#yes half of this is volcano because it’s the best song in existence

[quokkabite]

when they say ‘ily’ but han jisung said: you are a part of my life, if i have to let you go now, i’d rather be dead // if this is the last of us i might die // i don’t want to lose a part of me, you are my heart, you know // i’ll give you an armful of cosmo flowers // love you, i wanna place myself in a spot next to you // the feeling of affection that stirred in the air, it goes high above the sky into the universe // i’ll hold you tight and say i’ve always been waiting for this moment // if i hold it in any longer i might just blow up // the moment i first saw you it was meant to be, for me, it’s you, always you // I'll protect you it's okay to hurt // I'll embrace the wounds you shed // i can't refuse because you're sweeter than evil // you can burst into flames, you can wound me next to you // if you like, i can be anything // you can hurt me, i don't care, you can burn me // unlike those who run away from you, I'll embrace you // love at a temperature that can melt when touched // take me to you, way below to the end of the ground // it’s okay if everything burns down // even if i go back hundreds of times, my choice is always you // among the cold and harsh waves i need your heat you are my volcano // i’m the drought, you're rain, I'm paper, you're a poem // your attention changes the brightness of my empty heart, you're light // your arms, my home, my breath, my god // you grabbed me when I was falling // my falling days were sorrow but after you appeared my lifted mouth corners won't come down // to you, who shines the brightest among others I'll give you everything // i can't live without you you're the only one, even if i die even if I'm reborn over and over again, it's only you // you were my universe // i could give you my all and it still wouldn’t be enough // you were my story // the walls that were covered all black, they were colored by you // my hearts fluttering even if i try my best to stay calm, when i look into your eyes i still freeze // you who is shining among countless people, you became clearer bit by bit now i can only see you // in my empty heart, there is spring for the first time // even if i’m not by your side i hope you live happily // please be happy out there forever // hope you always shine // you’re in my arms, you suddenly asked “baby, where you from?” i said, “maybe you”

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

The Bad Guy’s Sacrifice - pt.2

Summary: Dealing with the aftermath of Mikhail’s kidnapping, Grayson was more than ready to retire and legalize his gang related work. However, his readiness to pull out of the business is met with a new bloodthirsty rival which puts a wedge between Grayson and Y/N just when they thought they could live a peaceful life together.

Warnings: fluff, angst, SMUT, VIOLENCE, DEATH, drinking, swearing

Word count: ~ 23k

The Bad Guy Masterlist (Gang AU)

He opens his eyes, the darkness around him seemingly moving through the cracks and pushing in. His right arm falls open to the side as he struggles to breathe, blindly reaching out for his nightstand, the top drawer where his inhaler resides. While his right hand struggles to grasp what nature intended to be his cure, his left one taps around the bed for his real remedy - his saving grace.

Finally finding the pump, he takes one puff for the wheezing to stop, allowing his mind to function properly.

His left hand comes up empty, void of what he holds dear and he sits up madly, looking around the room in a daze.

She's not there.

His already wild heart beats fast, letting his hands and feet numb further then when he awoke from his sleep.

But was it all a dream? Was Y/N ever real? If she is, did Mikhail really take her from him?

The questions in his mind drive him up the wall, his arms shaking and legs no longer able to hold him up, so he remains seated. Gripping at his hair, he feels the panic seep in, overtaken with cold sweat and trembling chin.

She must be real. He felt it in his heart. She wasn't just a dream, but her being gone could be more than his imagination.

She's not here.

Had she been there, she'd surely be tucked into his side, her cold feet warming on his calves or at the very least she'd drape a leg over him.

She's not here.

It's more than panic, paralyzing him. He can't breathe, his lungs are heavy. He feels the air around him, pressing in, overwhelming. He finds his phone, pressing number one on instinct, knowing he had put her in because she's his number one girl. If she is his, she is always his number one dial.

The line goes silent, his mind unable to process the generic response of the caller not being available, eyes widened and a lump forming in his throat.

Wanting to scream, he chuckles because there he is, a man who fears nothing and yet he's absolutely lost in his fear of losing one girl he is no longer sure exists.

Columbia.

"If she's real, that's where she'll be." He whispers to himself, scrambling to his feet without putting on any clothes. Only in his briefs, Grayson runs out of his mansion and sits into his Porsche, driving at an illegal speed toward where he might find her.

One of the cops recognize his car, not stopping him. As if he would stop.

Finally on campus, he parks in front of her dorm and rushes out.

Room 23, he thinks, already finding himself before the red door and his heart stumbles on itself when he realizes she must be there. He can't be imagining everything, believing he isn't that creative.

Connecting his fist with the door, he pounds on it impatiently. Until the lock is heard and the door creaks open, her nose and her right eye the only parts of her peeking out.

He sees her eye widen in recognition, the door opening instantly and her worried face meeting his unsteadiness.

"Gray?"

In one move, he grabs her smaller form and presses her into his chest, folding his arms around her. His nose buried in her hair at the top of her head, his hands at her sides, crossed at her back, her arms wrapping around him as well.

"Shhh. It's okay. I'm here." Her voice is muffled by his chest, but the sound of it alone makes his heart calmer and the smell of her hair puts his mind at ease.

She doesn't fight his embrace, for this isn't the first time he came to her room completely out of his mind. Physical touch is what he needs now and not the sexual kind. He needs to feel her, breathe her in and she allows him.

Slowly pushing him in, she kicks the door close and moves him to her bed. She notes the warm, naked back and the muscular built going up and down under her fingertips, realizing he must have had a bad dream. She told him to call her if he needed her, come what may she'd be there. But here he is, in all his glory, trembling like a scared child in her dorm room. Many men would take this state of his as a once in a million chance to kill him, so she thanked every god in existence for his safety in this moment.

Laying him down, Y/N snuggles into his side, enjoying his strong arms as they push her into him and the way his palms go up and down her skin to assure himself of her existence.

Tenderly, she presses kisses into his chest and neck, reminding him she's with him as she promised to be.

Ever since Mikhail nearly killed both of them, despite the man being dead, Grayson had been restless. They didn't talk much about his gang related work anymore, knowing it upsets both of them as result. But it didn't stop Y/N from insisting Grayson finds help for his nightmares that usually led him to her door at ungodly times and all in his underwear.

Although she insisted living on her own in a dorm, she's become quite aware he needs her with him. She's been splitting her time to the best of her ability between his bed and her own, not wanting to permanently give into his requests of her moving in. She wanted some independence, to give them both a chance to be who they are without holding back. It's hellish; making a decision between having all she wanted in the accelerated med school programme and having Grayson, what she never thought would be an option.

"You're really here." He mumbles, eyes closed and already drifting off, failing to notice the tears in her eyes as she chooses him above all. She always chooses him in the end.

"I am. I always will be."

Once the morning came, Y/N's alarm wakes them both in the most frustrating way possible.

The "I like to move it" song blares, startling them and as big as Grayson is and as small as Y/N's bed is, he nearly dropped Y/N on the floor when he jumped up. Catching her mid fall, pressed against the bed frame with his arms, a scream dies in her throat and her hands grab at him for support.

"You good?" Grayson chuckles, half thinking how he's too old, too rich for dorm rooms and half thinking how lucky he is to be in her dorm room.

"Think it's time." She grumbles, helping him pull her up into the safety of his chest, draping her leg over his stomach for a better hold.

"For what?" Grayson leaves a kiss atop her head, running his fingers up and down her arm, his ring grazing her skin lightly. She can feel his half hardened cock press against the inside of her thigh, already setting the mood for morning dorm sex. But as scandalous as that is for a man of his stature, she had more pressing matters to deal with.

"For me to move back in with you." She sighs, enjoying the feathered coldness his ring brings to her warm skin. She's always cold when she sleeps alone, yet sleeping with Grayson, a human volcano, she finds herself burning up.

Grayson's lips part, trying to hold in a confused, but excited gasp. She always makes him feel like a high school girl with a crush, still going through puberty: senselessly blind and constantly confused, wanting to gush about his feelings for her and write poems even if he's not particularly good at it.

"Didn't you say it would take you forever to get here and it would affect your grades because you wanna sleep in?" Grayson asks, still holding in his true feelings. He respects how hard she works, her ambition and drive endlessly, even admires her for it, but he also wishes she'd just be with him...all the time. God knows he had more money than he can spend in seven lifetimes, she need not work a single day of her life, yet he knows how important it is for her which is why he offers his home to her every month, but never pressures her into accepting.

"Yes. But I also want to wake up in your arms every morning like this without falling on my ass. I'll just have to take my Impala and put it into good use for the drives. A few hours lost is better than being away from you so long." She excuses, refusing to tell him the truth; that she's worried for him.

After all, Grayson is the head of the most formidable criminal organization, a gang as some would say, and he can't afford to show weakness and these dreams might come across as such. When she's there, the dreams tend to go away. Most of all, she makes sure he takes his prescription and attends his therapy sessions. But if someone would pry enough, they’d find he’s no longer as ruthless as he used to be. She might not be a gangster in the actual sense of the word, but she knows enough to be aware how dangerous that discovery would be for him and she can’t let that happen. Ever.

"You know I'd love that, but only if you're sure. It's a big move in a relationship and neither of us have much practice there. It's also a strain on you, so if you're absolutely sure, I would love nothing more." Practical, very self-aware and extremely protective response put in the sweetest, most gentle way possible. There's the charming, magnetic man she loves so much. Right underneath the rubble. But she found she loves the rubble too.

"I'm sure." She lifts herself up, just barely enough to peck the tip of his nose because that always made him scrunch up and his lips whirl to the side into the cutest smile she had ever seen and that's what she loved the most - having such an effect on him that she discovers new things about him that not even Grayson himself knows.

Lazily, his hand slides down her back and rests upon her bum, squeezing it a little too hard but not enough to make it painful, although she never opposed to a little pain. Releasing the flesh he wanted to take a bite out of, he taps her gently, like a summer breeze.

"In that case, get that cute ass to class and I'll call a few people to help me move all this by the end of the day." Grayson taps her butt once more, getting a happy giggle in return only prompting a crooked smile of his own to appear.

She tumbled over to her side, barely managing to survive the fall from grace she considered his chest to be, only to throw on the first thing she could find - a deep green summer dress, falling to her ankles where a tattoo rests; one she got after being saved by the members of The House Of The Rising Sun. As her eternal gratitude, the rising sun tattoo on her right ankle will forever be there to remind her why she's able to giggle with her boyfriend while running late to class.

"And take a banana and an energy bar with you!" He commands, the change in his voice now evident to her. She could always tell when he simply suggests something in comparison to when he orders her to do something, when he dared to do such a bold thing.

“Okay, dad!”

Y/N didn't mind this particular demand, knowing this is just another way Grayson shows his love for her because she does forget to eat on time and his nagging helps keep her healthy and at the top of her game.

Quickly pecking his lips, she stumbles toward her door and turns around to take him in. Just for one moment longer her eyes remain on his faintly lit sculptured body, the sun rays dancing on the tan skin. His hair is a mess, his eyes tired but bright and his lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk because he knows she's checking him out.

"Clothes are in the drawers." She begins, Grayson joining her for the last part to be said in unison.

"Second one from the bottom." Both smile, giving them enough soul food to survive the day.

Some would consider this a mundane thing, but for Grayson it was extraordinary, magic even. For a man who didn't think he'd live to see his thirtieth birthday, this was the epitome of happiness.

The men came quickly, packing all Y/N's things except her underwear, for Grayson had packed that before anyone even showed up. Maybe being jealous over his men seeing the sexy underwear he liked to provide her with is silly, but he wanted to be the only one with such privileges.

Just as they're leaving the day at its end, Grayson finds Ethan rushing in with a crazed look in his eyes.

"Where the fuck have you been all day?!" Ethan speaks through gritted teeth in hushed voices.

"Why?" A dark look befalls Grayson as he already knows something is happening and it's bad. It's always bad.

He spent the past year trying to make right of his wrongs, legitimize his work, but that can't ever be entirely done.

"Silver Snakes heard you closing up shop, and declared New York an open season." Ethan hissed, finding Grayson's face harden like stone.

"I am still the leader. I am still the Capo." Grayson's jaw clenches, only now seeing he and Ethan aren't alone.

"What does open season mean?" Her voice is determined, but the fear in her tone doesn't go unnoticed by either of them. She’s gripping her book bag so hard her knuckles paled, but her face holds determination they both admired.

"It means they want this territory." Ethan answers instead, seeing his brother had gone back to the cold person he was before he ever met Y/N. Grayson instantly reverted his mind to the killer instead of the gentlemen – a warrior without a cause as some would call it. But that’s in the past. This killer, this warrior now has a cause – to protect his family and the love of his life.

Grayson still considered New York his playground and he definitely had no intention giving up such a prized possession many died for him to keep. His fathered died for him to keep it.

"The Silver Snakes must have found out Gray has you now and in our world that means weakness. When one has a weakness, he can be dealt with. You're a liability." Ethan continues until Y/N starts to shake her head, her chin trembling instead of her lips because her jaw is clenched tightly enough to prevent that from happening.

"What does that mean? How does he get the territory?" Y/N insists, walking toward Grayson.

"It means Grayson has to die. Both of us. Heirs if there are any as well." And that's when her world comes crashing down once more.

"We can fight this. Them." She quickly moved ahead, standing on her tiptoes to cup Grayson's face and bring his eyes to her instead of the faraway place this piece of information took him to. She needed him rooted, with her.

"We will prevail. As always." He noticed her speak in plural, meaning she would fight with him and although he loved her for it, that is exactly why he's so scared now. That's a part of her magic; she sees the sun even in the darkest days.

"You will NOT be a part of this. Am I making myself clear?" Grayson all but growls, the change in his eyes from gentle hazel to nearly black instant as is his mood, but it doesn't frighten her. He doesn’t frighten her anymore, even when he puts in considerable effort to do so.

"Everyone already knows I'm your girl. There is no way in hell I'm sitting this one out, especially when I'm going to be under the same roof as you." Y/N puts the tip of her index finger against his chest, poking him as she speaks, the resolution in her mind clear in her voice; it doesn't tremble, not even breaks, the sound of her being in charge both frustrating and appealing.

"I can't, in good conscience, allow this to happen. If something were to happen to you...I'd rather not be alive to see it. I'd rather I die a moment before you so I don’t have to face another sunrise without you in this world." Grayson speaks from the heart, discarding the cold he was taken with because he can't be that man around her. He has to be an ocean breeze, gentle and loving, all consuming and promising. But in order to be that for life, he has to put his mask on for now - the same mask that shows how ruthlessness became his second nature and why his nickname has been Hellhound ever since he turned twelve.

That part of him was tucked away safely ever since she caught his eye, even when Mikhail appeared. Snippets of his persona wanted to ravage Damien, all of him wanted to RIP Mikhail to shreds every moment he spent under the ground in that bunker with their future uncertain, yet he never had the chance. And that's when Grayson realizes she has never truly seen that side of him, the never ending darkness that pulls him under until there is no good in him left and all reason is lost. She pulled him out of that, gave him air to breathe and a warm, safe place to rest his head. He can't go into the shadows again and not wash away, lose a part of who he is and quite possibly lose her in the process. That would be his ruin.

"You trained me for a year." She reminds him, tenderly placing a hand on his cheek, forcing his jaw to unclench and his face to relax as he looked like he'd grind his teeth from existence.

She's been treated so wrong for so long before meeting him, believing she'll become untouchable. She thrives in the dark. Without him, she's a slow dying flower. He is her sun. She needs the darkness, the sweetness, the sad, the weakness, a kiss from the love of her life, the angel she saw him be.

"Grayson...I'm not leaving. No matter how dark it gets." She says quietly, gently tracing his jaw with her thumb and that small scar on his chin she adored.

Grayson looks down, placing a finger to her chin; that stubborn little chin with a proud sternness and defiance like he never saw before meeting her. He loved that chin.

"Even if we go full dark, no stars? Y/N, you're scared of the dark. You still sleep with a nightlight." Grayson smiles against better judgement, remembering when he had to install lights into his bed so she'd be able to sleep peacefully without her anxiety getting the best of her. He loved that about her too, the essence of innocence in the purity he tainted.

Maybe that's God's ineffable plan, pairing angels and demons to create balance on earth as it is in heaven and hell.

"Shut up." She giggles, unable to stop herself from reacting to his teasing tone, heartily welcoming any light he can afford to give.

"I'm more than capable. Taming your darkness was never an issue. This time I just have to let it snuff out the light." She says carefully, glancing at Ethan who stood at her door with a nervous look on his face. He clearly knew better than her, some details she wasn't aware of, but the love she shared with Grayson was strong enough to handle anything that comes their way.

"But you're the light. We are the light." Grayson sighs quietly, leaning down. His forehead touches hers, the weight of his head almost entirely supported by her and she didn't crumble like he thought she would. Instead, her eyes flicker from his now closed ones to his rosy lips, her hands both resting on his face to keep him in place.

"And we will shine again. Till then, you need to let me help. I'm in danger just by being with you as it is and I accept that. I can’t afford to lose you now. Not ever." Her reassuring touch and words give him enough strength to open his eyes and face the world once more, giving her a warning ahead of time for he knows it will be more than necessary.

"You won't like who I become. I'll be swimming in a pool of blood by the end of this."

Her heart jumps at the notion, her mind giving her an unwanted visual and it's one of those times she hates her imagination being so developed. Despite her rational thinking screaming to turn around and leave, she can't help herself. She'll always be there for him, shamelessly so. Darkest thought he ever has, the worst thing he ever does...she'll be there.

"As long as it's not our blood, I don't care."

Once they returned home, she found him giving her complete freedom on decorations. While she definitely wanted to change some things, she still had a few weeks of school left and she swore she’d get a team of her own to work things out once school was out.

So, the next night when she returned from class, just a little over ten, Y/N was surprised to find their room empty and the light dimmed in his office. The house was quiet, guards at their posts and Ethan clearly out for the night. It left her feeling cold, alone, so she decides to see where her man ended up.

Peeking through the door, Y/N’s eyes glided over the dark room. From her position, she saw an arm, clad in a dark coat sleeve with wide white cuffs sparking golden in the firelight, hanging over the side of the wing chair facing the fire she never saw him start before. The arm hung limply, long fingers almost reaching the floor and between their tips hung a crystal glass, its base balanced on the polished boards. It was empty, meaning he’s been drinking himself to sleep again and that either meant he was hiding important information that would worry her or he was having issues with his PTSD. He’d never admit to it, but his dreams and anxiety still catch up with him from time to time and with the looming threat, it must have increased tenfold.

Drawing a calming breath, Y/N waited for her heart to slow, then, carefully silent, glided forward and rounded the chair. Sprawled in the chair, his long legs stretched before him, his waistcoat undone, his tie untied, he still managed to look elegant. Elegantly dissolute, elegantly dangerous. His chest, covered by a fine cotton shirt she picked out for him, rose and fell regularly.

Y/N's gaze roamed then lifted to his face; she studied the lean planes gilded by the firelight - his face more relaxed than she'd seen it. With his eyes shut, it was easier to concentrate on his face, on what it showed. Strength was still there, glaringly apparent even now; the hint of not sadness, but a lack of happiness that hung about his well-shaped mouth was not something she had noticed before. Inwardly frowning, she committed the sight to memory, then shook herself and turned her mind to a way to make him feel better and forget what worries him...even if it’s just for the night.

Taking the glass from his hand first to prevent it from shattering, Y/N felt him move behind her. The black crescents of his lashes flickered. Then rose. He looked directly at her. His lips curved, kicking up at the ends first, then curving fully into a beguiling smile. 

“You’re home.” The genuine happiness for her presence nearly knocked the very breath out of her. Daring to breathe, just a little, Y/N slowly straightened and finished turning to stand before him. His eyes followed her, as his lids lifted farther, it is clear he is out of his wits and completely under the influence still. His pupils are huge, his gaze unfocused, not sharp and intent as it usually was. His charming smile, both inviting and evocative, deepened.

“I’m always surprised to see you around. Someone like you deserves better than me.” The words hurt her, hating him for even thinking such nonsense.

“I’m exactly perfect for you. As you are for me. I promised to stay, didn’t I? Now, I’m here to take advantage of you.” Her smile grew, turning his into a wicked grin.

“Isn’t that supposed to be my mission?” He quirked an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly so the fire reflected in his right eye in such a manor he transformed into a god before her eyes.

He seemed in no hurry to rise from the chair, smiling still. Y/N holds out one hand. Retrieving his right arm from over the side of the chair, he reached out and grasped her fingers; before she could urge him up, he drew her closer. His gaze swept over her, far warmer than the fire at her back.

"You need to get rid of that robe." She recognized the need in his voice instantly, deciding to play coy for the night instead of being completely at his disposal.

She hesitated for only a second; any argument might bring him to his senses and with his senses the lingering stress would take over as well. Drawing her fingers from his, still smiling, she raised her hands and lifted the loose robe from her shoulders then let it slide down her arms. His dazed, black gaze followed it to the floor, then slowly, very slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, rose, caressing her legs, her thighs and especially her stretchmarks, her stomach and by the time he reached her face her cheeks were flaming. A situation not helped by the wicked glint in his eyes or his openly lustful smile.

She loved how free, how wild he is with her, yet so careful and giving that she could never get enough of him.

