles were so tense that somehow he still felt like there was danger. So the gun never left his hands and his finger never left the trigger as he searched the surrounding area for Kinsley's "friend."

"Devon, it was a prank!"

Devon no longer heard a word Kinsley was screaming at him. He was focused entirely on finding the asshole she'd used for said prank. The scary thing was that he wasn't even thinking of the potential consequences of his actions. He didn't think about the possibility that he might hurt or even kill someone. He was definitely not himself in that moment.

"W-where are you..." He murmured, panicked tears in his eyes. The flashbacks were playing over and over in his head, and he felt nothing except a desperate desire to protect himself and his daughter. In that moment, he wasn't at his home. He was back at that convenience store and he was fighting for his life.

He was so deeply trapped in his own mind that he didn't hear the slam of the car door a few feet away. He heard someone call his name and he cried out softly as he whipped around, pointing the gun in the direction of the voices. Then, all of a sudden, he felt a pair of arms grab him from behind, the gun falling from his hand.

"Ryan, did you just forget that he has PTSD?! You don't sneak up behind someone who--" Was that Alex or Tavin speaking? Devon had no idea. He was too busy crying and trying to get out of Ryan's grasp, panicked breaths escaping him. 

"Well, did you want him to shoot someone? Because I don't know about you, but I like liv-Thank you, Devon, for your knee making contact with Ryan Jr." Ryan groaned as he let Devon go, gripping his crotch as if that would relieve the pain Devon just inflicted upon him.

Devon was spiraling. Heavy breathing, sweat dripping down his face, barely holding back sobs as he combed his fingers through his hair. He was going insane, he was sure of it. Maybe he was even dying. At this point, he didn't mind that possibility too much. He just wanted the pain to stop. He didn't want to live in fear anymore and if dying would relieve that fear, then so be it.

"Okay, I got pot, coke, or molly. Take your pick." Dammit, Alex. No one gives a shit about your stupid drugs.

Suddenly, Devon's mood changed from fear and panick to pure anger. "Alex, I don't want your drugs. I want to take that pistol and put an end to me misery, that's what. I'm sure you can relate, right? Besides, we all know that you'd rather keep that shit for yourself."

Alex had a stricken expression on his face now and if Devon were in his right mind, he'd feel guilty. But he didn't. He didn't care if Alex got his feelings hurt. He had just as many problems as Devon did, if not more, and it was time someone called him out on it.

"Dude, that wasn't cool and you know it. Let's just...go inside, okay?" He felt Tavin's hands on his biceps and he relaxed only slightly, shaking with panic and anger as he was ushered into the house. He was close to breaking down again, but whatever. Tavin had seen him break before. In fact, he was the one person that Devon felt comfortable being vulnerable in front of. 

"I'm gonna use the restroom." He gulped, shaking off his friend's hands and hurrying into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him. He took the time to look at his reflection. Messy hair that he hadn't washed in days or really maintained at all, heavy bags under his eyes, pale skin that was currently sparkling with sweat, obvious weight loss...clearly life had been kicking him in the ass and he hadn't done a damn thing to make it any better. He didn't see the point.

Momentarily, he saw Jade standing behind him, then he saw a dark, hooded figure drag her away. He sobbed as he threw a punch at the mirror, watching the glass shatter. What followed was a few knocks on the door and Tavin calling his name. Devon figured if he stayed quiet long enough, maybe he'd be left alone. But of course not. Within a few minutes, the door somehow opened. Ryan had picked the lock. Lovely.

"Dude, what the--" Tavin grabbed his hand and said something to Ryan about getting the first aid kit from the kitchen. Then he felt Tavin's arms around him and he finally broke completely, tears soaking his friend's shirt.

[allaboutannabeth]

just talk

The sun had set hours ago and Annabeth had been practicing what she wanted to say to Lacey. Finally, with sweaty palms and a racing heart, she took the cheesecake, a dark, brownish red to the bedroom, the smallest one, upstairs. A soft, tentative knock, then Annabeth waited. 