“So perfect.” He purrs, wanting her in every way a man could want a woman.

His gaze slid from her face down her body hungrily again and Y/N realized that with the fire behind her, the silky nightgown he splurged to buy her would be translucent.

"Come to the bed." She held out both hands for him to take, hoping to guide him back to their bedroom with less danger of someone walking in on them. His gaze still on her body, he lifted his hands, every movement slow and heavy, as if his limbs were leaden. His fingers closed around hers, then he lifted his dark gaze to her face, to her eyes, and she saw the wicked laughter flare.

"Not yet." He pulled her into his lap.

She wanted to shriek, but managed to swallow the sound. She wriggled in his lap and managed to face him. His thighs felt like solid oak beneath hers, his chest when she placed both palms against it, felt like a warm rock. Around her, his arms lay heavy and relaxed - they might as well have been steel bands holding her trapped. They shifted; she felt his fingers slide up the back of her neck, splaying into her thick hair. He angled her head, his lips closing over hers. Lustfully, savoring.

She was kissing him back, exchanging breath for breath, caress for fiery caress, before she had a chance to think. Heat rose, pooling within her, radiating from him. As her wits whirled and desire danced in the air, she didn't think staying where they are considering what they both wanted to do would be a good idea. With an effort, she drew back from the kiss. He let her go, her head tipped back and back as he trailed kisses down her throat.

"The bed," she gasped. "We have to get to the bed."

“I’m just kissing you. It’s completely innocent.” Grayson pauses to say only to attach his lips to her neck again for an open mouth kiss.

“When have we ever just kissed without it leading to sex?” She cocks her eyebrows, running her fingers through his hair.

Instead of a response, she only felt long fingers, hard palms, tracing her body, investigating every curve, subtly caressing yet with a deeper purpose, as if he was searching for any possible changes since the last time he had her.

“Grayson.” She licks her lips, now dry thanks to him.

“Hellhound.” She calls out, using the nickname he’s known for in the underground. His movements halt, she senses his attention.

“That’s the first time you’ve ever called me that.” He breathed the words against her jaw, then feathered a kiss across her already swollen lips. 

“Say it again.” He commands gruffly, the Capo in him coming back to the surface.

Y/N dragged in a breath too shallow to steady her mind; she lifted a hand and brushed back a lock of hair falling across his forehead. "Hellhound?"

He kissed his nickname from her lips while his hands continued to roam, tracing the long muscles of her back, the backs of her thighs, and her bottom. Slowly arousing her and himself. When next he lifted his head, she was quivering.

"Someone will walk in. We should move this to our bed." She had no difficulty investing the plea with believable feeling. His reply was a deep chuckle, a sound that wreaked havoc with her overstretched nerves.

"Not yet. What's the hurry?" He tipped her chin up and nibbled his way down her throat. "We have all night.” And although that is true, she didn’t want to give a free show to any of his men.

“And what if one of your men walks in? Sure you want all of them seeing me naked?” She toyed with his sense of possessiveness, the primal need to protect her from everything - his men included. Especially in this case.

“They wouldn’t dare come close when you’re here. No one in this house has a death wish.” She looked down and saw long fingers, dark against the white of her nightgown, artfully slipping the tiny buttons free. Her eyes flew wide; she sucked in a desperate breath and lost it in a shuddering, achingly desperate sigh as his hand flicked back the open bodice and his fingers brushed the peak of her swollen clit. Cool air caressed her heated breasts as he pressed back her gown and bared them fully. One hand closed firmly, gently kneading.

She bit back a groan, cracking open her lids, she studied his face, lit by the fire's glow. She saw the sleepy smile of lustful anticipation on his lips, felt the heat of desire in his gaze, fixed on her, on the throbbing, aching clit his skilled fingers teased and taunted. He sensed her gaze, and glanced at her only to smile, oddly confiding, and returned his attention to her.

“So many women dream of this. So many of them will never feel my hands upon them.” His knowing fingers played over her aching flesh - never forceful, always teasing. His lips twisted, wryly triumphant.

“They better not.” Y/N breaths out, whimpering once his hands move to cup her ass, the gown now falling enough to entirely set free her chest.

She couldn't suppress the impulse to squirm, and felt his fingers firm about her bottom. He held her still and continued to play, tracing the long lines of her legs through her fine gown. His touch was tantalizing, she was breathing rapidly, her heart thudding in her throat when he reached down and caught the gown's hem. He lifted it slowly, then slid his hand beneath. The gown rose on the back of his hand as he traced, caressed her ankle, calf, knee, and thigh. He pushed the gown up over her hip, then, with complete and utter absorption, fell to caressing the inside of thighs he exposed. Beneath his fingers, a thousand fires sprang up, heating her skin. Very gently, he stroked the soft flesh between her thighs, which had parted of their own accord. 

“No one ever will. Not while I live and breathe will another woman lay a hand on me.”

She closed her eyes and felt her body surrender, felt the slickness he drew forth. Felt his fingers slide and glide, over and between the throbbing folds. Then his lips brushed hers. On a gasp, she kissed him back sliding her hands from where they laid passive against his chest, around and about, holding him to her. The kiss reached deep, then he drew back and chuckled, a wickedly devilish sound.

Eyes closed, her body so heated she felt liquid. Y/N felt him open her, felt him press gently, then slowly, deliberately as he slides one long finger into her. He shifted within her, gently stroking; the sudden tension that gripped her eased. She softened about him, about his probing finger, relaxing against him, sinking into his embrace.

“I am yours. Yours until I take my last breath.” She heard his words, and felt them, a breath across her temple, and a deep reverberation in his chest. That’s when he adds a second finger. He’s preparing her for what’s to come, she knows it. She tightened her hold on him, spreading her hands across his back, hanging on for dear life as if he was a rock anchoring her. Waves of pleasure he incited with every smooth slick stroke, every subtle twist of his fingers, every probing caress. 

She cracked open her lids just enough to find his head, to drag his lips to hers. She kissed him deeply, urgently, lustfully. Letting her thighs part farther, she urged him to reach deeper. Instead, he drew back. And chuckled wickedly again.

"Not so soon." He withdrew his hand from between her thighs. Breasts heaving, Y/N laid back in his arms and stared at him.

“Gray, I need you.” She whines, just as he loves it. It’s always a dance of who will submit first, allowing the other to take control and he always told her he loves the sound of her begging for him.

With that, he lifted her and set her on her feet between his thighs. Her legs quaked; his hands steadied her. Her gown slithered down to cover her legs and as she steadied, he rose, frowning as he immediately tottered.

His frown is fleeting, replaced by a chuckle as he mumbles against her lips.

“Never drinking so much that I can’t safely take you to our bed again.” He could barely set one foot before the other. Certainly not in a straight line.

Three more lurching steps and they reached the room she insisted on, barely giving her time to slam the door behind them as he took her to his side of the bed. Swinging him around so his back was to the bed, she placed both palms against his chest and shoved. He obligingly toppled back across the bed, but took her with him. Landing half-across him, she couldn't manage even a squeak. She immediately wriggled, fighting free of his arms but not of his hands, they were everywhere. She tried to ignore them long enough to undress him.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him and tugged his tie free. She flung it over the end of the bed, then, kneeling beside him she tried to take off the jacket of his suit. No matter how she tugged, she couldn't get it even close to his shoulder. Exasperated she sat back only to notice that his chest is quaking, even though his expression remained innocent.

She glared at him. "If you don't help me undress you, I'll leave you with blue balls for days."

Laughing softly, he rolled onto one shoulder, then sat up. "It's impossible to get a well-cut coat off me without my help."

She humphed. She watched as he shrugged the coat off and sent it to join his tie. Driven by desire, she reached out and ran her hands over his chest, pressing aside his waistcoat to explore the wide expanse. Beneath her curious hands, muscles shifted, rippled, and then set only for her to catch a quick look of new ink right over his left rib cage. He caught her wrists and yanked her to him, then bent his head and kissed her. She sank into his embrace, felt the pleasurable waves surround her, rise within her, lick tantalizingly up her spine as he pulled her closer. With a mind of their own, her fingers quickly undid the buttons of his shirt, then slid inside, spreading wide over warm tight skin, over ridged muscles, hard bands of hair covered skin. He broke from the kiss with a soft curse.

From beneath her lashes, she saw him fight free of both his waistcoat and shirt and fling them aside. She also saw one hand drop to his waistband, undoing the buttons there. She reached for him, relieved when he captured her lips with his and kissed her witless, deciding to ask about the ink later. He shifted, coming up on his knees and guiding her back, down onto the bed. She sank back obediently, eyes closed, silently willing him to be faster. His weight shifted on the bed; she heard the dull thwacks as his shoes, then his pants hit the floor. Then she felt him beside her; he leaned over her, and his lips covered hers. He kissed her deeply, commandingly, more intimately than ever before. The claiming was complete, unrestrained for he knew she was his even in this state. His for the taking. And he took.

The next morning came with a new plan, one Y/N had every intention on carrying out. She carefully pulled down the covers, watching her sleeping man not move an inch as she does. Nearly gasping, she covers her mouth as the slightly red, but clearly stated inked skin stands out from the rest of his chest, giving her a clear view of what’s changed about him in the last week.

Her initials displayed on his rib cage, right over his heart had left her speechless, her heart pounding as if his hands were still wandering her body and he was still sinking deep inside her.

“Got it a few days ago.” His voice scares her into a small yelp, but not as much as the definitive ink on his skin. She had never thought someone would have her etched into them for all eternity before and although she was more than aware of how serious she and Grayson got, it still brought uncertainty to her mind and soul. What if he regrets it?

“I…I wanted you to be safe. I tried so hard.” Grayson’s voice changes, delving into a pained tone she hated on him. If anything, she wanted him to be happy, always.

“What do you mean?” She knits her eyebrows together, her lips parted in concern of all the things he could have done in her name that would taint his.

“I tried to legalize my work. I closed a lot of the illegal branches and started the same work on many more and I think that’s what drew them to us. The Silver Snakes wouldn’t have even considered this turf is up for grabs if I didn’t try to change everything so drastically.” Grayson swallowed thickly, pursing his lips. Sobering up is never an easy job, but this morning is proving to be particularly difficult and not because his head is pounding or his dry mouth and even less about his stomach turning like a washing machine…it’s about all the worries that seemed to multiply over night as he tried to dull them. It’s about the demons he tried to drown, only to find they learned how to swim.

Seeing his inner turmoil, Y/N places the tip of her index finger to his jaw, tracing it lightly before gasping and quickly retracting her hand.

“What? What happened?!” Grayson jumped up, catching her hand in his bigger one to examine the finger she hurt only to find it’s completely fine. Lifting his eyes to meet her gaze, he saw the mischief behind her beautiful orbs and the smirk on her lips.

“Ouch. Cut myself on your jawline.” She giggled at her own joke, seeing his usually intimidating glare and firmly pressed lips unravel. That intimidating flare is substituted with a ‘that's so cheesy’ chuckle of his where he's basically choking on air and his own spit and not many people got a chance to see his face light up like she just did, nor did they ever hear his laugh like she just did. There’s nothing better in this world than what she just witnessed, nothing she’d ever want more than to have that a permanent part of her mornings.

Once his laughter died down and he prepared to stand up and dress himself, a soft touch of her hand on his shoulder stopped him from moving so fast. It called for his attention, keeping him in his spot for a moment longer.

“I appreciate you wanting to protect me, Gray. I do. But I knew what I signed up for when I chose to be with you. I knew once we were plastered on magazines that night you came to pick me up at my dorm. I knew and I willingly walked out with you. Life is short and if I get to live it with you by my side, a gun at my head won’t stop me from doing just that.” With her reassurement, Grayson swallowed back a lump growing at the back of his throat, certain she meant what she said, but determined not to put her in that position once more. A gun at someone’s head shouldn’t be something they’re used to as much as she is.

“And I want you to take me to a shooting range or something today. You and I both know I might need it.” She adds, already holding up her hand, palm open and turned to him to stop the assertive ‘NO’ he had prepared for her. This entire year was filled with their training sessions and that included guns – but he didn’t think she needed any more exposure to violence, even though she takes it better than anyone expected. For a woman who never faced the gore before she did with him, she took it all better than he did – and he was raised in this business.

“Just in case.” She bites the lower left corner of her lips nervously, watching the storm in his eyes shift from the assertive, dominant man to a puppy-like uncertainty and then finally, caving.

“Okay, but we won’t be doing target practice like usual then.” Grayson smirked, his lips curving to the right as her eyes narrowed at him in suspicion because that smirk paired with that sneaky glint in his eye is known as his ‘I have something planned’ smirk in her mind, meaning she should be ready for everything.

“What do you mean?” She drags out carefully, her eyes remaining narrowed and head tilts to the left ever so slightly.

“You’ll see.” He winks at her, the hazel in his eyes returning and the brown swims in green once more with the mischief he’s prepared for her. But she’s learned how to deal with his mischief by now.

While she pouted, Grayson sent a few quick texts and went into the bathroom because he had his routine and she used that opportunity to prepare her own trap for him. Once he walked out, his eyes nearly bulged out their sockets and his face contorted into a ‘hell no, don’t even go there’ kind of a look, but she just stood proudly by with a smile on her lips and her hands on her hips.

“Finally! I need to pee so badly. Your clothes are laid out for you on the bed.” She snickers, trying to run past him in her baby blue pants and white tank top, matching exactly the baby blue shorts and white tank top on the bed. Grayson manages to catch her by the arm as she attempts to maneuver around him, turning his head toward her and lowering it so they are at face level.

“We. Are. NOT. Matching.” Grayson emphasizes each word, his voice low and threatening to which Y/N only chuckles and raises both eyebrows.

“You’re my boyfriend. You’re matching outfits. Or you won’t get any for a long, long time.” She threatens on her own, matching his tone.

Grayson narrows his eyes at her, clicking his tongue. “I’m a leader of a gang. I can’t be seen matching outfits with my girlfriend…plus, you’re bluffing. You want me as much as I want you, doll.” His self-satisfying smirk only causes her to rip her arm out his hold and her face to darken significantly.

“Have I ever bluffed on any threats I made in the past?” With that, she leaves him alone in the room, missing out on his pensive face and the sudden realization she was most certainly not bluffing.

Long story short…

“You guys are matching!” Ethan screamed out, fishing out his phone so fast he nearly dropped it in his excitement.

“This is the best day of my life!” Ethan chuckled, snapping photos of a very grumpy, defeated Grayson and a grinning Y/N who posed for pictures.

“I will dropkick you, bro. Try me.” Grayson states, making Ethan raise both hands in mock surrender while he actually used the position to send the photos to a group chat he had with his mother and sister.

It took them an hour to drive out the city, taking them to an undisclosed location Y/N never knew about. She was confused for the most part, wondering why Grayson took three SUVs of security with them, but she didn’t question him. However, once they arrived and the situation was explained to her, she nearly lost her mind.

“I’m not shooting ducks!” She exclaimed, shaking her head vehemently.

Grayson rolls his eyes, folding his arms over his chest instead of taking the gun one of his men held out for him. While he’s used to Y/N’s stubbornness, he never once realized it would always be a tug of war with her. He enjoyed that on most days, but when things are serious like they’ve gotten, he needed her to be compliant and she was anything but.

“You have to practice on moving targets and ducks are both a moving target and good dinner!” He raised his voice ever so slightly, his irritation evident to all who surround him. Despite his hope of her cracking, all he got in return is a defiant shake of her head and the gun in her hand loosely pointed at his chest.

“I will not shoot cute baby ducks.” She repeats herself, this time more commanding.

“Can you not wave a loaded gun around like that?” Ethan pipes in, only to get ignored by both parties who were in a standoff of their own.

Grayson’s eyes take on a darker look, one that pushes the hazel out and the brown takes over until his eyes look almost black.

“You say you want to be a part of this, but you can’t even shoot a duck?” He challenges, sure this is the way to make her back down and start listening to what he has to say. In fact, this plan of his made him believe she’ll finally realize what shooting a gun actually means and drop her constant attempts at being the Bonnie to his Clyde. He knows he’s being unreasonably difficult, but he refuses to let her get mixed up in all his crap and this is one way to make her understand what’s truly at stake.

“The ducks haven’t done anything to me. Those men would. They would hurt me, you, Ethan”, she pokes his chest with the barrel of the gun at each word, her voice more determined than before and that’s when Grayson knows he can’t fight her on it. She’s far too stubborn.

“And if they dare to do so and I have a way to fight back, you best be damn sure I won’t sit back and watch all I love be put in harm’s way.” The words sounded as if they'd been said through clenched teeth, staring up at him, her gaze collided with his.

Only to have him kiss her voraciously, ravenously, until her wits whirled and she lost touch with reality. Then he drew back.

“Flying plates then?”

Grayson is a fool for her, he knew that very well and today he has been fighting her on it. So, instead of keeping his act up, he made a different decision. He wasn’t going to spend the day pushing her to abandon him, because she had made it very clear she had no intention of leaving. It both calmed and terrified him.

While she proved to be a perfect shot even with a moving target, he watched her with glee and a growing light inside his chest. If anything, she’s capable of defending herself as long as she had a gun on her and he would make sure she carries one at all times. Just not in the way she expects. Their hand to hand combat sessions rarely worked since they always led to defiling his home gym and in the end Ethan took over, but he made it clear she’s not a natural.

Satisfied, his hand around her, Grayson strolled out the little reserve with his woman on one side and his brother on the other, feeling like he’s on top of the world.

Until the first gunshot sounded.

Y/N’s POV

The man beside me is the first to fall. The bullet hit him in the chest, propelling him backward in an awkward cartwheel before he fell to his death on the grass. I can sense an arm around my waist, a hand resting on my outward hip as fingers dig into the skin so hard I’m certain I’ll bruise. I’m twirled into a firm chest, my vision blocked as all I see is white before I’m pulled off my feet and thrown behind one of our cars. The smell of Grayson’s cologne assures me he’s with me, his body over mine as his chest rumbles. He’s barking orders left and right, the words missing me as I hear only ringing in my ears.

Blinking, I tilt my head to the side, seeing Ethan leaned against the car with his gun in his hands. He takes a quick shot over the hood, hiding back under the cover right after.

The ringing in my ears is drowned out by the sound of my own heart hammering, Grayson’s raw voice next.

“I don’t fucking care, Brad. Lead them the fuck away from us!” His order snaps me back to reality, feeling my own gun pressing against my back. Trying to move my hand enough to grab the handle has been made impossible with the pressure of Grayson’s body pinning mine in what he’d consider safety. But I saw it as a mistake. I’m a perfect shot. I should be helping, not hiding.

However, the shots died down, cars screeching substitutes them as a chase we aren’t a part of begins and Grayson’s weight shifts away from me. I grab at the chance to drag in a deep breath, feeling as if I wasn’t breathing at all during the reckoning.

“Fuck! Doll, are you alright?” His hands cup my face, eyes searching for answers in his desperation. I nod to reassure him, licking my lips as I turn my eyes to Victor, the first man to fall. He’s been my ‘shadow’ for the past year, a man Grayson made sure was close by so I’d be safer. He didn’t know I knew about him, but I did. I crawl toward Victor, hoping he’s alright and we can save him. I know basic field aid, perhaps I could keep him alive until the real help arrives?

Grayson allows me to move, using it as an excuse to check on Ethan as I make my way to an unmoving Victor. His eyes are open, almost living. For a few seconds I could have sworn he looked up at the sky as if trying to admire it one last time, but the moment my fingers pressed against his carotid, I knew he was gone.

I feel tears prick at my eyes as my hands begin to shake. But I have no time to mourn.

“Y/N! Look out!” Ethan shouts and I whip around in fright, grabbing my gun on instinct as I am faced with three men – all pointing a gun at us – one at Grayson, one at Ethan and another at me. However, I hold a gun too and unlike what they thought, I had no issue pulling the trigger. The underestimate me, paying the price.

The bullet hits its mark, straight into the man’s chest, forcing him down and giving the guys a momentary distraction to fight back as well. And they used it wisely, bringing down both men in one swept, well-coordinated move.

I stand up, smiling as I move to step over the man’s body, not sparing him a second look. Until I see Ethan rushing toward me, throwing himself at me and another shot is fired.

Slammed down into the ground, my breath is knocked out of me. I gasp for air, my eyes wide and arms at either side of me as Ethan moves off and nods back to what I can only assume is Grayson.

“Doll?” His handsome face comes into view, his worry lines showing.

“How did he? How? I shot him!” I shout out, coughing. Ignoring the ache in my back, I sit up and look at the man in confusion, but that’s when I realize the truth.

“Those were blanks.” I frown, my jaw clenching as a surge of anger overtakes me and I find myself wishing I had enough strength to do actual damage to my lovely boyfriend who clearly has no regard for my feelings and opinions.

“You fucking asshole!” I slam my right fist on the ground, rage within unstoppable as a hurricane takes over my heart.

“You put fucking blanks in my gun?! I could have been killed because you don’t fucking trust me enough to handle a weapon?! You could have been killed!” Grayson’s face remains emotionless, just as it was when we first met. The worry lines are gone, his skin smooth and his intimidating mask back on. He remains quiet as I shout, only offering a hand for me to use in order to sit up. I refuse to take it. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

I have every right to be furious. I have every right to scream at him. I have every right to want to rip him to pieces right now. I have the right because we were ambushed and we could have been killed and he gave me a gun with fucking blanks instead of real bullets. It’s reckless and downright stupid and I have the right to be upset with him.

Standing up on my own, I throw both hands in the air in exasperation before my left one lowers to reside on my hip and the other’s palm presses against my forehead. Taking in a deep breath, I stop and close my eyes before racking my mind for proper words to say.

“Your need to control me and every situation at hand almost killed us all. I’m a good shot Grayson and if I can help protect you and your men, you can’t bench me. Especially not when I’m in the pit of hell with you and I already told you I’m not leaving. Either give me proper ways to defend myself, because I’m a target whether you like it or not, or…Or be prepared to mourn me, because you won’t always be there to save me.” With that, I walk past him and enter the car, lying down in the back seat with tears welling up in my eyes.

What else can I do to show him the right way? I’ve become a target since the first night he chose to turn on one of his ‘partners’ to come to my rescue. I’ve been dragged out of his bed in my underwear, held at gunpoint and tortured. I’ve been to hell for him and I’d do it again, because whether we’re together or not, they will use me as a pawn against him. Might as well be the angel with a shotgun by his side, instead of a damsel in distress. He might be blind to it, but I have been smelted into a warrior since we met and though I cling to some of my old ambitions, he and Ethan are the only things I care about in this world. I can’t afford to lose them.

Sometime during the anything but silent drive back, I’ve fallen asleep. The twins bickered as twins do, only these ones did it about life or death situations.

I have no recollection how I found myself in our bed, nor how I was changed out of those dirty clothes smeared with blood and grass. But I woke up clean and comfortable, despite the painful bruises that lined my body. I could tell the purple hip that peaked out under my shirt is the least of my injuries as they looked like Grayson’s fingertips and we were no strangers to rough sex, so hip bruises weren’t new. But I knew immediately my back is black and blue, the result of Ethan’s body slam.

And then I realized I forgot to yell at him. The idiot jumped in front of me! He could have taken the bullet meant for me! He could have died and it would be all my fault! Dammit! What is it with these guys and their need to sacrifice themselves for me?!

Rubbing my temples, I sigh at the empty spot beside me. His side is made, unwrinkled and spotless. He didn’t sleep next to me last night. Perhaps he didn’t sleep at all.

My stomach growled and I squirmed to try to silence the rumbling. I glance at the clock; there are only two more minutes until noon. I slept through half the day. Great.

Unable to stay in bed, I give up on my stubborn need to avoid human contact and wrap myself in a robe to properly cover up. Who knows how many of Grayson’s men are walking around the premises.

Expecting people in the hall, I find myself frowning when I see it’s empty. I can’t remember the last time the halls were empty like this…I can actually, but that night I try not to remember. Grayson always says I’m incredibly brave and he says he’s proud of me for not being too affected by the ‘incident’, but in truth, all I do is repress the memories. It’s how I survive – push it all down as emotional baggage and help him.

The door to his study is wide open, revealing his desk to be empty and the fire out. There are no signs of life whatsoever and I can’t help but shake the nauseating feeling in my guts that something isn’t right. He always says goodbye before leaving, so why am I alone right now?

Swallowing the lump growing at the back of my throat, I ignore the pang of hurt inside my chest. It’s funny how humans feel actual pain when their heart chips away.

I walk into the kitchen, there's no-one around. Opening the refrigerator, I am greeted by a cheery light and feel that pleasant wave of coolness. My stomach snarled and howled and from it came the not-so-subtle undertone of pain. It came in waves and it seemed as though my stomach was slowly digesting itself. I clutched at it, looking over the food for something I could eat, smiling once I locate a melon previously cut and prepared which meant Grayson DID come to the house last night. And even better, he did this for me, knowing I love melon more than anything when I wake up.

“Sleeping beauty is finally up!” I jump, turning to the intruder with narrowed eyes and lips pressed together.

“Not cool, Ethan!” I say through gritted teeth, setting the melon bowl on the counter.

Ethan chuckles lowly, nearly choking on his own spit in triumph. I would describe his laughter as warm and hearty, a little wicked but hey, it also applies to his personality.

“Where is everyone?” I question, sitting to munch as he takes a seat across from me, the smile from his face fading.

“Oh, uh. The attack on us wasn’t the only attack.” His words chill me to the bone, cold sweat collecting at the back of my neck and a violent shiver runs down my spine. The melon in my mouth barely manages to pass through my tightened throat as I struggle to breathe.

“What does that mean?” My voice is quiet, fragile in its shakiness, surrendering to the shock.

“We’ve lost a lot of men. Some close to us.” When the frustration builds and I think I might explode - I take a deep breath. Is this what Grayson meant when he said I’d be in danger again? How is he even dealing with this? Why had he let me sleep instead of coming to me?

“And Grayson?” I manage to speak, wanting to scream and shout, but what good would that do? It won’t help now.

“He’s doing damage control. Y/N, you need to realize the Grayson you’ll see for the foreseeable future won’t be the Grayson you fell in love with.” Knitting my eyebrows together, I frown and bite into the soft flesh of the inside of my bottom lip.

“The ruthless, coldblooded leader will take over and you might not like what you see.” Nodding, I decide to keep his warning in mind. After all, he’s his twin brother and he knows him better than I ever will. But I also know there is nothing Grayson does that would push me away. He made concessions to be with me, but so have I. I’m no longer the innocent little girl he met and maybe that’s a bad thing, but I wouldn’t survive in his world otherwise.

“Okay.” I pipe up, focusing on the melon. I hear a chair creak and steps move toward me, an arm wrapping around my shoulders and pulling me into a familiar side hug Ethan usually offers.

“It’ll be fine. The worst is over. I’m sure of it.” Ethan’s soft lips press into my temple, remaining a few seconds longer before he lets me go.

The days that followed were empty and lonely, filled with classes and missing Grayson. Even though we live in the same house now, I haven’t seen him at all since the shooting. Sometimes I’d find the place next to me wrinkled like someone laid beside me, his scent lingering on his pillow, but no Grayson.

Deciding to leave him a message if I can’t seem to find him, I leave it upon his desk to read.

I've poured warmth into you for so long and you love it, I know you do. Then you turn on the cold to shut me down. It hurts. Every time is a new wound, a new scar to add to the collection. You know it never stops me from loving you, but I need you to try real hard, try not to go cold in that way.

With a sigh, I turn around and walk out, using my Impala to get to class in time.

The hurt is like a spider web, intricate, yet strong. I know in time it will pass and the sun will regain its warmth, but the joy from my heart is gone. I cannot cry, cannot grieve for Grayson, for he stole himself away. I am still angry at him for his actions, but I don’t hate him. In fact, I need him. How are we to solve these issues if he refuses to be in the same place at the same time as me?

3rd Person POV

The day dragged on for both Y/N and Grayson. The distance between them feels insurmountable, but that’s only because neither made the step to close it. Grayson is too wrapped up in the war The Silver Snakes started, wanting vengeance. But he wants Y/N to be safe too. He needs her to be protected and if cooling their relationship for a little while is the price he pays, he’ll pay it tenfold.

Little did he know he’d feel his heart shatter once he returns home, finding the heartfelt note on his desk.

“Dammit!” Grayson throws the crystal from his hand into the fireplace, watching the glass shards litter the study. It’s the same room he last had her in, held her so close he could feel every beat of her heart against his chest. She longed for him, melted into him and although his mind was intoxicated by alcohol, he was drunk on her for a lot longer and she was a lot stronger poison.

She was always his whiskey on the rocks in a world drunk on cheap wine.

But that’s when his phone rang and her beautiful face lit up the screen. Unlike the previous days, he couldn’t send her to voicemail, longing to hear her voice even for a moment – even if she yells at him. Hell, he loved it when she screamed at him because that’s when he’d see how deep her feelings run, just how much she cares. The problems start when she stops yelling…when she starts leaving heartfelt notes instead of angry voicemails.

“Oh, doll.” He begins, cringing at his choice of words.

“What do you want from me?” Grayson grew quiet, his eyebrows furrowing and his forehead wrinkling at the odd reply. Didn’t she call him?

“I want your allegiance.” But then another voice joined the conversation and Grayson stilled, his fingers tightening on the phone and his eyes staring blankly at the fire he started.

“You know I have no intention on betraying The House Of The Rising Sun.” Her defiant answer is followed by a dry chuckle, one that forms rocks in Grayson’s stomach that cause a sharp pain of pure fear. Someone’s with her and she must have dialed his number in hopes of him knowing it. And Grayson had a pretty good idea who it is that’s so brave to break all rules. He once promised her anyone who tried to take action on his soil would die screaming, but he keeps failing her. First, it was Mikhail and now Scott Richards has done the same.

“The Hellhound? Oh, little one…he’ll be dead by the time his charity ball is over and I, for one, plan on being the last man standing. New York will be mine.” The determination in his voice is enough to make Grayson move fast, grabbing a confused Ethan on the way. He covers the microphone as he speaks.

“Get the men ready. We need to go to Columbia. Now!”

Listening to her voice again, Grayson’s heart clenches in his chest.

What if he hurts her? What if the last thing she knew of him is his coldness?

"You're sorely mistaken. You are here, threatening what is mine and while you have fashioned yourself a fantasy where you are something more than a pest, I must remind you Grayson may not wear a crown, but he is king and he rules with an iron fist. And I...I am his queen. A snake needs only one swift move of a blade to lose its head and the danger will pass, but the sun? The sun will always rise no matter how hard you will it not to." She’s stubborn and proud and incredibly obstinate. She’s giving him every reason to kill her and it rattles Grayson to the core. And she is reckless. So damn reckless and careless, as if she doesn’t care for life at all. She’s doing everything he wants her not to, putting herself at risk for him.

"Alright, darling. If that's what you want, I'll be on my way." Grayson draws in a sharp breath, eyes widening as he wonders if he’s about to listen to his love die and he can’t do a single thing about it.

"You're not going to kill me?" She speaks his mind, making him roll his eyes and lick his lips before sticking his tongue out as adrenaline keeps him going. He’s already on the road, so close and still too far for it to matter.

"You're a beautiful woman, loyal. I appreciate beauty, admire loyalty. The latter one will kill ya. Not tonight, though. I’m not known to be a wasteful man." The sneer is almost visible, even through the phone. It’s palpable, the sheer arrogance he displays in all fields – speeches, battle…all of them.

"Why not?" Grayson shakes his head, thinking how badly he wishes he was there to shut her up. It’s like she’s wishing for death.

"Because I want to see your beautiful face when I bring you your king's head." Scott sneered once more. In a subconscious gesture of disgust his nose wrinkled and he drew his head backwards. What little color he had drained and the pear drop remained quite stationary on his tongue. It was a threat and a jibe in one.

"Or maybe he'll bring me yours."

And that’s when the line dies.

“NO!” Grayson’s scream ripples through the coms, his entire team witnessing the pain behind it. Tormented with what could have been and what should have been, words and regrets taunt him with a savage intensity. The images are so acute, so crystal clear, it feels like living with her ghost.

Did she provoke him enough to lose her life? Did she really just engage in a fight of her own, even if her weapon of choice was words? Did Scott use more than words?

Eyes widened, breaths ragged and harsh. Grayson’s foot had long pressed onto the gas and his speeding had given him a view of Columbia rather fast. Just as he’s about to enter campus, he’s met with a sight of an Impala he once ruined, seeing his Y/N behind the wheel at that.

Slamming on the breaks, he swerves the car just enough to block her way, almost causing a crash.

“What the fuck?!” He hears her swear in anger, but then the silence takes over as she sees who caused her to stop so suddenly.

Without a second to waste, Grayson is getting out of his car, pulling her with all his might through the window instead of waiting patiently for her to move the car enough to exit like a normal person.

“What?” Is all she manages to say as he drowns out any sounds she wishes to make with his lips pressing against hers possessively, so urgently she knows it’s best not to challenge him.

And she kissed him. With a devastating sweetness, an innocence—as if this were the first time. Strong fingers curved about her jaw and warmth seeped into her bones, her skin, driving out death's chill that remained after Scott walked out. The lips held to hers, reassuringly alive. Grayson had reassured her by the strength of his arms surrounding her and the steady wilderness in his chest, beat of a heart not her own.

She was no longer alone in misery. Someone was here, keeping her warm, holding the memories at bay and dangers of the world could no longer get to her. The ice in her veins melted. Her lips softened; tentatively, she returned the kiss with all her heart.

“Great to see Tinkerbell is still alive. Now, we gotta move because the paps are closing in!” Ethan interjects, not particularly sorry about ending the shameless PDA they had no issue showing the world.

Breaking the kiss, Grayson’s arms leave her, the warmth going with him. She stumbles, catching her breath as the brothers engage in a hushed argument few feet away.

“Get in the car.” Grayson turns around, facing her with his jaw clenched and an emotionless coldness on his beautiful features. The Porsche moves behind them, allowing the freedom of doing what he asks of her.

He looked down at her - then stepped closer, towering over her. He took another step; eyes locked on hers. She halted, raised her hands and pushed against his chest. "Stop that! You're deliberately trying to frighten me."

“I’m not trying to frighten you, doll.” he growled through clenched teeth. “I’m trying to intimidate you. There’s a difference. Now, stop being so damn stubborn for once in your life and just do as I say.”

He opened the door to her Impala, watching the flames in her eyes dance as she sends a glare his way. But she does as he says and that’s all he cares about, feeling the anxiety that took over him finally dwindle.

She’s safe.

She’s alive.

She’s here.

That’s all he can focus on.

“I didn’t expect you to be here.” She mumbles, starting the drive back to Grayson’s mansion between two black SUVs, like that’s not suspicious at all.

“You called, didn’t you?” Grayson retorts, tilting his head to watch her – the wind pushing her hair back as it gushed in through the open window, the way her nose crinkles when he responded to her, even the way she swallowed thickly and tightened her hold on the wheel.

“You don’t really have a great track record of taking my calls lately.” She snaps back and Grayson shakes his head, biting on his lower lip to stop himself from swearing because starting a fight now wouldn’t solve anything.

But she’s fighting at least. She’s not giving him the silent treatment which would mark their ending, rather baiting him because she does care.

“And I fucked up. A lot lately, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Doll, I’m sorry I keep putting you in danger.” To his words, she snorts. He watched her in disbelief as an ironic smile pulls at her lips and stretches them into a sour looking smile with venom brewing inside her.

“I’m not upset you put me in danger. I fucking knew danger was a part of your world. Hell, you’re danger itself Mr. Hellhound! I am upset you pushed me away! You left me to deal with what happened alone and refused to be in the same room as me! You just checked out. You can’t check out when you’re in a committed relationship, Grayson! Not when I’m concerned. For crying out loud, you have the word tattooed on your body!” She screamed at him the whole ride home, not pausing to even take a proper breath. She didn’t stop screaming until she was red in the face and the vein on her forehead looked like it would pop in anger.

And he just smiled. He loved every minute of it. Her anger meant there was something there to cling to and that his actions didn’t alienate her entirely. He knew just how to convince her to stay.

So, after her little remark about him smiling and being completely inconsiderate, he followed her upstairs. But not before warning his brother and guards to stay clear of the second floor.

Grayson sat down on his bed, already naked, waiting for her to come to him. The moment she entered the room, her eyes found his and her heart gave in. Her lips lifted in a crooked smile that had him stiffening. Lifting her hands to her shoulders, she slid her robe off and let it fall, revealing all the things about her he loved.

Grayson loved every crevice, every scar she tried to hide from him. He loved the birthmark she had right above her right bum just as much as loved the one nestled between her breasts. He fought the urge to reach for her; he couldn't stop his gaze from devouring her. She sensed it, looked at him, and smiled once more.

While Grayson got under the covers, she lifted the covers and slid in beside him.

He turned and drew her into his arms before she could touch him. She sighed softly and sank against him, then lifted her face to his. He kissed her gently, unhurriedly, content to savor the soft warmth of her body pressed freely against his, content to explore the soft warmth of her mouth, his to claim as he willed. As was she. He held the thought back, channeled his aggression into anticipation, and kept every touch languid.

So he held himself back and let her urgency build, let her grow hot, her skin fevered, her kisses increasingly demanding. He sank back on the pillows and let her take the lead - or at least, let her think she did. Grayson knew his doll liked to feel in charge, to take on the more dominant role in bed and he didn’t want to take it away from her so fast.

Half atop him, she kissed him wildly, and squirmed. Heated, soft as velvet skin of hers is pressing caress after intimate caress upon his.

He grits his teeth - and enjoys every minute.

But he keeps her hands high, lacing his fingers through hers to prevent her speeding up this night – the night he intended to be in charge of. He seemed content to wallow in the heatwave; with a mental snort, she tugged her fingers from his, framed his face, and kissed him eagerly. Greedily.

She sank into the kiss, caught in a sudden flare, her limbs heated still until she melts against him. Wanting to melt beneath him, have him finally be one with her. Sliding her fingers into his hair, she let her lips, her tongue, taunt him, and challenge him. Incite him.

Despite responding ardently, he remained beneath her – giving her the dominance without a fight this night. She avoided his hands and set hers to trace the ridges and hollows of his chest, the heavy bones of his shoulders, the tensed muscles of his upper arms. His arms locked around her, heavy and warm across her waist, denying her quest to reach lower. Not that she needed to touch his cock, he was already fully aroused. The steely length of him rode against her hip, hot and urgent. That much of him, at least, was cooperating. The rest of him was not. She wanted him to fight her for dominance as they always do. She wanted him to care enough to push her limits like he always does.

Shifting, she lay fully atop him, settling his erection between her thighs. She rolled her hips, experimenting until she found the particular shifting slide that most evocatively stroked him and the muscles in his arms shift, tensing, relaxing, and then tensing again, as if he couldn't make up his mind.

Swallowing a curse, she trapped his lips with hers and put her heart and soul into a slow, deliberate pace, moving her thighs - even the curls at the base of her belly - coming into play. Deliberately suggestive, she called to him.

And he answered. She felt the wave of response building in his body, felt the need she baited flare and swell. Felt hard become harder, felt tense muscles turn solid like rock.

With a gasp of relief, of anticipation, she dragged her lips from his and half wriggled, half slid to the side. Puppet-like, his body followed; as she turned on her back, she grasped his upper arm, tugging him over her.

The reins of his lust locked in a grip of iron, Grayson followed her lead, let her shift, let her tug, let her believe he was dazedly following her directions as she urged him over her. He complied, moving heavily, unhurriedly.

While she panted, he smirked, enjoying the view.

“Hello there, my Queen.” Using the name she called herself in his absolute, mind numbing passion, Grayson couldn’t help but agree. She is his queen, always was. She’s been the one he waited for since the dawn of time and he couldn’t let her slip away.

At his touch, her thighs parted. He swung heavily over her, then let himself down between. Taking his time settling himself and her, Grayson watched her frown. Impatient, she arched, and he felt her heat calling him, touch and cling to that most sensitive part of him.

He caught his breath and felt, in his chest, something shift, something lock. With a soft, desperate gasp, she arched again and he could no longer refuse her need, so he eased into her, completely forgetting to use a condom in their mind-numbing need for one another. He sunk deeper, slowly, savoring every inch of her hot softness as she stretched to accommodate him, savoring the subtle easing of her body as she accepted him. She sighed as he sank even deeper, then her hands, tensed on his arms, relaxed. And skimmed down his sides.

He caught them; first one, then the other, letting his weight down on her as he trapped them. And gently but firmly removed the reins from her grasp as he claimed his dominance. Beneath him, she shifted, sinking deeper into the soft mattress, angling her to cradle him more effectively.

Tentatively, she lifted her legs, sliding them over his sides.

"Queen." He breathed the word against her lips as he settled fully upon her. He found her lips with his and took them, took her mouth, then pressed deeper into her.

He drank her instinctive gasp - a gasp of pure pleasure. Inwardly smiling, he drew back, then sank deep again, and felt her eagerly respond.

With each slow, controlled thrust, the pleasure tides within her rose higher; he held to a steady, rolling rhythm until she was burning. Until, hot and heated, awash with desire, she rose beneath him, meeting every thrust, her body caressing him, clinging to him, cleaving to him. Until she was aflame, urgent in her wanting, and desperate in her need.

Frantic.

She flexed her fingers, trying to slip them from his grasp, frantic to hold him, desperate to draw him to her, to dig her nails into his skin, to reach the physical bliss that hovered on her. Sunk deep in the mattress, she squirmed and panted, trying to get that last inch closer, trying to get him that last fraction of an inch deeper. His fingers clamped about hers, didn't give, but, to her relief and expectation, he raised his chest slightly, just enough so her nipples brushed his chest.

A scream welled in her throat, struggling to lift her heavy lids, she swallowed it as he moved his face higher, breaking their kiss. He was a dense shadow looming over her, shoulders and chest surging in a slow, powerful rhythm, a rhythm she could feel in her marrow. In her womb. She knew he didn’t use a condom, not caring one bit. In this moment, all she wanted was to feel him fill her with every inch he’s endowed with, to hear his moans in her ear as he presses kisses under it.

With her hands still anchored, one on either side of her head, she gripped his sides with her thighs, gasping, arching, as he thrust harder, deeper.