Lacey swung the door wide, knowing who it was before she opened the door. Out of them all, Annabeth had been the one she needed to mend the most fences with, other than Jack. And out of them all, she had spent the least amount of time with her. She’d felt her flutter of nerves, heard the way she’d paced back and forth down in the kitchen, and knew by feel that AB was the one on the other side of the door. She offered what she hoped was a welcoming, warm smile, but feared just looked stilted. Lacey didn’t know how to act around her. The woman had stolen her husband. She’d almost killed Annabeth. Things were complicated, to say the least. But there was cheesecake and the stilted smile turned into something real as she lit up, excited for a treat.

“You didn’t need to bring me that…” she said, glancing from the decadent cake to Annabeth’s slightly wary eyes. Lacey expected this was the big heave ho, that the cake was a bribe. Take the cake, pack your shit, get the fuck out. She’d go. 

“I’ll just pack,” she muttered, stepping back to admit Annabeth and went to the closet where she’d begun to store a few things. She had no doubt heard about her kissing Doc. Knew that there were a lot of lines crossed with Ryan. Maybe she even knew about the times she’d kissed Jack. “I’ll be out in a few, okay? Just don’t uninvite me until I get my stuff, if you don’t mind…” She’d deserve to be kicked out. Of course. She was very good at making other people’s lives implode. 

Annabeth was startled into stepping back when the door opened, but she recovered and came closer, wanting to be near her. “Pack?” she asked, confusion clouding her wide, blue eyes. “Where are you going? Wes would hate it. Stay…” She stepped inside after her, realization hitting her all at once when the vampire started to busy herself with her clothes. “...You think I’m kicking you out? I’m not. I just…” she closed the door after a moment’’s hesitation and held the cake aloft to the vampire. “Please. I brought… “ Her free hand dove into her pocket and came out with a fork. “Go ahead. Eat. Please…”

Clearing her throat once the cake was out of her hands and Lacey had sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, Annabeth settled herself on the edge of an armchair, draped with Lacey’s clothes over the back. It took everything in her to not get up and start folding them. 

“We need to talk.”

Those words could stop the heart of a human. As it was, they made Lacey feel as if she had gone suddenly pale. 

“Talk… Okay….” she drew the words out before stabbing her fork into the cake and eating a bite. The familiar texture, the hint of chocolate, had her forgetting that Annabeth wanted to talk and probably wanted to ream her ass. She was transported, blissed out by the first bite of cheesecake. A soft little moan escaped her lips as she pulled the fork from her mouth, clean of any crumbs. 

Annabeth felt herself sitting forward when Lacey moaned, her lip caught between her teeth. That… was not the normal reaction she had to Lacey. To any woman other than Ryan, really. A weird feeling, she thought, passing it off as some fluke. That sound could make people think things.

“Yeah. Talk…” she said, letting out a breath. “You know… I’ve been jealous of you for a long, long time. I wanted to be you…” Lacey’s head jerked up when Annabeth said that last, her mouth dropped open, much like the surprised Pikachu that Doc so loved to use in their group chat. “I did. Because you had him more than I did. You had his son. You had a life with him. I had stolen moments. Fear. I had a half-life. But then… You left. I met Doc. Things got… complicated. Now, we’re good. We’ve built something, all of us.” Sucking in a breath, Anna looked down at her hands before going on. Two rings. One for each hand. And Ryan had given her one of those hokey best friend necklaces one night after they’d… Well, it had been an intimate moment no matter what. “We’ve got a rock solid foundation under us all, we’ve made a family. We’ve become happy.” 

Lacey, feeling ashamed of the way she’d treated this woman, listened, sometimes picking at the cheesecake. Mostly, she just watched her. The rings. The way she smiled just a little when she looked at them, or tugged on the necklace around her neck. The way her cheeks bloomed with color. Some memory had stirred, making her blush. “I wouldn’t wish being me on my worst enemy,” she whispered. “And… I don’t want to… I won’t blow up your life.” Dave’s words slapped her in the face again and she looked down into her lap lest blood tears leak and betray how hurt he’d made her when he’d said that. “I just want to be near… everyone. But Wes especially. Please, don’t send me away.” Her lips trembled and she felt the tears coming. Gods, he had hurt her. Don’t destroy everything you touch, Lacey. Don’t ever find a shred of happiness because if you do, it comes with a cost.

Without her noticing, Annabeth had crossed the room and pressed a packet of wet wipes into Lacey’s hand. Tears must not have been as secret as she’d thought.

Anna had brought the wipes because she noticed Jack carried them. They’d come in handy a time or two. And now.

“No one said you would blow up our lives…” she said, sinking into the bed next to Lacey and putting her arm around her. Fear was there, somewhere, still, but the need to comfort her, the need to make sure she was okay, outweighed it.

“You’re part of our lives, you know? You’re family. And I know you’re closer… a lot closer… to the others. Getting closer all the time, it seems, and I’m glad. I… I want you to make this your home. I want you to be there for Wes. For Jack. He needs you, more than he’ll admit to me. I need you too, because if you’re here, he’s happier. I need him to be happy. He’s my world…” Licking her lips, she petted Lacey’s hair, the gesture unconscious. “You’re part of us, and if that means you get… “ she had to clear her throat again. Try to force herself not to blush. “Get a lot closer to Jack, Ryan, and Doc… Well, that’s going to take some getting used to but I’m not going to begrudge any of them what makes them happy.” 

Lacey could not have been more surprised had Annabeth told her she’d spouted tentacles out of her vagina. Her mouth hung open and then closed. Opened again. A fish out of water. “I…”

Anna cut her off, her hand slicing through the air before them. 

“Make them happy, the relationship we’ve built is like a house. It’s strong. Has good bones. But if you blow up my house, I will not be nice. I will make your life difficult. I will make you leave this house and I will revoke my blessing for you to do whatever it takes to make them happy.” Her face had gone from pink to hard as stone as she pronounced the last, her hand, in Lacey’s hair, tightening until the vampire yelped. She released her, face softening in an instant.

“So sorry! I didn’t…” And she knew then that things could, and would, work out. Because she’d hurt the vampire. And all Lacey had done was get a little fangy. And yelp. Like a kicked puppy.

Her fingers untangled and she finger-combed her hair once more.

“...Are you really saying I can fuck them?” Lacey asked, incredulous. That had to be a trick. The hair yank forgotten as she tried to process what Annabeth had said. “Because that’s what it sounds like you’re saying. But that’s ridiculous. You would never say that…” Lacey squinted, trying to see if she detected falsehood. None. “You are insane…” she whispered, laughing.

“No,” Annabeth corrected. “I’m not crazy. I just know that sometimes, you make the choice that’s hard for you because it makes the people you love happy. I almost like you. I want you to be okay, and that’s a new feeling that I’m not used to. I want you to be happy. Please you. And them. I want them to be happy more than anything. So, we’ll see if this works out.” Annabeth patted her hair one more time, stood up and smoothed her skirt. “But remember… You bomb my house and I nuke your life.” 

“Good night.”

One last smile, one on the chilly side, and Annabeth left, leaving Lacey with a half-eaten cheesecake she didn’t want anymore and a lot of questions she didn’t think she wanted to know the answers to. 

Nuke… she thought as the door shut, shaking her head. The rabbit maybe had grown a spine. And dammit if she didn’t respect a woman who could threaten a vampire when she was a human, small and unable to fight. Much like she felt about Ryan.

“This house gets weirder, every fucking night.”

[artisticvicu]

Say my name, say my name. | Devil’s Angel | Part 5

[Prev]