Then he drew back farther; lips parted, senses whirling, she waited, quivering, for the next stroke. Only to feel him rock lightly, penetrating her with just the tip of the hard length she wanted buried inside her.

“Stop teasing me.” She growls, feeling her mind is on edge with her need.

She opened her lips on a second protest - instead, she gasped anew as he bends his head and takes one nipple into his mouth. Hips rocking gently, teasingly, he feasted on her swollen nipple, until she started losing herself in the pleasurable sea he sent her adrift.

After lavishing her hot skin, his lips burned when they again brushed hers.

“Don’t give up on me, doll.”

She wasn't, at first, sure whether he had spoken, or she'd simply heard the words in her head. But his hips stopped rocking; he lay, hot and hard, just parting the swollen folds about her entrance.

“I won’t. I won’t ever.” She pants, lips trembling with need.

After an instant's pause, he started rocking again, once, twice - then he slid into her again. She sighed, then lost what breath she had left as he pushed deep, then nudged deeper, and let his weight down on her once more.

Grayson rode her, just a little deeper, just a little harder, just a fraction more intimately. He was having a hard time clinging to his reins, only rock-hard determination, and his strength of will - of endurance allowed him to do it; to see her panting beneath him, her hair a veil spread across the pillows, her thighs gripping him urgently as he loved her. She responded without guile, without reticence, without hesitation - with a complete lack of reserve, the strongest feminine spell he'd ever encountered. And he had countless women before her, but none felt as good as she did. None of them truly loved him as she did.

Her welcome, every time he sank into her, was bone deep. The temptation to lose himself in her arms, in her body, grew with every passing second.

But he needed to know she wasn’t leaving him. He needed to know that his coldness toward her hadn’t pushed her too far away from him. If it had, he’d never forgive himself.

Gradually, he slowed, letting the rhythm not die but slow to the point where her frantic need, a need he knew well how to manage, rose again.

When she whimpered, and squirmed, trying to urge him on, he brushed a kiss to her temple.

"Tell me if you hate me. If you want to leave me.”

A frown passed across her face, then she shook her head and it was gone. She knew he used sex to get her to speak the truth, edging her on to insanity until she told him what is truly on her mind. She knew it was his method, the only way he knew how to get the darkest truths from her and she didn’t blame him. She accepted that part of him wholeheartedly.

“I could never hate you. Never leave you.”

She lifted beneath him, wriggling more urgently; swallowing a curse, he impaled her fully again, then kissed her breathless.

“Good. Cause you’re mine.” He growled out.

And he gave her a little more, rode her a little faster. Despite his weight, she moved beneath him, rising, meeting him more fully. Letting go of her hands, he grabbed a pillow; releasing her from their kiss, he eased back, lifted her and stuffed the pillow beneath them.

Tilting her up so he could sink deeper, without stimulating her to completion. Her breath fractured when he thrust deep, an urgent sound. He shut his ears to it. "Wrap your legs about me."

She did, immediately; arms braced, he held himself over her and drove her up, up, and on to the next level of passion. Eagerly, she clung to him, her hands, now free, trailing over his chest and arms, then gripping tight as he delved deeper and pushed her on.

“My Queen.”

Fingers sinking into flexing sinews, Y/N let her head fall back, lips parted as she struggled to breathe. Senses lost, her wits long gone, she surrendered to the whirlpool of sensations he commanded, surrendered to the power she could feel in every thrust that joined them, in every synchronous beat of their hearts. A sense of beauty, of delight, of joy unimaginable hovered just out of reach.

A soft moan surprised her, she bit her lip, determined to be quiet because his men could hear. Then gasped as he surged more powerfully, faster, deeper.

She caught her breath on a strangled gasp, then cried out in shocked disbelief when he pulled back and left her. Fighting to raise her lids, she saw him lift fully away from her. Stunned she reached for him, half-sitting, but before she has a chance to truly complain, large hands caught her and flipped her over, then locked about her and pulled her back onto her knees.

And they were everywhere, those large, hard hands - stroking, squeezing, and probing. Until her back ached, until her skin glowed, until her nerves were taut and tingling. Until she wished for the night, the intimacy to never be over despite being in pain in her need for release.

Kneeling behind her, reaching over and around her, a dark, aroused presence in the night, he bent his head and nipped her ear lobe, then soothed it with his lips. "Lean farther forward."

His hands clamped about her as she did, steadying her. Then he nudged her thighs wider, and caressed her - stroked her slick, swollen flesh until it was throbbing again, until she sobbed his name.

He slid into her, smoothly, easily filling her deeply, until she was so full of him she could sense him throughout her body. Eyes closed in rapturous delight, she pressed back and took him all.

Grayson felt her clamp tight about him; features set, etched with passion, he couldn't smile, not even smugly. She needed him inside her now, if he was not there, she'd feel empty. This way, he could fill her without risking her willfulness getting the upper hand. She couldn't reach climax this way, not without his active cooperation. Taking her from behind, with her on her knees, he could keep her locked in the sex induced craze for just a little longer, keep her inside the web he'd woven.

But first…

He was going to love her until she couldn't think, until she had no will left. Until he was sure she knew no man could ever offer pleasure he can. Until he knew her promise to stay was secure.

So he caressed her inside and out using his body, hands, and lips, consciously bringing the full force of his expertise and experience to bear.

He intended to be ruthless.

He filled his hands with her swollen breasts and she whimpered with desire; he shut his ears to the sound, and dotted kisses along her exposed nape. Locating her nipples, he teased and tweaked, until she moaned and sobbed. Nuzzling aside the heavy fall of her hair, he pressed hot open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder, then down her spine.

And all the while he filled her, to a slow, steady rhythm guaranteed to leave her both satisfied and wanting and ready to sell her soul in order to get more.

He was going to be ruthless.

He had already studied her curves, inch by inch, he knew them well. Now, with her on her knees before him, he took in other aspects of her beauty - her delicate bones, the sleek, supple strength of her very feminine curve of her spine. The sweet hollow between shoulder and throat, the long sweep of her neck and the stretch marks covering both her bums – his favorite.

Hands trailing farther, he traced the long muscles of her thighs, braced, lightly quivering, flexing slightly as he rode her. His gaze, however, had fixed on her bottom meeting his body with satisfying force every time he thrust into her, on his cock rigid and engorged, gleaming with her slickness, sliding effortlessly into her, deep into the embrace of her waiting vagina. It’s not the first time they went bare sex, but it’s the first time he needed to fuck her to oblivion so she’d never forget the sensations he offered.

The sight held him entranced. She moaned softly then rotated her hips, clinging to him. Grayson gasped, he closed his eyes and tightened his death grip on his impulses. Opening his eyes again, he drew a ragged breath - and leaned forward. And reminded himself to be ruthless.

But the instant his hands curved about her shoulders, then trailed down to cup her breasts, he knew the best he could hope to be with her was ruthlessly gentle. Lavishing attention on her. Helplessly in thrall, drawn deeper with every heated thrust, every caress he pressed on her and she pressed on him - he was a victim of emotion that bound him to her through this act and yet more deeply, reaching to his soul. Demanding his obedience, his acceptance his surrender.

Little did she know he was always hers. He surrendered long ago.

When next he straightened, his breathing was beyond ragged, his control badly frayed. Chest swelling, he set himself to take her up the last stretch of their road. Grayson dragged in a deep breath; fingers sinking into her. Grayson anchored her and thrusted deep. Again, and again, pushing her high, then higher swiftly taking her toward the shattering orgasm that he'd deliberately designed for her. On and on, higher and higher, she panted, then sobbed in her need.

Raising one hand, she reached back and traced his lean cheek. “Please, Grayson. Now.”

His face was beside hers; she heard a soft hiss, then a smothered curse. He wanted to hear her beg, meaning he had not only won, but also driven the stubbornness and attitude out of her. Then he reached around her, grabbing first one pillow, then another. Piling them before her, even as his other hand pressed on her back and guided her down. Swiftly, he drew her knees back, and she was lying on her stomach, the piled pillows beneath her.

And he was behind her, between her spread thighs, his cock pressing against her bottom. Against skin flickering with heightened nerves, her inner thighs excruciatingly sensitive to the brush of his tattooed legs.

With one thrust, he surged into her.

She screamed with sheer delight. Horrified, she grabbed handfuls of the twisted sheets and held them to her face. And heard him groan, braced above her, his hands planted on either side of her, he drew back, and surged deeper and deeper, no longer holding back as his own moans filled the room.

In bliss, she screamed as her high finally caught up with her.

Eyes closed tight, braced above her, Grayson drank in the lovely sound. Half muffled by the sheets, it was still pure magic; the sound of her ecstasy was pure ecstasy to him. Sunk to the hilt inside her, he held still, rigid, tense as a coiled spring, and savored her contractions, the rippling caress of her body as release swept through her.

He waited, not patiently, but with steely determination, until she eased beneath him, then, gritting his teeth, he leaned forward, grabbed two more pillows, lifted her, and raised her still higher.

So he could ride her on, up the next high. When she realized it was there, she joined him, eagerly, as focused as he. Heated once more, flushed, her skin covered in sweat, she writhed beneath him, urging him on not with words but with deeds, with the flagrant encouragement of her lush body.

And when he sent her over the edge again, the effect was cataclysmic. He heard it in her unrestrained scream. The sound caught him up, tugged at his heart, his soul. Closing his eyes, he filled her completely and swiftly followed her in the undeniable pleasure of such acts – their minds and bodies as one, their relationship hopefully mended. Or on the road to it.

Exhausted, Grayson watched her sleep in his embrace, smiling to himself. People called him ruthless before, but they have no idea who he truly is. Scott has no idea who he really is. If they think he was ruthless before, but Y/N softened him – they are sorely mistaken. She didn’t soften him, if anything, she made him more ruthless. She is why he has to be merciless, because there is nothing and no one in this world that would stand between him and his doll…his queen. She is why he’d do anything, kill anyone – just to come home to her at the end of the day.

Y/N drifted off to slumber, not knowing her handsome prince already set things into motion. While they reconnected, Grayson made sure to paint the streets red that night – his revenge exact, swift and unforgiving.

Waking up in Grayson’s arms, his lips pressing feather light kisses across her jaw, hand lingering on her left thigh – it didn’t feel real at first.

“Open your eyes, doll. I know you’re awake.” His husky, sexy morning voice is what makes her groan, already horny for him and the intimacy he showered her in last night. Feeling his lips enclose on hers, only to abandon her a moment later, forced her to whine and open her eyes, receiving a satisfied chuckle from her favorite bad guy.

“You make the cutest whines when you want more of me. It’s adorable.” Brushing his nose against hers for an Eskimo kiss, Grayson gives in and plants a second kiss to her lips.

“And you still use sex to convince me to forgive you for fights.” She remarks, slowly regaining basic control over her mind and body.

“Didn’t hear you complain last night.” Grayson cocks an eyebrow, a smug smile taking up half his face, but his eyes showed a hint of guilt she wanted to extract to the surface.

“We have to talk about it eventually. The whole blanks in my gun situation and you ignoring me since, the fact Scott showed up yesterday…” Grayson presses his index finger to her lips, stopping the oncoming river of words that would overwhelm them both.

Cupping her face, he presses his forehead against hers lightly, just enough so his lips hover over hers and she’s rendered speechless by the proximity.

“I messed up with the blanks. I thought Ethan and I could protect you no matter what happened. I was wrong and I am sorry about that. I fucked up when I allowed my need to kill Scott with my own two hands for almost taking your from me put a barrier between us. I didn’t want you to see me like that – wicked, psychotic even���hands covered in blood and people’s hearts in the palm of my hands. I wanted you to see me as the CEO, the bachelor who can’t seem to even look at another since you came into his life and set his dark skies aflame. And as for yesterday…I think a part of my heart died from sheer fear of you taking whatever he meant for me. You provoked him…said all the words a proper Queen would, but never should if she doesn’t have the troops at the tip of her fingers. He could have killed you. Which is why hundreds of his men died last night.”

From an apologetic start, to incredibly soft and mushy, down to the coldblooded, sharp, venomous ending. Y/N would be lying if she said her blood didn’t run cold with his words, but she reminded herself that he’s at war and if he’s to live and come back to her, she has to accept that part of him that does what’s necessary. Without him, she’d wither. Without him, nothing would matter. So, yes, she shuts her eyes and endures, smiling up at him as the forgiveness takes over and she lets it go.

“But I’m still hoping you’ll come to the ball with me this Saturday. I don’t usually go, but now I have some eye candy to share with the world. Want to show you off, doll.” Kissing her ear, Grayson moves down to her neck and waits for her resolve to crumble. She ran her fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and she could feel the beating of his heart against her chest.

“Gross! Wasn’t last night enough?! I swear, it’s like you’re bunnies!” Ethan’s disgruntled shouting is enough to end the sweet moment that would definitely end in some seriously missed morning sex. But, even in their enamored state, they know being so close to the ball means new dresses and new plans for security with the looming threat still being so abundantly clear to everyone in the gang.

“I think I liked it more when you were at odds with each other!” Without a second thought, Ethan settled on the bed beside them, not even caring that they’re both naked under the sheets and Y/N’s mortified facial expressions as she hid her head under too.

“Awe, come on! Look what you did! You broke my little munchkin!” Grayson exclaims, giggling like a school boy with his brother only to groan once she pinches his arm as revenge.

“Baby’s got some claws, huh?” Ethan laughs only louder, loving how his two favorite people are finally happy again. He knew The Silver Snakes would be a hard blow for them both, but it looked as if the sky was finally clearing up and the clouds were gone.

“I hate you both!” Muffled by the sheets, her voice is still able to reach them as they coo.

“Awe!! Aweee! You love us!”

It was a good day in a month filled with bad days. But neither were too foolish to believe it would last. The day of the reckoning was soon upon them.

**

Grayson decided to gift Y/N with the most lavish ball gown and jewelry he could offer. She didn’t shy away from it as much as she used to, but she did put up a considerable fight. Of course, he managed to bend her will with a quick fuck in a changing room of the boutique, realizing he enjoyed bending her will to his in such a manor far too much. Of course, he’s not blind to the fact that if she wasn’t inclined to accept, this quick fuck wouldn’t really get him anywhere, but he wanted to lie to himself for as long as possible that he was the alpha in their relationship.

So, in a long, angel white ball gown with thousands of diamonds embedded in the silk, Y/N looked like she descended from heaven itself. Of course, she insisted the top to be all lace and see through so the blood red brassier she chose would be a clear message where her allegiance lies. And a fresh tattoo of five black birds across her left collarbone got a chance to shine as well.

She nearly cried when she found Grayson in a matching white outfit at the bottom of the stairs, a blood red handkerchief in his pocket to match her statement perfectly.

“Who are you and what have you done with Grayson Bailey Dolan?” She stopped at the last step, taking his hand gently and allowed him to bring it to his lips.

“No clue what you’re talking about, doll.” His smug smile made her heart jump and her breath to stop, but she knew better than to show him what effect he has on her.

“A month ago, you would rather be caught dead than match outfits and now you orchestrated this all on your own.” She smirked, watching his eyebrows rise and fall and a slight nod on his behalf.

Ethan joined them for the ride to the hotel that was their special place. It was one of Manhattan’s wonders, one Grayson kept from prying eyes. This time around, he opened the garden and allowed people in, surprising Y/N and Ethan as well. Maybe it’s because the last time it was open was the last time they saw their father alive. It was the same night Grayson became Capo.

In a short half hour, the ballroom was awash with silks and satins; perfume hung heavy on the air. The shine of curls was fractured by the sparkle and glint of jewels; hundreds of tongues contributed to the polite hum. Being on Grayson’s arm guaranteed Y/N enough space to breathe; no one wanted to crowd her because anyone who’d dare approach would have to deal with Grayson first. Even though rare few knew of his true role in New York, those who didn’t were still intimidated by him. There were, however, a definite number who, sighting her, were compelled to pay their compliments. Some, indeed, looked set to worship at her feet, even in the teeth of the very real threat of receiving a swift and well-aimed bullet from her escort.

Fixed by Y/N’s side, compelled to witness her effect on other males of the room and his own gang members, Grayson set his jaw, and tried not to let it show. While he was aware of her transcend beauty, he also knew this event was a danger. Any public stunt is risky at this time.

As the evening wore on, euphoria increased. Dinner was served at one o'clock. Seated beside Grayson at one of the larger tables, Y/N laughed and chatted. Smiling serenely, she studied Grayson’s guests and mostly those she knew were in the gang. The same expectation tightened her nerves, heightened her senses. Laughing at one of Ethan's jokes, she met Grayson's eye and understood precisely why ladies of New York, hell – the world - deliberately played with fire when they flirted with him.

How many hearts did he break before he chose hers to keep?

The musicians summoned them back to the ballroom. The others all rose, but Grayson whispered for Y/N to stay and she obeyed. She looked up, Grayson stood beside her, patient boredom in his face. She held out a hand; smoothly, he drew her to her feet. She glanced around, the room was already empty. She turned to Grayson only to have him pull her further, away from the ballroom. Startled, she looked up at him.

He smiled, a wolfish grin with a wicked glint in his eye. "Trust me." Relaxing with the knowledge this wasn’t an escape because of a possible attack, she followed him.

He led her to a wall and opened a door concealed within the paneling. The door gave onto a minor corridor, presently deserted. Grayson let her through, then followed. Blinking, Y/N looked around; the corridor ran parallel to the ballroom, leading toward its end. "Where?"

"Come with me." Taking her hand, Grayson strode down the corridor.

She had to hurry to keep up, but before she could think of a sufficiently pointed argument, they reached a set of stairs. Somewhat to her surprise, he led her downstairs.

"Where are we going?" Why she was whispering she didn't know.

"You'll see in a minute," he whispered back.

The stairs led into another corridor, parallel to the one above; Grayson halted before a door near its end. Opening it, he looked in, then stepped back and carried her over the threshold.

“What are you doing?” She giggled, kicking her legs slightly in her glee.

Pausing just inside, Y/N blinked. Behind her, the lock clicked, then Grayson put her down only to lead her down three shallow stone steps and onto a flagged floor.

Eyes wide and widening, Y/N looked around. Huge panes of glass formed half the roof, all of one wall and half of each sidewall. Moonlight, crystal white, poured in, illuminating neatly trimmed cherry trees in clay pots, set in two semicircles about the room's center and roses – so many roses that she felt her heart stop. Slipping her hand from Grayson's, she entered the grove. In the moonlight, the glossy leaves gleamed; she touched them—their scent clung to her fingers. In the grove's center stood a white, posh looking couch with silk cushions. Beside it on the table sat a wickerwork basket overflowing with wild flowers.

Glancing back, she saw Grayson, a silvered shadow prowling in her wake. "It's an extension of the garden upstairs."

She saw his lips twitch. "One I wanted to create until it grew like its Eden."

An expectant thrill shot through her, a violin distraught the peace. Startled, she looked up. "We're under the ballroom?"

Grayson's teeth flashed as he reached for her. "My dance, I believe."

She was in his arms and whirling before she realized his intent. Not that she wished to argue, but a small warning might have helped, might have made the sudden impact of his nearness a little easier to absorb. As it was, with arms like iron around her and long thighs parting hers, she immediately fell prey to a bundle of sensations, all distractingly pleasant. He waltzed as he did most things - masterfully, his skill so assured she didn’t have to do anything but glide and twirl, follow his lead. They proceeded down the grove, then slowly revolved about its perimeter. As they passed the entrance to the enchanted circle, he looked down, into her eyes and deliberately drew her closer.

Y/N's breath caught; her heart stuttered, then picked up its pace. The red silk covering her breasts shifted against his coat, so much so she felt her nipples tingle. Their hips met as they turned, silk shushing softly in the night. Hardness met softness, then slid tantalizingly away, only to return, harder, more defined, a heartbeat later. Sway of the dance teased her senses; they ached for him. Eyes wide, her gaze trapped in the darkness of his, Y/N felt the silvery touch of the moonlight and tipped up her head. Her lips, parted, were oddly dry.

Her invitation could not have been clearer. Caught in the moment, Grayson did not even think of refusing. With practiced ease, he lowered his head and tasted her, confident in his mastery, only to find his head swimming as she drew him in. With an inward curse, he hauled hard on his reins and wrested back control he knew he couldn’t lose now.

They waltzed between the cherry trees and roses; the music stopped and still they revolved. Gradually, their steps slowed; they halted by the couch.

Y/N pushed against a shiver of anticipation. Their kiss unbroken, Grayson released her hand. He slid both palms over her silk-clad curves until one rested on each hip, burning through her flimsy gown. Slowly, deliberately, his hands slid further, cupping her bottom, drawing her fully against him. Y/N felt his blatant need, his desire, and an answering heat blossomed within her. Her breath was his; caught in their kiss, she lifted her arms and curled them around his neck. She pressed herself against him, soothing her aching breasts against the wall of his chest. The deep shudder that passed through him thrilled her.

Tension gripped him. He lifted her; their kiss unbroken, he lowered her to the couch. And followed her down until her breath fled. With a stifled gasp, she pushed aside his coat and eagerly spread her hands over his chest. She knew his body all too well, knowing it would push him to the edge.