The walk was equally short and excruciatingly long. He could feel the distance in his body with the way it ached, legs trembling as he came to a halt before his door. Somewhere along the trek he had realized that he had left Lucifer's dressed in cloths that were not his, meaning if he had his keys, they weren't on him now. A dull thought questioning what he would do with the door locked passed through his tired brain as he tried the handle. The door opened, revealing an apartment well lit in the dead of night filled with several people. He was certain his name was shouted as he was pulled into the apartment, jostled about by hands and arms familiar but unwanted. He flinched from the pain in his back and the cacophony of sound around him. "Give him space!" came a sharp order and there was suddenly space around him. He sucked in air greedily as Gruff Boss became his focal point before him. Ever in charge, the burly man was the only one to step closer now. Michael wish he hadn't let the man. From one instance to the next, Michael was forced to turn around, jacket pulled off and shirt shoved over his head. He hissed as cold air hit raw wounds agitated by the sudden removal of his shirt. He struggled to replace the shirt but his boss's grip was strong regardless of how gentle it was. "Penelope, go get what counts as a first aid kit this moron owns." He heard movement towards the bathroom as Gruff Boss directed him somewhere. Another set of hands were on him as equally careful as his boss's as he heard the muffled scrap of a kitchen chair. He was forced to straddle the chair and rest his front against the backrest with his arms still pinned near his head by his shirt. "Ryan, Nate." "Name it and we're on it, Boss," the baker spoke from somewhere to his left. There was sound of another chair being moved. "Help him out of that shirt and keep him seated. And do try to be careful." "Always, boss," the other responded as the pair started working the shirt off of Michael. He did his best not to fight the unwanted touch despite their purpose. "Here, Roderick." Penelope - his other boss - had returned as his head came free. He squinted against the sudden harsh light. He gave both men a flat look as Gruff Boss responded from behind him, "Thanks." There was a brief moment of silence filled only by the sound of the shirt leaving his body completely and of Gruff Boss fiddling with whatever his sister had handed him. He felt far more exposed than he was comfortable. "What happened to your back, Michael." Penelope's question was hard, more of an order for him to explain than any actual option for him to dodge the words. Despite knowing there was compassion there, he wasn't about to tell any of them the specifics. He shrugged, flinching from the pain it caused. Ryan and Nate each shot a hand to his shoulder, pinning him down. Rage curled in his gut at the trapped sensation that settled over him. "I scraped up my back doing something stupid," he ground out. daring them to press the issue. A chuckle rolled from behind him, the sound coming across dangerous and humorless as it was quickly followed by Roderick commenting, "Walking home instead of heading to the hospital was stupid." Ryan's hand squeezed his shoulder, concern on his face as he asked, "Any other injuries we need to know about?" "How are your hands?" Nate suddenly inquired, reaching for one such appendage with his free hand. There was a stutter in his brain as he was forced to adjust his focus from his anger to his person. His gaze moved to his hands as Nate's enclosed one. They were completely healed. There wasn't even any sign of scrapping from pavement or any sort of injury and that was probably all thanks to Lucifer having healed him after the Fallen had first found him A part of him wished he hadn't. "Surprisingly fine. Seems Theo's quick actions yesterday had done the work." The sudden silence was deafening and his head came up so fast, the grips on his shoulders became painful as they attempted to keep him still. He brought his head around, defensive and unsure. He opened his mouth to say something - anything - but the only thing that seemed to come out was one measly word. "What?"