She felt the sudden hitch in his breathing, sensed his sudden surge of desire. From deep within, she answered it, shamelessly enticing his tongue to duel and dance with hers. She had her legs tangling with his; her hands reached further. She refused to be submissive; she wanted to feel, to experience, to explore.

Which was more encouragement than Grayson could stand. Abruptly, he pulled back, caught her hands and anchored them over her head. Immediately, he recaptured her lips, desire growing, escalating wildly, barely restrained. Ravenous, he deepened the kiss, searching for appeasement, fighting, simultaneously trying to retain control.

Half-trapped beneath him, Y/N arched, responding to the intimacy, the steadily growing passion. Desire, a palpable entity, welled and swelled; she squirmed with silk sliding between them, then moaned and tugged against his hold. He broke their kiss only long enough to say: "No."

Twisting her head, she avoided his lips. "I only want to touch you. Let me touch you."

"Forget it," he grated. He was dangerously overheated, driven by a desire he'd seriously underestimated; her wandering hands would be the last straw. He wanted her, despite the fact he already had her shaking under him twice this day. It seems like this hunger, this blatant need for each other will never die out, but neither truly care. It doesn’t lessen the shock of realization once it comes to their clouded minds.

"Why?" Y/N tested his grip, then twisted, trying to gain advantage; one soft thigh pressed close, then slid downward, provocatively stroking his cock he was desperately trying to ignore.

His breath hissed in; she pressed closer. Desire crystallized, hardening every muscle. Tightening every nerve. Obliterating the last remnants of caution. He caught her chin and captured her mouth in a searing kiss. He shifted, one leg trapping hers, using his weight to subdue her.

Not that she was struggling. Her lips clung to his, passionately enticing. She moaned again, this time in abandoned entreaty; her body arched, caressing his, inviting, inciting.

His hand dropped from her jaw to possessively cup one breast, pushing her bra out the way.

Y/N gasped; her breast throbbed, then ached as his fingers played. She writhed, savoring his tensed muscles, shifting in response. His body was close, but she ached to have him closer. Much closer. Heat flared wherever he touched her; she needed him inside, to the hilt to quench the flame, to satisfy the fever that took up flame in her veins.

She wanted him, needed him and there was no longer any reason she couldn't have him. Desperately, she tugged at his grip, it firmed. His hand left her breast and before she could protest, she heard a muffled click. She stilled, his hand expertly pushing her gown down. Her heart thudded, then raced.

Grayson lifted his head and she drew in a shuddering breath. She felt the cool touch of the moonlit air, felt the heat of his gaze. Lifting lids suddenly heavy, she looked up. His face was graven, harsh planes sharp-edged. Her breasts throbbed painfully; as if he could sense it, he bent his head.

And touched his lips to her heated skin. She stiffened; her senses leapt as he drew the soft flesh into his mouth. She tensed. Sensation streaked through her; her toes curled. She gasped, her body tightening, lifting against him. Her fingers, still locked above her head, clenched tight.

He tortured her soft flesh until she cried out, then turned to her other breast. Only when that, too, was aching fiercely, when her body started pulsing with need, did he raise his head. From beneath her lashes, she watched as he skimmed his hand down, possessively caressing the smooth curve of her hip, then tracing the long sweep of her thigh. Her lungs seized when his fingers slid beneath the hem of her panties.

Y/N trembled. Cool air caressed her skin; his gaze, hot as the sun, roaming comprehensively, surveying what he intended to repossess. Then he turned his head and met her gaze. His hand tightened about her bare hip, then slid lower in a tantalizing caress, hard palm and long fingers stroking knowingly down, then up. He leaned closer; she shut her eyes as his lips found hers. She gave herself up to him, up to their kiss, surrendered to the sweet wildfire that rose between them.

Knowingly, he traced, caressed her thighs, he gently teased. Beneath him, Y/N shifted restlessly, her lips clinging to his. He drew back, fleetingly studying her face. At his whispered command, she parted her thighs then gasped as he touched her, then cupped her. Only when that first flaring shock of awareness had died did he continue, intimately stroking the swollen folds, parting them to find the bud of her desire, already hard and throbbing. He circled it, and felt her passion rise, her moans echoing the secret Eden he built for them. He found her slickness and gently probed, deliberately inciting the wave of desire building between them.

Y/N knew nothing beyond her violent need, centered in the swollen, throbbing flesh he so knowingly stroked, so tantalizingly caressed. Then one long finger slid deeper, circled, then pressed deeper still. She caught her breath on a moan; her body lifted, helplessly seeking. He kept his pace steady, stroking again and again, seeing her enjoy that intimate invasion; eyes closed, senses raging, she wanted more. He knew her need; his lips returned to hers, his tongue claiming her mouth in the same, mesmerizingly slow rhythm with which his fingers entered her.

Her breasts swollen and heavy, Y/N arched against him, trying to ease their ache. Abruptly, he released her lips; a second later, his mouth fastened around one nipple.

The hand locked around hers disappeared. Grayson shifted. Using one hand to ease the ache of one breast, he caressed the other with lips and tongue. Between her thighs, his fingers slid deep, and still deeper.

Her hands free, Y/N reached for him, loosening his shirt quickly. He stilled. Then blinked. He heard his ragged breathing, felt his chest swell. Raging desire pounded at his senses; passion, unleashed, fought for release. But in that crazed instant, lust and will collided. The shock was almost physical. The wrenching effort required to draw his hands away, to roll away and sit up, left him giddy.

With a whimper, Y/N pulled him back. Or tried to. She couldn't get a grip on his body, pushing her hands in his loose shirt, she tugged desperately. All she did was rock herself.

Grayson didn't shift. Gently, he caught her hands and disengaged her fingers. “We should return. I can hear my phone vibrating.” He tilted his head to see her, untouched by an untrained eye, but he saw what he did to her moments ago. She’s melted butter in his hands.

“Are you fucking with me, right now? I’m half-crazy with my need for you and you want to leave.” Her hands still trapped in his, Y/N stared at him as he chuckles. Her hands immobilized in his, she tugged, trying to topple him back down; if she could just get him back on the couch alongside her, he’d be hers.

“You’re making me feel like a raging bitch who is trying to steal your virginity.” She pouts, driven to seduce him into fucking her so hard she forgets why they’re there in the first place.

“It’s not that…I just. I wanted to bring you here to ask you an important question, not seduce you.” Abruptly, Grayson let go of her hands and stood; grimly, he looked down at her.

Y/N’s mouth fell open, then shut; lips setting ominously, she came up on one elbow.

“What are you talking about?”

“I wanted to propose. To ask you to be my wife. It's important to me to know that you've made a conscious decision that you've decided to become my wife, the mother of my children, for your own reasons, not because I've seduced, coerced, or manipulated you into it. This won’t do.” He spoke through clenched teeth, frustration in his voice. Which only made Y/N glare at him.

“You brought me here to propose, seduced me and now you refuse to propose? What if I wish to say YES?” She struggled to her knees.

“Well, you’ll just have to wait until I’m sure you’re not drunk on passion for me.” Stating so, Grayson buttoned his shirt back up as she watched him and giggled.

“You’ll wait for a long time for that to happen, because I’m always drunk on passion for you.”

Reaching out, she locked her fingers in his shirt and pulled. Reluctantly, he shifted closer.

“Now help me out here. I need you.” He'd purposely aroused her, deliberately pushed her to a state bordering on the frantic.

"Please?" The soft plea lay on her bruised lips; it glowed in her eyes.

Grayson gathered her into his arms and set his lips to hers.

She opened to him instantly, sinking against him. He gave her what she wanted, steadily fanning her flames, keeping himself in control.

When he lifted his head she was reeling. Her whole being was one heated, aching void. Gasping, she clung to his shoulders.

"Trust me."

He whispered the words against her throat, then trailed wicked kisses down her carotid. Y/N let her head fall back, then shuddered. The next instant, he swung her into his arms. She waited to be laid on the couch, instead, he carried her around it; his back to it, he set her on her feet before him, facing the long mirror on the wall.

Y/N blinked. The moonlight found her skin and set it shimmering; behind her, Grayson appeared as a dense shadow, his hands dark against her body. Y/N licked her lips. "What are you going to do?"

He bent his head and traced one earlobe with his tongue. "Satisfy you. Release you." His eyes met hers in the mirror. "Pleasure you."

The deep purring murmur sent a sharp thrill racing through her; his hands slid around to cup both breasts, his fingers tightened and she shuddered. "All you have to do is do exactly as I say."

Again he met her gaze. "Keep your eyes open and watch my hands, and concentrate on what you feel, on the sensations."

His words were low, hypnotic; Y/N couldn't drag her eyes from his hands, rhythmically kneading her breasts. She watched his long fingers reach for her nipples; they swirled, then squeezed. She sucked in a short breath and leaned back against him, feeling his bare chest behind her, crisp hair rasping against her bare shoulders.

His hands left her breasts and she refocused on the mirror. One dark hand splayed across her midriff, holding her against him; the other gripped her hips. She heard a low moan, and knew it was hers. Her head fell back against his shoulder; her spine arched. Her senses, fully alive, registered every touch, every knowing caress; from under heavy lids, she watched every move he made. Then he shifted, his arms coming around her, surrounding her, his left hand cupping her right breast, his right hand splaying over her stomach. From behind, his knee pressed hers apart; head bent, his lips grazed the soft skin beneath her ear. "Keep watching."

And she did. She watched as his hand slid lower, long fingers sliding further, pressing inward. He touched her softness, found her molten heat and stroked. Breathless, aching, she felt the muscles in his arm shift as he reached further, felt the pressure of his hand between her thighs, felt the slow invasion as one long finger entered her.

Sensation upon sensation crashed through her; the hand at her breast fondled, fingers finding, then tightening about her budded nipple. Of their own will, her hands found his, fastening over his broad wrists.

Between her thighs, his hand shifted; as one finger slid deep, his thumb pressed, caressed.

"Keep watching."

Naked, on fire, she dragged her lids open and saw his hand push deep between her thighs.

A burst of pleasure took her, exploded within her, tingling, beneath her skin.

Release. Finally.

It swept her, washing away her tension. She felt his lips at her temple, felt his hands soften in soothing, intimate caresses. Sweet oblivion claimed her.

When her wits reconnected with reality, Y/N discovered herself fully dressed, leaning against the couch. Before her, Grayson stood before the mirror, fixing his bowtie. She watched his fingers deftly crease and knot the wide folds, and smiled.

In the mirror, Grayson’s eyes met hers. Her smile widened; he raised a brow.

“I still want you to ask the question.” She dared him, awfully giggly and light. Just as he loved her most. He hated how his world dampened her mood, how his darkness ate away at her. He knew she was always an anxious mess because of him and it made him feel guilty. But now? She was perfectly content. And it was his doing.

“I will. Just not tonight.” He remarks, earning a weak kick at the back of his leg to which he snickered.

He lead her back to the room filled with chatter, her mind at ease and for once – completely blissful. She did not worry of what might happen, but loved what is before her. Even if he’s as stubborn as a rake who’s trying to return to heaven’s graces.

Kissing her temple, Grayson excused himself to talk to some of his men. She watched him carefully, the hushed tones and his face contorting into an angry scowl was enough to tell her there’s trouble, but she assumed it to be tomorrow’s worries.

She might be a gentle flower and he a hurricane, but he’d never let any harm come to her. She’s used to it. To his world. After all they’ve been through, she is. He used to be a vagabond and loving a vagabond is crazy, but he’s hers now. He’s not going anywhere.

Y/N’s POV

But even with my want to put the worries behind me, I could sense something isn’t right. My heart twisted and sunk with nerves. Before I have a chance to call for Grayson, I sense someone’s hand wrap around my waist and pull me into a hard body, a cool metal pressing against my temple as an echoing drum of a shot sounds through the room.

“Don’t move. I’d rather not waste your beauty so soon.” I recognize the voice. Scott.

More shots follow. Each one isn't simply loud, it cracks into the air and echoes around the halls, magnifying the feeling of our vulnerability.

Screaming starts and the people run, guns flashing as they’re pulled out. Blood smears the marble floors and I see Grayson hide behind a pillar with his gun prepared in his hands. He’s looking wildly around, hoping to catch a glimpse of me, but when he does, he finds me in his enemy’s arms.

“Oh, hello. Nice to finally meet you. Face to face is much better than sending men to deliver messages.” Scott’s voice sends chills down my spine, making me shiver.

Grayson grips his gun tighter, looking around for some back up wildly.

“I WOULDN’T do that!” Scott tsks, commanding Grayson to follow him…and me to the garden. He forces me to walk backwards, stepping on my gown more than once.

“You won’t get away with this.” I whisper, hearing him chuckle lowly.

“Oh, but I will. You’re the one who had a choice, but once I saw him disappear with you I’ve decided I’m a bit disgusted by what he must have done to you in the time you were gone.” Scott sneers, using the chance to place his hardened member against my ass.

“But I’d still like to play a little.”

“DON’T TOUCH HER.” Losing his cool, Grayson shouts at the top of his lungs. If it were possible, I’d swear Earth shifted.

“Not so scary now, are you? Hellhound.” The mocking tone isn’t missed on me, my eyes glued to Grayson. I wish the soulmate stories were true. Maybe then I’d be able to tell him to get the hell away and leave me to my fate, but he wouldn’t do that. Even if I could tell him so, he’d stay. Stubborn ass.

“Let her go and I’ll come with you. I’ll do whatever you want.” Grayson offers, tossing his gun to the side as he raises both hands in surrender.

“Idiot.” I mumble, earning a laugh from Scott.

“Your Queen here just called you an idiot and I can’t help but agree. You’re a fool if you think either of you are leaving here in any way but a body bag.” I tried to stay calm as my eyes met Grayson’s, feeling as if I’m reliving the past and Mikhail all over. I felt numb as tears gathered behind my eyes. Pushing my head back, I glimpsed Scott’s face, full of gloating, his eyes glittering wildly.

“Get on your knees.” Scott commands and I shake my head.

“Grayson, run! Get out of here or I’ll never forgive you for this.” I demand, wishing him to listen for once. Just once. If being rescued has anything to do with his life being taken, I’d rather die with him.

“We can do this – man to man. No need to involve her.” Grayson ignores my request, keeping his own conversation up with Scott.

“I love you.” I mouth to him, slowly reaching into my bag. Closing my eyes, I remember what Ethan taught me. I can feel the steel handle, the gun’s safety at my fingertips.

Swiftly, I move my head back full force and I feel the pain as it collides with Scott’s face. Turning with my hand on the gun, I quickly shoot until there are no bullets left in the chamber, shaking violently as I see him laying on the ground. He’s motionless, blood spurting from his mouth and his throat still bleeding in pulses that follow his dying heart.

Stumbling back, I find myself encased in arms I easily recognize.

“You brilliant, brave, stupid woman. I love you so, so much!” Grayson shouts, holding me tightly. Turning me around, he looks to me properly. Worry pulls at his eyebrows, knitting them together as his lips press in a thin line.

“You just contradicted yourself, idiot.” I giggle, seeing he’s completely out of it. He’s desperately clinging to me as if I’m a ghost, a gust of wind about to disappear from his hands.

“We need to go. Do damage control.” I say, cupping his face just so I can feel my shaky hands touch his skin. Just so I can tell he is real and he is with me. He is mine and I am his and we’re both alive to see the sunrise the next day.

Nodding, Grayson takes my hand in his and leads us inside. That’s when time stills.

“NO!”

Screaming, gunshots, blood. It’s the only thing I register as I fall to the ground, two bodies on top of me. It feels like déjà vu, incredibly shaking my grasp on reality. I wait, wide eyed, heart in my mouth, hoping for movement. I can tell Grayson is beside me, his mouth is moving and incoherent sounds don’t reach me. He’s standing so fast, I can’t comprehend. But the weight of the barely moving body atop me isn’t something I can ignore.

Grayson will deal with the danger. He’ll help. I know he will, but whoever jumped in front of me can’t help anyone – not even himself.

Putting a hand at the back of the man’s head, I roll over and on top, pulling him behind a wall. I can tell the shooting isn’t over, the man in my arms finally coming into focus.

I wish it didn’t.

“Ethan?” I whisper, my mind shattering as I shake him. I can see the blood pooling at his stomach, covering it with both my hands to stop the bleeding as he opens his eyes.

“They wanted to kill you. Then him. I couldn’t let it happen. I promised him I’d rather die.” Ethan smiles, his eyes hold no malice, no want for vengeance. He’s at peace with his decision.

“And you thought taking a bullet for me was the right way to go about it? You dying isn’t what I want.” I see a drop fall on his cheek and slide down to his hair, realizing I’m already crying.

“He’ll be happy with you by his side. He’ll retire as much as this job allows it. Mom and Cam will return here. Just don’t forget to name your first kid Ethan. I will haunt you.” He chuckles, making me shake my head.

“Stop the stupid and keep holding on. Brother, we need you.” I insist.

“I prom-promised h-him.” Ethan stammers, his pain gripping him and shock taking over.

“I need you.” His eyes drop close, my heart dropping with him.

“No.” I lean my forehead down against his, feeling his pulse weaken under my fingertips. My scream has all but drowned out the last shot. The next instant, I flung myself full length upon him. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I framed his face; when he didn't respond, I sobbed and frantically felt his pulse weakening.

Screaming for Grayson, I find myself pulled off of Ethan and wrapped in a warm embrace – the fresh, ocean breeze cologne a dead giveaway on who it is that holds me. I can tell the paramedics are working on Ethan, taking him away as I wail.

This is it. This is what it means to break. Pushing away from Grayson, I follow the ambulance, wiping away my tears without a care for the blood on my hands. I’m swallowing tears, ordering the men to kill every Silver Snake on sight, pulling Grayson by the sleeve to go to the hospital.

It took five hours in surgery and seven more for Ethan to wake up. He lost his spleen and a part of his intestine, but he was finally cleared.

Although he annoyed both of us during his recovery, he didn’t seem to mind when we decided to hire nurses to take care of his every whim instead of allowing him to torture us to death. He’s a baby when he’s unwell. But he did date one of the nurses for the next five months, so at least it worked out for him.

Lisa and Cameron did return, moving into a flat Grayson owned in the city which made the boys tremendously happy.

I started the next semester, avoiding paparazzi is now my daily job. The story was spun so it would seem like a gang tried to kidnap me so Grayson would pay a handsome price to keep me safe. It only made the world more curious about our love story. They are drunk on every move we make, never dying out even though I was sure they would get bored eventually.

And we were happy. Truly. Therapy helped us both move past the trauma, helping us be honest about our feelings. Grayson never stops surprising me, seducing me, taking my heart to new extremes.

But he didn’t pop the question for another four years. Not until my graduation.

“You’re on one knee?” I raise my eyebrow, watching him with a smile that wouldn’t fade no matter how hard I try.

“Shush. I’m trying to do something here.” Grayson’s serious face is on, his focus slightly wavered with my playful teasing.

“I already said yes. Like five years ago.” I chuckle, trying to snag the velvet box in his hands as he clams them up in his hold.

“I waited for five years so you’d be safe. Everything that can be legal is now legal. My team is basically New York security and the ones in the world are there to keep our routes to acquire material we need for the company clear. We work with the FBI, my company is thriving. And I am still in love with you more than I am in love with life. I never thought I’d marry, but when I met you, the fucking Earth shifted and I fell flat on my face and before your feet.”

3rd Person POV

Y/N couldn’t help her eyes from watering, seeing his eyes focused on her and the velvet box revealed and open for her to see the flower shaped sapphire surrounded with diamonds. It’s the ring she dreamed of. Grayson had it custom made all those years ago, but he had the ring altered recently, adding diamonds for every year they spent together.

In a universe that is coded by divine hand, the only real thing is love - invisible and weightless as it is. That's why it is only love that is the ultimate answer to healing hearts and societies, and love that makes our moral compasses function.

“You’re an idiot.” Y/N smiled, going down on her knees too.

“But I’m your idiot.” Grayson points out, placing the ring on the finger it always belonged to.

Kissing, the two had no clue what the future held for them.

They didn’t know that in two months’ time, their little inability to hold off on having sex until they get home so they decided to do it in the Porsche, will reward them with an unexpected pregnancy and at the worst time possible as Y/N just started her internship.

They didn’t know it would be the first out of three kids they’d have and they definitely didn’t know they would have the next eighteen years of peace. Peace that they would use to raise their children right, but give them the necessary skills to survive should they have to wage wars in their future.

They didn’t know Ethan would follow in their footsteps and marry three years later, having two kids as well.

It took a while for Y/N to forgive them for their secret arrangement to protect her with their lives, but she understood. It was the last of the bad guy’s sacrifice – his and his brother’s life.

And they definitely didn’t know their peace would end when their eldest daughter is supposed to take the reins of her father’s empire. She will make the mistake of engaging in a Romeo and Juliet kind of love with a rival gang leader’s son, thus creating a rumble that would show a lot of her daddy’s lessons make sense.

But as I said, they didn’t know that then. All they knew is their undying love for each other and the kiss they shared that set them aflame with desire once more.

He kissed her and the world fell away like it always did. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that no words could ever be. His hand rested below her ear, his thumb caressing her cheek as their breaths mingled. She ran her fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and she could feel the beating of his heart against her chest. And that heart beat for her and her alone.