Roderick's hand was heavy and he turned, looking at his gruff boss. "Michael." He felt his stomach drop. Roderick never called him by his first name. "You've been missing for three days." There seemed to be no air in the room as what air had been in his lungs was taken away. "What?" he released in a strangled, breathy voice. Nate spoke up, drawing his attention. "When we sent you home, Boss asked me to check on you the next morning. You normally answer any text I send ya, even if it takes a few hours. But when you didn't respond before your shift was supposed to start the next day..." "We got worried something had happened," Ryan took over, his words sure where Nate's had failed. "We thought maybe you had been in an accident or something but the Bosses said to give you time, that injured hands could be making things a bit difficult and to not worry too terribly much about it." "When you didn't come to work this afternoon without calling in again, Roderick sent Nate to your apartment," Penelope spoke up. "We hadn't expected the panic phone call from Nate. It had taken a few words from Roderick before he was able to understand why Nate was in such a frenzy. Your phone and your keys were on the table and the front door was unlocked but you were nowhere to be found. Roderick and I came here after we left Theodore in charge of the cafe, what with Ryan being so adamant about coming with. We were about to call the cops when you walked in." Michael stared at the floor in disbelief. There was no way he had been gone three days. Two, maybe, but three? Had he been with Lucifer for that entire time? When had Jesus taken him to Heaven? Had it been night? He couldn't remember and trying to was making his head throb in pain. Pain seared his back and he hissed as he tried to recoil from it but Nate and Ryan were there, hands keeping him from moving too far as Roderick informed him rather dispassionately, "Disinfectant. I want to get these clean before we take you to the hospital." Michael shook his head as he gripped at a fistful of blonde curls. "No. Just clean them and wrap it. I'll be fine." "Michael." It was Nate but he didn't look up. "Those look nasty, like something ripped your skin. You need stitches." Michael shook his head again but was interrupted by pain as Roderick pressed against the injuries. "I'll be fine," he ground out. "To hell you'll be," Ryan snapped, his hand on Michael's shoulder suddenly becoming painfully tight. Michael forewent gripping his curls to gripping Ryan's wrist, glaring at the blue haired man. "As soon as Roderick gives the go ahead, I am dragging you to the nearest hospital, even if I have to throw you over my shoulder, kicking and screaming." Michael's expression darkened. "You wouldn't dare." "Try me," Ryan snarled in return, the threat of him actually doing so very real. If not Ryan, he knew that Roderick would. He gave in, letting go of Ryan's wrist. "Fine." Roderick's touch against his injuries became gentle and Michael rested his forehead on his crossed arms. Nate started combing his fingers through Michael's curls and Michael found himself relaxing. "Just a bit longer and we'll get you some good drugs," Nate offered, voice quaking at the edges as he attempted to ease the mood. Michael didn't respond but he did press into the touch. While it wasn't as sure as Lucifer's, he knew that Nate was just trying to help and it was honestly a comforting gesture regardless. Soft chatter filled the air over his head, numbing his thoughts as the air numbed his skin. By the time they had pressed a temporary bandage over his injuries, he was shivering. Nate quickly slipped out of his sweater and wrapped it around him. It smelled of some soap and the faint scent of coffee. Ryan then draped his heavy leather coat around Michael's shoulders and Michael was enveloped by the scent of leather and cigarette smoke. The trip to the hospital was rather uneventful and surprisingly quick. He wasn't about to point fingers but he was certain that someone had called ahead to get an appointment or something because they took him right in and gave him a local anesthesia before doing a thorough cleaning despite Roderick's attempts. Apparently he hadn't realized just how big the wounds were until he felt them working from his shoulder to the base of his ribs. In fact, there was quite a bit of fuss and talk of possible skin grafting but Michael only paid so much attention what with the others there to listen and comment. He fell asleep somewhere near the beginning of the whole thing because he didn't remember feeling the stitches when Ryan and Nate left his sides to climb out of the car. He blinked blearily around, confused. It must have shown as Ryan gently grabbed his arm as Nate unbuckled him. "Come on. You're bed's calling your name. Docs want to do a follow-up due to how severe the injuries were and had not been ok with letting you leave but you were adamant even in the half asleep state you were in." "Fairly certain I was asleep," he countered, leaning on Ryan as Nate opened the door. Up a few flights of stairs and he found himself back in his own living space. Nate hurried on ahead turning on lights and opening doors while Ryan guided him through the rooms, their bosses bring up the rear. "You gonna be ok without us?" Nate asked as Ryan helped him into a sleep shirt. Michael hummed an affirmation. "My phone's on the nightstand-" he wasn't sure who stuck it there but he was glad to see it, "and I don't have work tomorrow." "You're on a week's leave," Roderick commented loudly from the bathroom. Michael heard the clatter of pills and figured that the burly man was putting the pills away. "And I don't have work for a week." Ryan touched his shoulder. "Do you want me and Cynthia to come by in a few days to keep ya company?" "Alex and I have the day off tomorrow. We could come by and check on you," Nate even offered. Michael smiled weakly at all off them, exhausted but touched despite the annoyance that curled in his gut. "I'll let you know. I'm fairly certain I'm just going to sleep for the next few days." Roderick walked over and pressed something into his hand. When Roderick's hand pulled away, Michael found himself staring at a few pills as a glass of water was pushed into his other hand. Penelope was setting the pill bottles down next to his phone with a bottle of water. He popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed a mouth full of water. He shuddered at the nasty taste left behind by one of the pills. Penelope's gentle hand found his hair. "We'll drop by with food tomorrow morning. We've set alarms on your phone for when you need to take pills and I'll have Nate and Alex meet us here and they can make sure you eat tomorrow evening as well." Nate nodded. "Alex can bring their game system. We'll just bum on your couch like we would be doing at our place anyways." Michael nodded in turn, yawning. Roderick puffed up, gesturing to everyone, "Alright, time to leave. Let's let the poor sap get some sleep." Everyone filed out, Roderick being the last. As the gruff man grabbed the door, he looked to Michael. "You let us know if you need anything, alright?" Michael nodded, serious. "Of course. Thank you, Roderick." "Sleep well," the man responded before closing the door. Michael was shrouded in mostly darkness, the only light being the lamp on the nightstand by his bed and what light bled from the window. Situating himself on his front, he turned the light off and tried to sleep. He couldn't get comfortable. His back itched and his skin crawled. It was like he was being watched or something else was in the room with him. He tried to move, to look, but his body was too heavy with exhaustion that even his eyes refused to open and focus. Suddenly there was a weight on his back, a hand burying itself in his hair as fingers dug into one wound, a voice equal parts Jesus's and Lucifer's gleefully demanding, "Say my name." And then it shouted, "Say my name!" He shot upright and to the side, his entire back flaring in pain but he ignored it as he gasped for breath. There was nothing in the room and he grabbed at his phone, finding it to be hours after he had been put to bed. He rubbed at his face, hand trembling at the memory of the dream. His phone chirped in his hand and he was rather surprised when the sudden sound didn't startle him. A text notification illuminated the screen and he swiped at it. It was a text from Penelope informing him that he would be having company in two hours. Turning the screen off, he placed the phone back on the nightstand and hunkered down to try and get a nap in before he had to deal with company. He was relieved when he found himself waking up to the sound of someone knocking on his door.