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[m-204863]

Earth's Moon

The best voices - voices that truly matter - never allow themselves be heard. This lesson is worth learning again and again. Forever. Your voice moves as a whisper, murmuring inside larger winds. Only the trusted few can absorb what is necessary. Wise and sly and perfect, your instructions drop, leaving nothing but the hard sweet rime of enlightenment. The path is set. Your voice is unleashed.

Mercury

One face is blistered, the other plunged into a brutal chill. Is this how it's always been? You remember hot oceans, nourishing atmosphere. But something transpired, kicked what was wet and fertile into space, stealing away everything of value. Or perhaps what thrived here for a day or for ten million years decided to leave, peeling its wet organics off the bones.

Venus

You see history hidden between the barren rocks and within the high acid clouds. You see the ruin ready to claim its birthright. Sunlight starves. The fierceness chills and thins and runs sweet. A new ocean emerges, thick and salty and hot, from springs and geysers that drench the dead ground. You wonder: will this world's second birth be its finest?

The Sun

The blaze sits inside a nest of little worlds, still too distant to share its heat but plainly staring out at you. A face emerges, drawn from plasmas and radiation... There must be meanings in its roar. You listen hard and carefully, and sometimes a lucid melody seems to rise out of random noise. Joy builds, and the first hope in ages transforms you. It seems important, even critical, to tell every star from here to the black between the galaxies that you will be strong again.

Mars

Life waits inside this world's bones. Your voice flows across the red rock and through the dead valleys, speaking in code and goads. Ancient volcanoes swell, exploding at their peaks and splitting wide along their shoulders. Ash clouds blacken the starved air. A fossil ocean of ice softens and collapses. Geysers erupt, tall as mountains, throwing up steam and clouds. Every moment matters. And from a great distance, in the midst of a thousand careful disasters, you watch the transformation with your own eyes. The rose has blossomed.

Jupiter

Even the largest body lets itself be pushed where it needs to be, seduced into nice, warm loving orbits. Persistence is the key. Seafloors transform and then yank themselves skyward, shattering the icy crust. New worlds awaken in the swirling depths. You build homes around this half-born sun ripped by storms and supersonic wind.

Saturn

A cold giant shows its night face to you. Distant moons slide past - icy little comets enslaved by a splendid master. The lightning bolts and high clouds sweep away, and you burrow into a sea of liquid hydrogen that boils out of the long gash. You put yourself on the perfect trajectory, and for a fraction of an instant you allow yourself the luxury of confidence.

The Traveler

You have lived as invisibly as possible, flicking from solar system to solar system, making grand plans, overseeing the culturing of civilizations, before leaving in a blink. But you have no recollection of ever wanting worship or even thanks from those blessed by you. But memory is heavy now. It feels like lead and neutronium and electroweak matter fashioned into a moon-sized ball that you must carry as you move. Now, your flight is rapid, your vast mind infected with such dread and toxic doubt that you find yourself afraid of the simple act of thought. And it is your children you must turn to now, in time of need.

The Traveler 2

This has been such a long chase. This will be the place you will fight. Fight and win. But do you really know why you go where you go, and where this journey is taking you? The chase leads you where you need to be, you believe. Unless...you are being pushed.

The Traveler 3

The knife had a million blades. And you were giant, powerful and swift. But the knife pinned you. Cut your flesh away. Very little was left, you are sure, because you feel insignificant now. The hard slick heart of your soul: That is what remains. A body small as a river stone, and just as simple. You picture yourself as a piece of indigestible grit, a nameless nothing hiding among other nameless stones. Perhaps you glitter like a gem, yes. Pride makes you hope so. If only you could see yourself. But you have no eyes. Not the dimmest sense survives. What lives is memory, and what slim portion of these thoughts can you trust? The knife stole much more than your body.

Darkness

The universe is a beast. The body is made from tiny stuff, from near-nothings. From atoms swimming through a blood of crackling sparks. Simple, eternal Laws shape the beast. The largest galaxy is ruled by principles of mass and motion. Electrons are slaves to charge and to chance. And this is why the universe feels inexhaustible, eternal. No sun complains about its death. Life is the problem. Life can be woven from flesh or circuit or thoughtful light. Origins don't matter. But small, half-smart creatures have a fierce talent for denying the inevitable, for balking and complaining about injustices that don't exist and consequences that should be borne in silence.

Riis

This world is rich with family. You pause to rest. Life is a balm. You must cherish it where you find it. You do not mean to stay, but longing and kinship forestalls your departure time and time again. These little gardeners are such careful stewards of fragility. They sing songs of disasters averted and loved ones lost. They fashion heavy elements combed from the bones of old stars into objects of peace and beauty. You must force yourself to be cruel. Your presence is important.

- Dreams of Alpha Lupi, Destiny. Written by Robert Reed and Seth Dickinson.

[grimes-claireboucher]

GRIMES | WHO KNEW WORLD-BUILDING WOULD BE SO DIFFICULT?

BY SID FEDDEMA

APRIL 23, 2019

You can hear it, can’t you? The pulsing, panning synth bass, ingenious and instantly memorable. A gossamer coo, almost a sigh. And then a voice in an unusually high register singing 
lyrics full of menace, at odds with a calculated syrupy-sweet, faux-naive intonation: I never walk about after dark / It’s my point of view / If someone could break your neck / Coming up behind you always coming and you’d never have a clue.  

Seven years later, its power remains unmitigated. “Oblivion” turned horror into art, and, while drawn from a personal, particular experience, it spoke to a universal pain, a sense of predation and vulnerability all too familiar for women. Most importantly, it is a defiant act of resistance, a steadfast insistence on Grimes’ ownership of her own experience, and a refusal to be silenced. Pitchfork named it the best song of the decade so far. NPR named it one of the “greatest songs by 21st Century women.” Grimes was suddenly a cultural touchstone, a feminist symbol, a cherished member of the resistance. Everyone was watching.

They still are. Look at the Twitter fusillades, the talmudic readings of even the most flippant utterance, the team-joining. Feuds! With contemporaries, the media, her label. Gossip! A storm of it, following her spacetime-warping appearance with Elon Musk on the Met Gala red-carpet. And to hear Grimes tell it, being caught up in all this has been excruciating. She’s said that 2018 was one of the hardest years she’s endured.

When we speak, Grimes is in flux—emotionally, artistically, career-wise. But that’s nothing new. If I was to describe her with one word, I think it would be '“mercurial.” Or “protean.” She never stands still, never settles. She feels less like one person than like a collection of occasionally-combative creative spirits inhabiting one body. Hence the wide cast of characters in her albums, the fashion experiments, the accretion disk of material spanning mediums and genres. As I was writing this article we got word that she has changed her name—to c [lowercase italic], rather than Claire Boucher, and that the Grimes identity she’s built up over the course of her career could be next to go. For a journalist, she’s a tough subject: not only is she encyclopedic in conversation, but by the time you finish your draft, half of what you’ve written may no longer be true. While this capriciousness is a powerful creative resource, it can also make things difficult. She is a hell of a lot of fun to talk to, though—a whirlwind of ideas, opinions, wisecracks, and puckish self-deprecation.

I was given four tracks from the new album to prepare. But when I bring up the first, the disarmingly raw, strange, and lovely “Shall I Compare Thee,” she laughs. “I hate all these songs now. I might even replace them all. I’m supposed to be finishing the album this month or whatever, but I’ve been making a shit ton of new music instead. Which is a really bad idea.” She sighs, thinks for a moment. “But I’ll probably put out the songs that I said I’ll put out.” I tell her that her fans would surely appreciate seeing what she’s been working on. “Maybe, maybe not,” she replies, grinning. “I think the fans want me to stop making metal, nu-metal. Which I will! I have, I have stopped making metal!” Meanwhile, she’s dropping demos for an augmented reality side project under the moniker “Dark,” scribbling away on a novel, and thinking about a suite of “hymns, like glossolalia vocal music,” but which she “probably won’t release as ‘Grimes,’” as she explains it. She has changed her artistic approach, and is intent on unshackling her creative impulses. “I read a book on speed painting, about how you just lay it down and become satisfied with it. So I’m trying to do a bunch of stuff like that right now. It does feel better, because it just contains more life,” she explains. “Shall I Compare Thee” embodies this speed-painting creative methodology: DIY production, recorded in “like, two hours.” But the other single from the album, “We Appreciate Power,” is the opposite. It’s polished to a shine, conceptual, accompanied by a well-produced video. “‘Power’ is sort of the end of the old music I was making,” she says. “This era of super-produced and perfected sound—it’s sort of a thesis on that, a bookend.” 

She’s eager to explain the concept of the new album. However she feels about the songs at any given moment, she’s clearly excited about the story that they’re telling. “Miss Anthropocene” is a character, essentially an anthropomorphization of the concept of climate change. The name is a witty pun on “misanthropy” and “anthropocene”—the geological era defined by humanity’s irrevocable impacts on the planet. “All the media about climate change is like one big guilt trip. It’s super depressing, like, here are some facts that make you wanna go home and kill yourself. It sucks and it sucks to look at, so people just kind of look away from it,” she says. “I want to change that. In ancient Greek culture you have these gods that represent abstract, terrifying concepts. Like a God of Death. So I wanted to make Miss Anthropocene this idea of, like, the God of Climate Change. She wants the world to end and she wants to bring about the end of humanity, but she’s fun. She’s fucking fun and evil!” Grimes laughs. “Also, climate change is beautiful, even if it’s terrifying. It’s so nice to look at. The sunsets are brighter and more beautiful. Volcanoes, oil rainbows, hurricanes... destruction is gorgeous—people are drawn to it.” 

Miss Anthropocene marks the end of an era for Grimes. When it’s released she’ll be finished with her obligations to her label, and she’s excited about the prospect of working without contractual restrictions. “I’ll never sign with another label. I’ll never have to put out another album... If I didn’t have this whole requirement to release an ‘album,’ I would have just dropped a bunch of music ages ago.” The album format, she says, feels increasingly ill-suited for her shape-shifting, experimental style. “Albums are trash unless you sit down and make a really good album. I’m not really that consistent. I feel like I would work better in like EP-ish formats.” 

It’s not the only departure from musical tradition that she’s considering. Touring, she tells me, has increasingly become a stressful obligation. “I wanna retire from touring. I wanna do a hologram tour. Why do we keep doing them for dead artists instead of living ones who have stage fright?” Does she still get stage fright, this far into her career? “Oh my god, yes. It’s nightmarish. Apocalyptic. Terrifying, horrible. I can’t hear clapping or cheers—I just hear an echo chamber of death. I black out. Dissociation—I can’t tell what’s happening. After a show I’m always thinking, What happened? And people are like ‘It’s ok!’ I know people like the authenticity of live performance, and I do too. But I’m not a good performer. I’m a director who accidentally fell into this position, and now it’s too late to change. So I need to Gorillaz it—I need to find a way to not have to do the Beyoncé thing as much.” 

The sense is that Grimes is finished with facades, done pretending, done jumping through hoops to meet our expectations for what a ‘pop-star’ should be. Coming to terms with all this has been a messy and difficult process, but she’s finally feeling like herself again. She’s optimistic, if wary. And she’s ready to let it all out. Her forthcoming album, to hear her tell it, is Grimes unleashed. “I feel like at times there is an extreme rage that I haven’t been able to lay down,” she says. “A rawness that I have withheld from the public, because people always told me to make it more accessible. I’ve given that up for this, and it’s been freeing.”

She’s confronting her past as well. Miss Anthropocene was written during a period of intense self-reflection, and in the midst of personal tragedy. After losing others to addiction and overdoses, yet another close friend had passed. She hints obliquely at her own struggles with substances. It’s hard for her to talk about, but she has confronted it head-on while making this album, and is ready to be honest with the public. “I had early disturbing experiences with kids coming up to me and admiring things that were self-destructive. I was like, fuck, people think it’s cool to cut yourself or vomit or do crack. That’s not good! But then it became this stifling thing,” she says. “I don’t know. I’ve lived this hard, fucked-up life. I can’t pretend I didn’t. It started feeling like I couldn’t express myself properly, because I was so worried about being a good role model. It scares me to be hyper-honest, but we never see women getting to be that way. There should be someone out there that’s messy and fucked up—for some people this is how it is. It scares me because I don’t want little kids to romanticize certain things that are not cool. But I also don’t want to lie about the reality of my existence. I can’t make super honest or super emotional art if I’m always pretending to be cool and chill all the time.”

Grimes’ fans, who love her rabidly, have expressed worry at times in the last few years. If it seems she’s been self-sabotaging, whether online or in her relationships with collaborators and partners, it’s because she really has struggled. But unlike most of us, every step of her journey has been seized upon by a fascinated public and a cynical press hungry for headlines and clicks. And her reticence to tell us what she was really going through left all the more room for speculation. “Two of my best friends died before I was 18, and I lost like five friends to opiate-related deaths. Really close friends. I had one die when I was on a shoot, and found out while filming the second day. All this stuff, fucked up stuff, is happening. Before I would just not mention any of it. I feel like I’ve been through war when I think that all these people around me are dead. In 2016, my good friend died. They were a friend of 15 years, and I felt nothing. Just nothing. And it was so weird. But, you know, there you go. So you start removing yourself from everybody because you don’t want to face it. Life becomes too shockingly fragile, you know?” 

It hasn’t been easy for Grimes to engage with her past, but talking about it—in her art, in interviews like this one—is helping. “I’ve gotten better. I was really fucked up in 2016 when I wrote this album, but now I’m doing much better. When I was going through the Art Angels cycle, I was having severe PTSD, and everyone was like, ‘Don’t let the public know!’ I know there are people who think I’ve fucked up the last year, and I do need to be more organized and reasonable and thoughtful at times, for sure. But I feel my art is better.” 

Grimes’ favorite part of her job comes before she records a single note. “Dreaming it up feels so easy. The making and releasing can be horrible, but the dreaming is always fun,” she sighs. And that’s why she’s such an interesting figure, right? She’s a prodigious dreamer. We may love the music—I still blast “Oblivion” on an almost monthly basis, revisit the strange and compelling world of Art Angels—but it does sometimes feel almost beside the point. Grimes is building a universe, and she’s shedding the strictures that get in the way of that grand vision—the album format, her label, even her own carefully-crafted identity. “Part of what I’m doing is setting up the world-building. Reverse Harry Potter it. Soundtrack comes first, then the fashion, then everything, everything, everything. Then the book, right before I die,” she says, not really joking. Reaching this point of liberation hasn’t been a smooth process. Grimes is unfailingly honest with herself, her own worst critic. But she feels free, she’s happy with what she’s creating, and her ambitions have only grown. We just need to get out of the way and let her dream. 

[phiillii]

floating in a most peculiar way

Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles I'm feeling very still

- David Bowie, Space Oddity

-----

The days bleed into nights bleed into days. It's always hot and humid, even when the sun goes down. His skin is red from sunburn and constant mosquito bites. He's thirsty, so very thirsty, but he can't drink the river water, he knows, and waits for the next rainfall. He's hungry too, but half the animals here are undead, the other half too quick for him, and half of the plants poisonous, the other half unknown. This is not Chad's first time in the wilderness, but his first in a wilderness so foreign to everything he's ever known.

He sits on Stacy's back and talks to her when he's not hunting for food or water. He tells her stories, about everything and nothing. He tells her of his family, back home, a sister he hasn't seen in ages, a mother he misses, a father towering over him. He tells her of food back home, black banana bread, rat sausage, where to find the best nuts and the best mushrooms. He tells her of music, of the music he used to listen to as a child, of bards and their songs, a million rhymes he remembers from his youth. He tells her of the people, those with him and those against him, and of blood covering the floor and of cheering still ringing loudly in his ears. He tells her of his adventures, the small ones and the grand ones, of the people he's saved and even of those he hasn't saved, of those who ran from him and those he ran from, the dragons he's slain and the maidens he's rescued, the kings he's beheaded and those he's kissed, of demons he's fought with and heroes he's drunk with, of mountains he's climbed and of valleys he's passed, of volcanoes he's fought and of gods he's embraced. He tells her of children dancing in the rain and of fools and of fools' gold and of broadswords too heavy for him, of alley fights and of red wax on parchment, of gold cords and raised eyebrows, of pleasant smiles and frightened stares. He tells her of hiding in shadows from good men and of chasing evil men beneath the sun and one time, he even tells her of the woman that died in his arms.

Stacy doesn't answer at first, but after two weeks in the jungle all alone, she does. Chad wonders how he has ever been so dumb not to understand her. She may not speak Common or Dwarvish, but she speaks in her own way. She neighs, almost like a horse, when she's amused, and growls when his stories anger her, and then he usually laughs amicably and throws up his hands, and that usually pacifies her. She begins to tell stories too, he thinks one night after he eats a bunch of mushrooms that don't sit quite right in his stomach. About the time she spent in her egg, about how horrible her previous owners were with her, about how happy she is to be traveling with him now, discovering the jungle, this place where she belongs. He cries a bit after she tells him of that and embraces her neck, because he has never felt so understood by another living creature, because they’re both young and ready for the world and willing to move mountains, and he throws up half an hour later, and when he wakes the next morning he's drenched in sweat.

He begins to show her the paper every day, the list with the group of adventurers he's looking for. He's got it all memorized so well he doubts he'll ever forget it by now. The two priests of Athena, Alexandros and Fenchel, Human and Tiefling. The Tabaxi called Timber, a born troublemaker, or so he's heard. The Tortle Fischbrötchen, the Human nobleman Vincent Valorstone, Eldryan the drow. Moggy, of course. Sometimes, when he's tired of talking with Stacy, he takes out the list and imagines talking to them, all of them, how that will be like. He'll talk to Alexandros and Fenchel about their goddess,  and he'll ask them all about her, and maybe he'll even feign being willing to convert? But then, of course, he'll make it clear that the only god he follows is – hmm – maybe Silverbeard, God of Battle? That sounds about right. Or maybe a Human god? But he doesn't know many of them. Timber, he's sure she can tell stories and songs, just like the bards of his hometown, and hey – who knows – maybe she can even sing a song about him one day. Fischbrötchen, he can talk to about nature and people of nature, surely, and Vincent Valorstone might be receptive to great points about how unjust the existence of nobility truly is! Eldryan – drow, or half-drow, which was it again? - that is an entire untapped reservoir of great stories right there, isn't it? He'll have so much to tell Chad, no doubt about it. And Moggy – well – Chad has to chuckle when he thinks about what she'll say when she hears his voice. He practices that, sometimes. “Hello Moggy, long time no see!” he’ll say, grinning widely, and she’ll be angry with him, probably, but not for long, huh?

He starts to tell Stacy about all these people as if he's known them for ages. He collects new flowers for his beard, some he's never seen before. They wouldn't recognize him back home anymore, he realizes one day when he looks at himself in a puddle. His skin is ruddy, peeling to reveal freckles where he's never seen them before, his hair has grown out considerably from the almost bald head he's worn the last few years, and even his eyes seem different than before. His eyes! Were they always so bright? He asks Stacy. “Stacy, were my eyes always this bright?” He wasn't made for the jungle. He was made for wide fields, wheat plains, small hidey-holes, richly furnished palaces, wooden huts, stone halls larger than the sky, labyrinthine alleys and silent moonless nights. Jingle of gold coins on cobblestones. Ink on parchment. Songs in an inn. That's what he was made for. Not this deadly jungle.

Chad wants to go home, he realizes suddenly, he wants to run back home and he wants to cry and he wants his mom and he wants to hide and he - -

He doesn’t want to die in this horrible, horrible, horrible place - -

“Yes,” Stacy replies quietly, dragging him out of his thoughts. Chad shrugs. So his eyes really are brighter these days. This jungle changes you, huh.

He's stopped counting the days when, one morning, he arrives at the lost city. Omu lies before him, quiet and not moving but for a flock of pigeons. He feels a bit better here, looking out at the city. Walking through the entrance arch, he quickly finds some scribbles at a wall, compares them with the crumpled, sweated-through list in his pocket. They're here. He's found them, finally.

He pushes the list back into his pocket and faces Omu.

[hopeatermeetsgodzilla]

Chapter 9

“- and that’s pretty much how the ORCA is supposed to work.”

“Why’s it called the ORCA?”

“I based the prototype’s plans on a machine your parents created.” Florès answered, a smile on his face. “A machine supposed to allow one to listen to whale songs. Another name for orca’s are ‘killer whales’, and since one of the most plausible theory about Titans is that they could easily destroy us if they wanted to... it seemed appropriate.”

“Orcas aren’t actually whales, you know?” Madison told him. “They’re actually a sub-species of dolphins. They just look like whales. It proves that us trying to classify things based on their physical appearance is moot.”

“It’s still appropriate then: Titans look like giant humans, but according to your mother, they’re not.” Madison nodded as Florès went back to typing on his computer. “Also, if the 14 feet tall guy who can bath in lava ends up being a human, I’m gonna have a stroke.” He added, the teenager snorting.

The door of the lab opened, Stanton walking in. “Hey, Florès- is that a teenager.”

“She’s Dr. Russell’s daughter, don’t be fucking rude.” Florès snapped at him, before getting up. “You got new sound-banks?”

“Yeah.” He handed what looked like a disc to the programmer. “The Antartica Titans went free, and fought the Japanese Sea one.”

“We really need to find them names that aren’t just their location.”

“Well, do you have any ideas?”

“... Kevin.”