[Next]

[attack-on-bocchan]

SNS Summer Week 2017 || Day 5 - Family || The Naruto Closet

He wasn’t very good at first-time meetings. Actually - he wasn’t very good at goodbyes either. Or anything in between. The whole “socializing” thing wasn’t his thing at all, so naturally introducing his boyfriend to his family wasn’t going to be his “thing” either. Especially a really perky, blond, idiotic, male boyfriend.

“This is ridiculous ya know? I can’t ev-” strong pale arms pulled on a very ugly orange tie, making it almost impossible to breathe​, “ack! You’re killing me here, bastard! Give me a break!” The blond complained as he shoved off slender arms. “Why am I even wearing a freaking suit? We’re going to your family’s house, not some fancy-pansy restaurant.”

“Is my family’s house not “fancy” enough for a suit?“ I questioned with a raised eyebrow, threateningly pulling on his tie. His blue eyes widened in shock and nerves, and he quickly shook his head from side to side.

"That’s not what I meant, assho-”

I yanked his tie down and gave him a quick kiss on the lips, then let go, “then deal with it, you pansy.” I whispered bitterly into his tanned ear. A shiver ran down his spine.

“I just don’t get why you’re making such a big deal about this, when you met my parents you wore sweats!” Whined my blue eyed idiot, sweat ran down his shiny forehead from wearing such stuffy attire on a hot summer day. I could tell his usually infinitely long patience was running short, and it was surprising, because the blond was usually known for his gentle demeanor.

“Your family isn’t the same as my family, idiot.” I grumbled out as I straightened his black coat, soon regretting my words. He quickly pulled away from my pesky perfectionist self, and gave me a glare I didn’t know he had in him. His eyes sharpened, and dug into me, and his childish pout had become a stern frown of disapproval. I could see disappointment reflect off him.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Is your family somehow better than mine because you're​ rich or something?” The voice he used was unusually bitter and cold, almost reminding me of myself.

“Don’t be stupid, stupid.” I snatched his tie and pulled him closer to me once again, earning a cute surprised yelp. I returned his pink lips to mine, and like melting wax, they molded to each other. His grumpy attitude dissipated, and a warm smile returned to his scarred face. “I just haven’t mentioned my preference in men…yet.” I mumbled awkwardly between our mouths.