“Alright, I’m gonna tell Graham, but I don’t think she’s gonna like it.” Stanton commented, Florès shrugging and taking the disc. “Anyway, they fought, Antartica won, and we got a ton of new stuff to work with.”

“Please tell me there’s a video I can go off of for context on these noises in there.”

“Oh yeah, you should be fine.”

“Alright, cool.” There was a pause. “Get out of my office.”

As the mechanic turned back around, sitting at his computer and putting his headphones one as Stanton left, Madison spoke. “Laughing.”

“... what?”

“The Titan that fights the blue-haired one. He just laughs the entire time.”

“... right, you were there.” Florès remembered. “Is there anything more you think you can tell me about these guys?”

-

“- so yeah. We don’t know where the Iwato Titan went, just that he went underground, the Infant Titan is currently flying to Skull Island, the Japanese sea Titan is going back to Isla de Mara, and we also don’t know where the Antartica Titan is.” A scientist explained to Serizawa, who nodded as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

First, Emma goes rogue and frees the Antartica Titan, and now the only Titan who’s not on the move was the Mara one!? At least, they were getting a lot of data on Titans out of this mess. 

And the government deciding to get involved in their business now really did not help. “So not only have you lost sight of over half of the Titans currently known Titans, but one of your officials caused the early awakening of three!?”

“My daughter’s life was on the line, and seeing as they already killed a good chunk of our staff because your military thought we were overreacting and refused to act in time, I had reasons to believe they would not hesitate on following through with those threats.” Emma retorted, standing next to Serizawa with an unrepentant expression. Her husband was standing back a bit, clearly overwhelmed with what his wife had been doing.

“Everyone, we’ll focus on what to do with Dr. Russell once we have the situation back under control.” Graham intervened. “For now, we need to find where the Antartica Titans went, especially since the only thing we know for sure about them is that they’re brothers-”

“SERIZAWA!!!” Said scientist turned in shock, seeing Florès tumble out of the elevator and run toward him, before stopping. He was visibly out of breath as he tried to speak, and English seemed to escape him. “Titanes... tormentas... ubicación...”

“Take a deep breath, Florès.” The older man told him, the mechanic nodding and taking a large gulp of air before resuming.

“Are there any freak electrical storms that started over the last few hours?” He suddenly asked, looking extremely worried.

“I-” They turned toward the computer screen, pulling up a map of the planet. Indeed, there was what looked like a rapidly growing storm slowly moving away from the South African coast. “... Yes. How did you-”

“We have a base around there, right?” Florès asked again, Graham the one nodding this time. “Can we use that base to send one of those super-fast drone after the storm?”

“Why?”

“I think it’s where the Antartica Titans are hiding.” Was all the mechanic said. Graham looked at Serizawa for a moment, unsure, but sent out the order to send out a drone the moment he nodded. When the beeping point reached the border of the storm, she pulled up a small video, showing the inside of said storm.

As the drone advanced in the storm, it eventually found three shadows in it’s center, only illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning. They seemed to be walking on the clouds, golden hair moving behind them as if they were underwater and rain drops highlighting their silhouette. 

Suddenly, a faint noise, somewhere between a chirp and a growl could be heard, following by the silhouette on the right turning toward the drone and sending an electrical bolt toward it. Contact was lost soon after.

They all turned toward the programmer “How did you know they would be within a storm?” Mark asked Florès, who shook his head.

“That’s not important. What’s important is: where are they heading?” Florès asked, Graham immediately checking the map.

“North-west.” She answered as Mark came closer.

“Is there anything of note in that direction? Like another Titan?” He asked, and realization struck Serizawa.

“... Isla de Mara.” The older scientist muttered under his breath, horrified.

“What could they possibly have to do with the Mara Titan!?”

“Well, you said Titans showed animalistic behavior, right?” Mark asked, Emma nodding as he turned back toward the screen. “If that’s the case, he’s probably going there for food, a fight, or a f- something more intimate.”

The look on Florès’ face was almost comical in it’s sheer terror. “You really need to learn how to steel your nerves.” Serizawa commented, turning toward the younger man and making him snap out of his thoughts.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Florès started, visibly at the end of his patience. “Am I the only one who remembers that the Mara Titan LIVES IN AN ACTIVE VOLCANO!? If the Antartica ones are going there for any of those options, and considering that all four of them are already fucking with the laws of reality by existing, none of these options look good!”

“Especially if they land on Mara.” Emma continued, horror slowly dawning on her. “Whatever they’re planning on doing to the Mara Titan- Florès stop making that face, it’s probably fighting- we need to find a way to draw them away from it.”

“Or move the Mara one!” Florès exclaimed, turning toward Serizawa. “I- we could use the ORCA to draw the Mara Titan away from it’s territory and into the storm, taking their fighting away from civilians, buying us time to evacuate the island and maybe an opportunity to kill them.”

“What!?” Serizawa exclaimed, turning toward Florès as if he had just spouted something ridiculous. “You do realize that killing a Titan could have devastating ecological consequences-”

“Mara lives in a volcano, and I’m pretty sure Antartica has been frozen for longer than the current continents have been a thing. I doubt either of their death would cause such a big impact.” Florès countered, frowning. “Plus, we didn’t know the Mara Titan was a thing, right? Maybe there’s others that are still hibernating.”

“You don’t get it.” Graham started, pulling a few files out of her desk and handing them to the younger man to read. “Back when Monarch was first formed, we did try to kill one of the Titans in 1954, by dropping an atomic bomb on it. Not only did it not work, the Titan ended up absorbing the energy and leaving no trace of it ever being set off behind!”

“Mierda...” He muttered under his breath.

“Still, with the kind of storm they’re setting off,” Admiral Stenz started, everyone turning toward the screen, “It would be in everyone’s best interest if you were to get rid of them.”

“Didn’t you hear Graham?” Emma snapped. “Atomic weapons won’t work.”

“... well...” Serizawa muttered to himself... “I might have an idea... Colonel Foster! We’re going to need the Argo, and an emergency evacuation of Isla de Mara.” The colonel nodded, getting her talkie-walkie out and directing the soldiers around the base of Serizawa’s instructions. “Graham, go get Coleman and Stanton. Florès, you’re coming with me, and remember to take the ORCA. Russell, after the stunt you pulled, you need to stay here.”

“Can I come?” Mark asked, Serizawa nodding.

“We’ll need as much help as we can with what’s coming.”

[ashe-wottlin]

Rules: Always post the rules. Answer 11 random questions posted for you. Create 11 new ones and tag 11 people. Let the person who tagged you know that you answered.

I was tagged by @asleepinawell​

1. Favorite TV show opening credits?

I truly love Tokyo Ghouls opening song Unravel so much that that’s my auto answer, but Ruroni Kenshin’s first opening Freckles is fucking bad ass, like, I saw that over 10 years ago and it still goes hard man (also FMA 2003 opening 2 and 4, and all of FMA:B are great and also fucking Death Note I’m really indecisive okay). But if you mean non anime um, iZombie because I sing it like a loser every god damn time even when I’m trying not to

2. What’s a place you’ve visited that makes you feel calm?

 Austin’s Botanical gardens/botanical gardens in general, there’s hardly ever people and it’s full of flowers and little waterfalls and just so pretty and quiet it’s great

3. What’s a random moment from one of your favorite shows that makes you laugh whenever you remember it?

Sokka getting high on cactus juice “It’s the quenchiest!” 

4. If you could have any pet (real or imaginary), what would you choose?

Pocket Dragon, more dangerous than pocket sand, adorable, small and ferocious and cuddly like a cat

5. Favorite comfy/lounging around the house clothes?

Black Boxer Briefs and my Swype Tshirt 

6. Favorite type of hot beverage? (specific type too if applicable…like jasmine tea).

Passion Fruit Tea

7. A book/show/movie/game/etc you experienced as a kid that impacted your life?

If we count 13-18 as still a kid, Imagine Me and You helped me accept I liked girls a bit better, if 12 and under for kid then god I’ve blacked out a lot of my childhood fuck if I know? Rugrats was my favourite show and definitely impacted my life in some way I’m sure

8. Last book/fic that you read and enjoyed?

Space Western AU is my lifeforce tbh 

9. You are allowed to plan a one-day long vacation/adventure with unlimited funding. What do you do? (time to travel to/from destinations does not need to be included in the 24 hours unless you want a party plane or something idk).

Am I allowed to bring a friend? Cause if so I wanna go spelunking (I mean going to see the Great Barrier Reef before it dies should also be in that 24 hours too, but like let me explore underwater caves with my best friend for a day, how cool would that be). Like that could be like a half day or like a 3/4 of it, and then like just popping around the world for some really awesome food, I’m assuming sleep is for the weak in this 24 hours so then let’s just imagine i have like 4 hours left and I want to go see a volcano, realize that the smell of sulphur is gross and then like say screw that and go somewhere that we couldn’t normally go, like see a normally sold out musical like Hamilton (or like can I make the original cast of Wicked get back for a show I want that more) 

10. You’ve been selected to join an epic battle in a fantasy world. What type of badass weapon do you choose (sword, crossbow, pike, etc…not guns)?

So my heart says cool ass sword or like dual blades, but my heart also says a bad ass staff with magical powers, but also I wanna make greek fire and set traps for the opposing army so like idk any of those would be perf

11. A strange old lady at the crossroads offers you a choice between 1) a vast sum of wealth that you will never have to pay taxes or get audited on, 2) the ability to read minds, 3) a pet velociraptor named Feathers who will love you unconditionally (and won’t eat your existing pets). Which do you choose? (please note that options 2 and 3 cannot be bought with option 1. stop trying to be clever).

Is my vast sum of money enough to buy a velociraptor and the proper people to help me train her to not eat my existing pets and let me pet her? Like it doesn’t have to be that specific one named Feathers. Otherwise I still want the wealth and I’ll just move to Germany, travel the world, play a shit ton of games, and then live a boring life without the fear of starving or dying in general

tagging: @kat-anni​, @finickyfox​, @like-all-good-lions​, @sociallyanxiousdragon​, @mayicee​

1. Favourite song on the radio when you were in Elementary

2. Favourite Superhero sidekick 

3. If you could change the world to follow your preferred sleep schedule what time would people start their day? 

4. If you were to make an Aesthetic blog what would be on it?

5. What is your karaoke song that pulls at you to sing it even if you don’t normally sing in front of people (or if you do, the one that you absolutely want to sing)? 

6. Your preferred bag to hold things, is it a backpack/messenger bag/clutch/what???

7. If you were a cartoon character and could only wear one outfit for the rest of your life (not counting if you needed something different for work, this is your daily out and about outfit), what would it look like?

8. How often do you get sucked in for clickbait/buzzfeed quizzes

9. Favourite Meme OF ALL TIME

10. If you could learn everything for one obscure thing that would have no impact on your life (like how to make glass or the location of that place in ye old ancient times that no one bothered to write the actual location to because everyone knew where it was that kind of obscure) what would it be?

11. Instrumental music: Strings or Piano, you can’t have both and I’m ignoring the other instruments like wind and drums.

[slayerbook]

Talkin’ Tori

This is one of my career highlights. I quickly talked to the goddess Tori Amos about her entire catalog (to that point), in terms of characters she was representing in the songs, and how the related to her real personality. At the end of it, she said it was a good interview. (And at the beginning, she said “Hi, Ferris!”) So I’ll take that.

Man. The vagaries of online content. One of my favorite pieces doesn’t fully exist online anymore. Writer brothers and sisters, never trust anybody to archive your stuff.

Little Earthquakes turned 25 today, which doesn’t seem right, but hey, you know? The “how’s that thought for ya?” from “Silent All These Years” might be the best STFU in the history of pop music. So, if you came to this blog for metal content, rest assured: Tori is metal as shit.

Anyhow, here’s Tori, from 2007. Various incomplete versions of it are floating around on some VVM-affiliated sites, but this is the full director’s cut. Some of the supergenius editors gave the pieces imaginative, reverent, respectful titles like “Piano Girl” and “Tori Goes Schizo” — I didn’t write that shit.

Content after the jump...

The Amos Posse

Patron Saint of Piano Girls Looks Back at the Women Who Sang Her Songs

       Tori Amos has taken to the road with the girls of American Doll Posse, her catchiest release in years. It’s her tenth studio album -- if you count the eponymous debut of her self-titled group Y Kant Tori Read, a cringe-inducing hair-rock serenading of material excess in 1980s Los Angeles, where she actually spent her early 20s scraping by, playing piano in hotel cantinas and bars.

       The new album finds that young singer grown into a mother and world traveler who’s riding with good company: The songs are delivered in the voice of four other characters, each further realized through her own costume and blog: Isabel the indignant politico photographer, Clyde the wounded soul-seeker, Pip the fierce rubber enthusiast, and Santa the glitzy sensualist. They’re also on tour.

            For this trek, Amos is performing sets over two hours long. They’ll close with a set by Tori and her band. She’ll play solo on her Bösendorfer piano. And she’ll take the stage dressed and in character as one of the Posse -- Amos says she doesn’t finalize a set list and decide which girl will perform until an hour before the show.

            Even if they can’t travel, Tori’s loyal legion can catch every show. The night of each concert – if everything goes as planned – official bootlegs called Legs and Boots will be available on ToriAmos.com.

            The cast of characters is the album’s narrative hook and talking point, but it’s not a new approach for Amos. After her proper solo debut, 1992’s starkly autobiographical Little Earthquakes, she’s since branched into more oblique lyrics and presented different characters in many of her songs. Amos talked to Scene about all her albums and the women who sang them. Visit blogs.CleveScene.com for an expanded version of Amos’ look at her entire catalog.

 Of the American Doll Posse characters, which is least like you?

“The least like me, the way I’ve known me all these years, would be Santa. She was patterned after Aphrodite [the Greek goddess of love, lust, and beauty, the counterpart of the Roman Venus]. I thought she was a tart. After really immersing myself in her story, I began to see how she would use her sexuality, and how she was really comfortable with her body. She didn’t live a life of guilt where men decided how she felt about her physicality.”

 Was The Beekeeper [2005] more a character or concept?

“I didn’t see it as a character. It was more about the structure of the garden, and I like the idea that songs were coming from an expression in nature. And we developed each song coming from a specific garden. And I liked that, especially since our Biblical story starts in a garden. As a minister’s daughter, I don’t accept that their read of history is the accurate read. So the Beekeeper was really about another viewpoint of the feminine coming from the garden.”

 And Scarlet’s Walk [2002] was more of an overt alter-ego?

“Yes. [Scarlett’s Walk] was a journey through America, post 9/11, trying to go back and cross the country, trying to find ancient sacred sites the spiritual vortexes that Native Americans have held secret and sacred. Scarlet is a woman, but she is a thread that is weaving across the country, trying to remember the story of the real keepers of this land, who had been practically erased from our history.”

 In the cover-songs album Strange Little Girls [2001], each song was a character-driven narrative. Did you feel particularly close to any of them?

“It’s not that I related to some of them more than others. I think [Eminem’s] ’ ‘97 Bonnie and Clyde’ was powerful, because the song itself – when you have a woman murdered in the back [seat of a car] -- I took the point of view that she wasn’t quite yet dead. And all men have to remember: When their wives aren’t quite yet dead, that’s the most dangerous five minutes.”

 To Venus and Back [1999] had some abstract lyrics, but was it pretty much Tori?

“You had a double album of the live show -- a collection of songs that had accumulated for many years, and then you had the future as we were approaching the millennium. It seem to me that the Earth, as it was approaching the millennium, needed a girlfriend. And so Venus seemed to me a friend for her to have.”

From the Choirgirl Hotel [1998] had some very obviously personal songs like “Spark,” but did “Playboy Mommy” or “Jackie’s Strength” represent a character?

“In a way, as you’re composing, the songs are their own entities. And they don’t have arms and legs, but they do have consciousness. As a composer, I’m able to contain the song and write it and translate it. Because you shape-shift. I make it as a half-decent playwright: Characters can embody you. They come and they visit.”

 Boys for Pele [1996] was based on some of your experiences beyond the average every-day. Where were you for that album?

“That album, I was stepping into, in a big way, the confrontational side of the psyche. And having spent some time in Hawaii with [volcano goddess] Pele herself, I was in a place where I began to question the authority of the male. So, in a way, I think there was a bit of Boudica, the great warrior women.”

 Under the Pink [1994] was departure form very direct, very literal Little Earthquakes. Did you see songs like “Past the Mission” as more of a creative narrative?

“I was spending some time in New Mexico, and I was studying the history of the Spanish and the conquistadors came in and set up the missions, and subjugated the native people to Christianity, because their beliefs were thought of as something of the devil, blasphemous. And, of course, that justified all [the conquistadors’] killing, slavery, and abuse. So I guess as a minister’s daughter, I’m made up of many characters – we all are. Any good writer, I think, maybe just allows themselves a little more freedom to let different aspects out.”

 Was Little Earthquakes [1992], as it seems, straight-up you?

“It’s a diary form, I would say – a journal. But you really can only write your journal once, in my opinion. I think you can maybe write it twice. But you need to have a lot of time lapse before you write the second one.”

 When you look back at Y Kant Tori Read [1988], can you relate to that girl, all these years later?

“What I understand about that is: When you get rejected as a composer for so many years, if you are a capable composer, you can pretty much compose anything. And my natural inclination as a writer was not going to be thwarted by the record companies, and I couldn’t sing in another bar for much longer; I’d done it for 11 years. So everyody has a different breaking point. And I realized: Unless I would write something that they felt they would sign, I was never gonna get out. So, of course, I chose to give them what I thought was a contemporary sound at the time, a pop-rock record. And I guess when you shop at Retail Slut one too many times, that’s what that’s what it’s going to look like.”

[leycaria-blog]

Lloyd of the Dance

IT’S CHRIIIIIIIIIIIISTMAAAS! Like hell it is. Personally, I think there should a blanket ban on all Christmas products and advertising until the first of December. Anyone caught violating it would be suspended upside down in a chimney until Christmas Day as penance. Of course I’m excluding advent calendars, but I think of them as advent products rather than Christmas products, and banning them until December makes them very difficult to use properly. Regardless, I think I’ve made the point that I maintain a steadfast attitude of Bah Humbug until the twenty-fifth is actually in sight, so you can imagine my outrage as the Christmas adverts started coming out of the woodwork.

I’ll start with a bizarre and disgusting advert that, to be honest, has nothing to do with Christmas. Yesterday I had the misfortune of watching Oasis’ new advert for a product they aren’t selling. They’re following on from that bizarre and disgusting thing a couple of years ago where an advert had two pretend strangers kiss for the first time in front of a video camera. I can’t even remember what it was advertising, but the clinical aura and the sense of unease it imbued in the viewer was difficult to forget, and in a bid not to be forgotten Oasis has gone for the same thing. Two strangers are asked to drink from a single Oasis bottle with a cap at both ends, one which isn’t even a real product. Surprisingly enough, this results in hesitant scenes, mostly culminating in both gagging and spraying a mixture of saliva and Oasis juice drink all over the room and each other. Unpleasant doesn’t quite cover it. I don’t even know what it was trying to say, that Oasis is so good you’ll be willing to ingest someone else’s putrid, curry flavoured mouth gunk just for a sip? I’ve no idea who though this advert might have been a good idea, because it really isn’t. I’ve never really tried Oasis, and I’m certainly not going to now that I’ve permanently associated it with the image of two people spitting on each other.

Of course, the Oasis advert is just trying to tie in to the current fashion in advertising, that of seeming friendly and promoting social unity or whatever. In theory, I don’t have a problem with people trying to bring a little more love and understanding into the world, but when the message is being put across by a multinational cooperation I start to lose my faith in whether it’s actually genuine. While the advert remains disgusting, I get the principle of bringing people together. However, when this is being said by Coca-Cola, who on a fundamental level couldn’t care less about togetherness provided people keep buying their cans of liquid sugar, my natural cynicism kicks in and I start seeing such adverts as little more than an attempt to sell more drinks by associating them with something that people want at that moment in time, which is all an advert really is, if you think about it. Usually I wouldn’t care, like when they use Star Wars to advertise toothbrushes or whatever Star Wars is advertising at the moment, but I do think that the world could stand to be a little more united so the thought of massive companies pretending to care just to make themselves even richer genuinely angers me.

In my eyes, banks are the worst offenders. I’m aware that I’ve had this little rant before, but I was out of ideas for this week so I’m doing it again. The bloody Lloyds adverts have been around for a while now, with their new slogan, ‘By your side’, which makes me want to wretch. I mean, they’re all crap, but the mental health one angers me so much I try to avoid it whenever I can. It’s a good advert. It makes an excellent point about mental health and recognising it, which I suppose isn’t surprising when you consider that it was made with Mental Health UK. If this was just an advert promoting mental health awareness I would fully support its broadcast, but I just can’t for the simple principle that it was made by a BANK. Banks are not ‘by your side’. Banks are the wretched monoliths which tower above capitalism like volcanoes, just waiting to burst and pour rock and fire down on the poor people below. Banks are businesses. They can dress themselves anyway they want, put silly hats on or wrap themselves in sheep’s wool but the fact remains, they don’t care about you. They don’t care about your family, your health or your mental health. It makes no difference to them whether you live or die or are sold into slavery providing you keep giving them money. I’m well aware that there’s probably a significant number of people in the UK suffering from mental health problems because of Lloyds’ bringing them to financial or physical ruin. They don’t care about people, they care about profit, so pretending to have such noble goal doesn’t endear them to me, it just drives my ire as they profane something so worthy of respect. I suppose the slogan isn’t too inaccurate after all. If you sign any contract with Lloyds, they will be by your side for life. They’ll follow wherever you go, keeping to the shadows and just biding their time, waiting until either the world destroys you or they do so they can siphon off whatever’s left of your life as profit. By your side indeed.