Tanned arms shoved me off in shock, and crystal wide eyes looked into my slick dark ones, “what are you talking about?! You’re always talking to them about me on the phone a-”

“I talk about a perky, blond, girl on the phone.” I explained casually. I watched as his wide eyes widened even more, if possible, and he continued his rambling a bit more panicked than before.

“And sometimes I even talk to them! I say hi and everyth-” he argued pathetically, seeming like a fish out of water. His arms flailed around, trying to find something to do before he lost it.

“You sound like an awkward girl going through puberty.” I retorted almost smugly, trying my best to suppress the smirk that tried to creep onto my face. I crossed my arms defiantly, daring my blond boyfriend to come up with some other sort of explanation.

“I. Do. Not! Take that back, you asshole!” Wailed my overemotional idiot. He pulled on his hair, looking angry, confused, upset, and overall flustered - it was kind of hot.

“Calm down.” I tried to reason, reaching out to caress his cheek. He wasn’t having it, and took a steady step back, skillfully avoiding my touch.

“How? You just told me your parents don’t know you're​ gay - and apparently ​never suspected my manliness despite our verbal conversations, because I sound like a preteen!” He shrieked unattractively. I wasn’t lying when I said he sounded like a girl during puberty - his voice was scratchier and higher than any little girl I know.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, “could you just let me explain, please? Sometimes you’re such a drama queen, I can’t even tell the difference between you and Sharpay.” I watched in slight amusement as he rose a curious eyebrow toward my choice of comparison.

“A Highschool Musical reference? Interesting choice - although if I were anyone in that movie, it’d be Ryan, her equally as dramatic but still level headed brother.” Suggested the now calm blond. Sometimes I forgot about his goldfish-like attention span. I guess now’s the time to explain.

“Look - be whoever you want to be - just listen, alright?” I relented with a sigh. He nodded happily in agreement - seeming almost unaffected by the news now. Ignorance is bliss I suppose.

“This whole… family business is a little stressful for me,” I paused, making sure the idiot wasn’t dozing off. He took my hand in his supportingly, and nodded for me to continue. “My family, as you should know, grew up with many religious morals, and I always felt a little guilty for not being with a woman - not that I regret being with you, I just wish I wasn’t…”

“Gay.” He finished calmly. His hand tightened around mine affectionately, an understanding smile on his innocent face. I almost felt bad for confessing something so dreadfully awful to my own boyfriend. Having to say something so weak to your partner is so shameful - and still, hearing the word come out of his mouth sounded wrong. I didn’t feel gay. I never checked out men, or shamefully displayed my arousal for the same sex, I’ve never even been with another man besides Naruto - was I still gay?

I did sometimes look at other men, I admit, but not because of their male status. I usually caught myself staring at men who’d in some way remind me of Naruto. Blond hair, blue eyes, tanned skin, they simply drew me in. They were qualities that made my mind immediately connect to the idiot, whom I’ve fallen for hopelessly. It was rather embarrassing to admit, and impossible to say aloud.

“Sort of.” I admitted sheepishly. Apparently I looked silly, since the idiot chuckled softly before poking my forehead gently. His bright grin light a fire in me, and I pulled him in for one last kiss.

I savored his plump lips, and combed my slender fingers through his golden locks of hair. My leg playfully rubbed against his as my hands moved from his head of hair to his shoulders, slowly sliding off his black jacket. He hummed in approval before suddenly pushing me away lightly, a small frown on his face, “what about your parents? And your brother? Won’t they hate it if we’re late - you’re trying to make a good impression, remember? To them you're still dating a totally hot blond girl with a great personality.”

I smirked seductively before whispering into his ear, “they’re probably gonna love you anyway, so shut up and kiss me, you overdramatic Sharpay.”

As he laughed while I sucked on his neck and clung to him, I realized something rather embarrassing. I wasn’t gay, or homosexual, or bisexual - none of those. I only wanted one person, and it was Naruto, so if anything, I’ve been in the Naruto closet.