All right, now you know quite how angry I am at the moment, let’s finally hit Christmas. John Lewis! Ever since that incredibly trite advert a few years ago with the boy and the baked beans the world has been watching your Christmas advert, and they’ve been going downhill from what wasn’t a high summit in the first place. This year they decided to cut all ties and do nothing to do with Christmas or John Lewis, instead showing a two minute trailer for an upcoming Elton John biopic. The implication is that if you buy something like a piano from John Lewis for Christmas, the recipient may then metamorphose into Elton John. It’s completely ludicrous. John Lewis only started selling pianos this year, just to get their advert to make sense. You get the feeling that they booked Elton John for the job then just sat back and watched a Flog It marathon. “Ought we try to write something for this year’s Christmas advert?”                                         “Nah. We’ve got Elton John.” I find it hard to believe that the planning of the advert went any other way. It’s a film about Elton John. That’s it. They end with the tagline – ‘Some gifts are more than just gifts’, which is true, but ignores the fact that 99.99% of gifts are. They certainly are if they come from John Lewis, they even have a section of their website labelled ‘Gifts’. I’m not even going to touch on how clicking that brings you to a rather sexist page for ‘Gifts for her’ and ‘Gifts for him’. I don’t think my poor laptop would survive.

Sainsbury’s! Oh no, just because John Lewis’ efforts were pitiful doesn’t mean you’re getting away with it. Sainsbury’s decided to copy John Lewis’ advert from earlier this year, the one with the school production, only they changed the song from Bohemian Rhapsody to the New Radicals’ You Get What You Give, which when you listen to the lyrics seems an interesting choice. It followed that pattern we saw in Love Actually and those dire Nativity films, where the school nativity becomes an amazing festival of music and amazing costumes that stirs the soul. In many ways it just seems mocking to actual parents who have to go to real nativity productions, which are inevitably just half an hour of four year olds with dish cloths on their head wandering about among other four year wearing bad cow suits and singing simple songs very quietly. To be fair, I’m only talking about the final number of the nativity in Love Actually where the girl comes out and sings All I Want for Christmas is You. The rest is more true to life, and the finale is played for comic effect. Just to be clear, I LIKE that film. My word, you’re unlikely to ever hear me say that in this column again.

Having said that, I actually don’t mind Tesco’s advert. It does what it needs to, shows lots of attractive food and just generally gives a sense of festive relaxation. It’s not a master class in film making, it isn’t going to shatter the earth, but it’s certainly the best offering so far. It does what was asked of it. Oh yes. You’ve seen it coming haven’t you. I’m getting ready. In less than one sentence I’m now going to segue into The Apprentice! The link of course being that Jackie and Khadija completely failed to do what was asked of them in the hairdresser’s courtyard during this week’s gardening task. Rather than jet wash the place as requested, they poured water on the floor and then brushed all of the dirt that had lifted from under the plant pots into the centre. It was not a good showing. They are ridiculously lucky that their team won. Khadija didn’t even seem to understand how a leaf blower works, and I don’t mean the mechanics of it, I mean that it blows leaves. I’ve no idea how long she spent in that courtyard blowing leaves around, but given that there was nowhere for the leaves to go, the fact that she tried at all indicates a condemnable fault in reason. Did she think that a leaf blower blew leaves out of existence? Then Jasmine and Sabrina claimed to have renovated a rooftop by painting odd planks of a bench yellow and dotting Homebase plants about in their sale pots. I hope they at least took the prices off.

To be honest, I don’t think that Kayode deserved to be fired. There were people on the other team who were far more deserving. However, he did dress up in a daffodil hood and call himself the sunflower guy, which is difficult to ignore, and he had a howler in the pitch last week, even though it wasn’t explicitly his fault. So farewell Kayode. You weren’t useless, but you were rubbish.

[ifeelwaytoomuch]

1: Name: Agostina.

2: Age: 16.

3: 3 Fears: To speak in almost every way, people who are better than me, to be alone.

4: 3 things I love: Cats, music and the sims.

5: 4 turns on: eye contact, being a nice human being, respect and red or black shirts.

6: 4 turns off: Acting childish, being rude, too many emojis, and being too cheesy.

7: My best friend: She doesn’t have a tumblr as far as I know.

8: Sexual orientation: Straight.

9: My best first date: I went out many times but with a same person, so I only had one first date, so that’s the best one I had.

10: How tall am I: 156cm.

11: What do I miss: School, friends in there, having something to do.

12: What time were I born: At midnight.

13: Favorite color: Black or blue.

14: Do I have a crush: Not exactly, I think not.

15: Favorite quote: Too many.

16: Favorite place: Anywhere as long as I’m with my friends.

17: Favorite food: I don’t have one

18: Do I use sarcasm: My third language.

19: What am I listening to right now: Drive - Halsey.

20: First thing I notice in new person: Eyebrows.

21: Shoe size: 37. 

22: Eye color: Black coffee brown, they seem black at first sight but they’re actually a really dark brown.

23: Hair color: Brown, like dark chocolate

24: Favorite style of clothing: Idk, I just wear what I like.

25: Ever done a prank call: Yes.

26: ? I just realized 26 it’s not here lol 

27: Meaning behind my URL: Young Volcanoes by Fall Out Boy. That song is really beautiful. It means a lot to me, and reminds me of my sister aka my angel, we are the young volcanoes. AND I’M THE FUCKING YOUNG VOLCANO BRO.

28: Favorite movie: Flipped and Big Hero 6.

29: Favorite song: Young Volcanoes has a deep meaning to me, as I said before.

30: Favorite band: All Time Low. 

31: How I feel right now: Happy, bored, 

 32: Someone I love: My sister. 

33: My current relationship status: Single as fuck.

34: My relationship with my parents: Bad

35: Favorite holiday: Winter vacations.

 36: Tattoos and piercing i have: None :c

37: Tattoos and piercing i want: Way too many.

38: The reason I joined Tumblr: It’s a cool site to express my feelings without limitations.

39: Do I and my last ex hate each other?: I never had a serious relationship, I had a kind of bf but it only lasted like three days. I can’t stand him and he still wants me back (even tough i’v been a bitch, idk whats wrong with that boy)

40: Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night” texts?: Sometimes.

41: Have I ever kissed the last person you texted?: No, but it’d be cool to do it someday.

42: When did I last hold hands?: In a romantic way? Two months I think.

43: How long does it take me to get ready in the morning?: 20 minutes, but it takes me 30 minutes to be completely awake.

44: Have You shaved your legs in the past three days?: Surprisingly I did.

45: Where am I right now?: A medical center.

46: If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me?: My friends. I wouldn’t get drunk if I didn’t have any friends with me.

47: Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level? Reasonable.

48: Do I live with my Mom and Dad?: Yeah.

49: Am I excited for anything?: Maybe, yeah.

50: Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to?: Nope.

51: How often do I wear a fake smile?: Half of the time.

52: When was the last time I hugged someone?: Like an hour ago, my sis. 

53: What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me?: I’d probably laugh.

54: Is there anyone I trust even though I should not?: No

55: What is something I disliked about today?: The day just started, it’s 10am, so nothing yet.

56: If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?: My soulmate.

57: What do I think about most?: If I will find where I belong someday, or who I belong.

58: What’s my strangest talent?: Idk. 

59: Do I have any strange phobias?: Ballons.

60: Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?: Behind.

61: What was the last lie I told?: Saying I didn't have electricity last night, so someone wouldn't think I ignored them.

62: Do I prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?: I prefer texting in the first place, but I think talking in the phone.

63: Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens?: I don’t know, who am I to decide what do exist and whan doesn’t?

64: Do I believe in magic?: Not at all.

65: Do I believe in luck?: I think not, I believe in destiny.

66: What’s the weather like right now?: Sunny, and it's really hot outside. I can't stand summer. 

67: What was the last book I’ve read?: Flipped, by Wendelin Van Draanen. Favorite.

68: Do I like the smell of gasoline?: A bit.

69: Do I have any nicknames?: Nope :(

70: What was the worst injury I’ve ever had?: I had a deep cut in my hand once, the scar is still there.

71: Do I spend money or save it?: Both.

72: Can I touch my nose with a tongue?: No.

73: Is there anything pink in 10 feet from me?: As far as I can see, nope.

74: Favorite animal?: Cat. 

75: What was I doing last night at 12 AM?: Sleeping.

76: What do I think is Satan’s last name is?: Torres.

77: What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it?: The whole Save Rock And Roll album, Missing You ny All Time Low, Be Who You Are by You Me At Six, and much more.

78: How can you win my heart?: Dedicating me a song.

79: What would I want to be written on my tombstone?: “Died because of her stupidity.”

80: What is my favorite word?: How could I pick one?

81: My top 5 blogs on tumblr: Idk.

82: If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say?: I'd either say fuck you all, or blast a whole rap song.

83: Do I have any relatives in jail?: Nope.

84: I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power?: Shape lifting.

85: What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on?: “How is your lovelife?”

86: What is my current desktop picture?: A song lyric.

87: Had sex?: No.

88: Bought condoms?: No.

89: Gotten pregnant?: No.

90: Failed a class?: Yes.

91: Kissed a boy?: Yes.

92: Kissed a girl?: No

93: Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain?: No.

94: Had job?: No.

95: Left the house without my wallet?: Yes.

96: Bullied someone on the internet?: Idk, I hope not.

97: Had sex in public?: No.

98: Played on a sports team?: Not oficially

99: Smoked weed?: No.

100: Did drugs?: No.

101: Smoked cigarettes?: No.

102: Drank alcohol?: Yes.

103: Am I a vegetarian/vegan?: Nope, I would like to.

104: Been overweight?: Yes

105: Been underweight?: No.

106: Been to a wedding?: Yes

107: Been on the computer for 5 hours straight?: Yes.

108: Watched TV for 5 hours straight?: Yes.

109: Been outside my home country?: No.

110: Gotten my heart broken?: Yes.

111: Been to a professional sports game?: No.

112: Broken a bone?: No.

113: Cut myself?: That one didn’t count.

114: Been to prom?: No.

115: Been in airplane?: No.

116: Fly by helicopter?: No.

117: What concerts have I been to?: None.

118: Had a crush on someone of the same sex?: In a platonic way

119: Learned another language?: Yes (my main language is spanish).

120: Wore make up?: Yes.

121: Lost my virginity before I was 18?: I'm 16, chill.

122: Had oral sex?: No.

123: Dyed my hair?: Sadly, no

124: Voted in a presidential election?: No.

125: Rode in an ambulance?: No.

126: Had a surgery?: I think when I was a new born baby.

127: Met someone famous?: No.

128: Stalked someone on a social network?: Yes.

129: Peed outside?: Yes.

130: Been fishing?: I saw others fish.

131: Helped with charity?: No.

132:Been rejected by a crush?: Yes.

133: Broken a mirror?: Yes.

134: What do I want for birthday?: A CD player, CDs, a cellphone, idk, whatever.

I did this a while ago on my other acc, and I wanted to check how many things changed since then, It’s been a few,

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Okay so ik ur in he middle of writing a series rn but do you think you might ever revisit “the bad guy” & maybe do a part 2 where like another enemy comes along and y/n, e and gray have to maneuver thru it?? I’m sorry if you’ve already answered this but I am so hooked on these characters it’s not even funny. I’ll dead ass be in a lecture thinkin about their love story & the dynamic they had w/eachother. It reminds me sm of daisy & gatsby especially w/the national anthem vibes. Ughh I love it!💕

I love that you still think about them, cause I do too. I honestly had no plans, but I do have something written in case I change my plans.

It's totally unedited and filled with imperfections, but this is how I saw their story evolve next.

If anyone is interested, let me know. 💕

The Bad Guy - preview of a possible part two

He opens his eyes, the darkness around him seemingly moving through the cracks and pushing in. His right arm falls open to the side as he struggles to breathe, blindly reaching out for his nightstand, the top drawer where his inhaler resides. While his right hand struggles to grasp what nature intended to be his cure, his left one taps around the bed for his real remedy - his saving grace.

Finally finding the pump, he takes one puff for the wheezing to stop, allowing his mind to function properly.

His left hand comes up empty, void of what he holds dear and he sits up madly, looking around the room in a daze.

She's not there.

His already wild heart beats fast, letting his hands and feet numb further than when he awoke from his sleep.

But was it all a dream? Was Y/N ever real? If she is, did Mikhail really take her from him?

The questions in his mind drive him up the wall, his arms shaking and legs no longer able to hold him up, so he remains seated. Gripping at his hair, he feels the panic seep in, overtaken with cold sweat and trembling chin.

She must be real. He felt it in his heart. She wasn't just a dream, but her being gone could be more than his imagination.

She's not here.

Had she been there, she'd surely be tucked into his side, her cold feet warming on his calfs or at the very least she'd drape a leg over him.

She's not here.

It's more than panic, paralyzing him. He can't breathe, his lungs are heavy. He feels the air around him, pressing in, overwhelming. He finds his phone, pressing number one on instinct, knowing he had put her in because she's his number one girl. If she is his, she is always his number one dial.

The line goes silent, his mind unable to process the generic response of the caller not being available, eyes widened and a lump forming in his throat.

Wanting to scream, he chuckles because there he is, a man who fears nothing and yet he's absolutely lost in his fear of losing one girl he is no longer sure exists.

Columbia.

"If she's real, that's where she'll be." He whispers to himself, scrambling to his feet without putting on any clothes. Only in his briefs, Grayson runs out of his mansion and sits into his Porsche, driving at illegal speed toward where he might find her.

One of the cops recognize his car, not stopping him. As if he would stop.

Finally on campus, he parks in front of her dorm and rushes out.

Room 23, he thinks, already finding himself before the red door and his heart stumbles on itself when he realizes she must be there. He can't be imagining everything, believing he isn't that creative.

Connecting his fist with the door, he pounds on it impatiently. Until the lock is heard and the door creaks open, her nose and her right eye the only parts of her peaking out.

He sees her eye widen in recognition, the door opening instantly and her worried face meeting his unsteadiness.

"Gray?"

In one move, he grabs her smaller form and presses her into his chest, folding his arms around her. His nose buried in her hair at the top of her head, his hands at her sides, crossed at her back, her arms wrapping around him as well.

"Shhh. It's okay. I'm here." Her voice is muffled by his chest, but the sound of it alone makes his heart calmer and the smell of her hair puts his mind at ease.

She doesn't fight his embrace, for this isn't the first time he came to her room completely out of his mind. Physical touch is what he needs now and not the sexual kind. He needs to feel her, breathe her in and she allows him.

Slowly pushing him in, she kicks the door close and moves him to her bed. She notes the warm, naked back and the muscular built going up and down under her fingertips, realizing he must have had a bad dream. She told him to call her if he needed her, come what may she'd be there. But here he is, in all his glory, trembling like a scared child in her dorm room.

Laying him down, Y/N snuggles into his side, enjoying his strong arms as they push her into him and the way his palms go up and down her skin to assure himself of her existence.

Tenderly, she presses kisses into his chest and neck, reminding him she's with him as she promised to be.

Ever since Mikhail nearly killed both of them, despite the man being dead, Grayson had been restless. They didn't talk much about his gang related work, knowing it upsets both of them as result. But it didn't stop Y/N from insisting Grayson finds help for his nightmares that usually led him to her door at ungodly times and all in his underwear.

Although she insisted living on her own in a dorm, she's become quite aware he needs her with him. She's been splitting her time to the best of her ability between his bed and her own, wanting to permanently give into his requests of her moving in. It's hellish, making a decision between having all she wanted in the accelerated med school programme and having Grayson, what she never thought would be an option.

"You're really here." He mumbles, eyes closed and already drifting off, failing to notice the tears in her eyes as she chooses him above all.

"I am. I always will be."

Once the morning came, Y/N's alarm wakes them both in the most frustrating way possible.

The "I like to move it" song blares, startling them and as big as Grayson is and as small as Y/N's bed is, he nearly dropped Y/N on the floor when he jumped up. Catching her mid fall, pressed against the bed frame with his arms, a scream dies kn her throat and her hands grab at him for support.

"You good?" Grayson chuckles, half thinking how he's too old, too rich for dorm rooms and half thinking how lucky he is to be in her dorm room.

"Think it's time." She grumbles, helping him pull her up into the safety of his chest, draping her leg over his stomach for a better hold.

"For what?" Grayson leaves a kiss atop her head, running his fingers up and down her arm, his ring grazing her skin lightly.

"For me to move back with you." She sighs, enjoying the feathered coldness his ring brings to her warm skin. She's always cold when she sleeps alone, yet sleeping with Grayson, a human volcano, she finds herself burning up.

Grayson's lips part, trying to hold in a confused, but excited gasp. She always makes him feel like a high school girl with a crush, still going through puberty: senselessly blind and constantly confused, wanting to gush about his feeling for her and write poems even if he's not particularly good at it.

"Didn't you say it would take you forever to get here and it would affect your grades?" Grayson asks, still holding in his true feelings. He respects how hard she works, her ambition and drive endlessly, even admires her for it, but he also wishes she'd just be with him...all the time. God knows he had more money than he can spend in seven lifetimes, she need not work a single day of her life, yet he knows how important it is for her which is why he offers his home to her every month, but never pressures her into accepting.

"Yes. But I also want to wake up in your arms every morning like this without falling on my ass. I'll just have to take my Impala and put it into use for the drives, a few hours lost is better than being away from you so long." She excuses, refusing to tell him the truth; that she's worried for him.

After all, Grayson is a head of the most formidable criminal organization, a gang as some would say, and he can't afford to show weakness and these dreams might come across as such. When she's there, the dreams tend to go away. Most of all, she makes sure he takes his prescription and attends his therapy sessions.

"You know I'd love that, but only if you're sure. It's a big move in a relationship and neither of us have much practice there. It's also a strain on you, so if you're absolutely sure, I would love nothing more." Practical, very self aware and extremely protective response put in the sweetest, most gentle way possible. There's the charming, magnetic man she loves so much. Right underneath the rubble. But she found she loves the rubble too.

"I'm sure." She lifts herself up, just barely enough to peck the tip of his nose because that always made him scrunch up and his lips whirl to the side into the cutest smile she had ever seen and that's what she loved the most - having such an effect on him that she discovers new things about him that not even Grayson himself knows.

Lazily, his hand slides down her back and rests upon her bum, squeezing it a little too hard but not enough to make it painful, although she never opposed to a little pain. Releasing the flesh he wanted to take a bite out of, he taps her gently, like a summer breeze.

"In that case, get that cute ass to class and I'll call a few people to help me move all this by the end of the day." Grayson taps her but once more, getting a happy giggle in return only prompting a crooked smile of his own to appear.

She tumbled over to her side, barely managing to survive the fall from grace she considered his chest to be, only to throw on the first thing she could find - a deep green summer dress, falling to her ankles where a tattoo rests; one she got after being saved by the members of The house of the rising sun. As her eternal gratitude, the rising sun tattoo on her right ankle will forever be there to remind her why she's able to giggle with her boyfriend while running late to class.

"And take a banana and an energy bar with you!" He commands, the change in his voice now evident to her. She could always tell when he simply suggests something in comparison to when he orders her to do something, when he dared to do such a bold thing.

Y/N didn't mind this particular demand, knowing this is just another way Grayson shows his love for her because she does forget to eat on time and his nagging helps keep her healthy and at the top of her game.

Quickly pecking his lips, she stumbles toward her door and turns around to take him in. Just for one moment longer her eyes remain on his faintly lit sculptured body, the sun rays dancing on the tan skin. His hair is a mess, his eyes tired but bright and his lips curled into a self satisfied smirk because he knows she's checking him out.

"Clothes are in the drawers." She begins, Grayson joining her for the last part to be said in unison.

"Second one from the bottom." Both smile, giving them enough soul food to survive the day.

Some would consider this a mundane thing, but for Grayson it was extraordinary, magic even. For a man who didn't think he'd live to see his thirtieth birthday, this was the epitome of happiness.

The men came quickly, packing all Y/N's things except her underwear, for Grayson had packed that before anyone even showed up. Maybe being jealous over his men seeing the sexy underwear he loked to provide her with is silly, but he wanted to be the only one with such privileges.

Just as they're leaving the day at its end, Grayson finds Ethan rushing in with a crazed look in his eyes.

"Where the fuck have you been all day?!" Ethan speaks through gritted teeth in hushed voices.

"Why?" A dark look befalls Grayson as he already knows something is happening and it's bad. It's always bad.

He spent the past year trying to make right of his wrongs, legitimize his work, but that can't ever be entirely done.

"Silver Snakes heard you closing up shop, and declared New York an open season." Ethan hissed, finding Grayson's face harden like stone.

"I am still the leader. I am still the Capo." Grayson's jaw clenches, only now seeing he and Ethan aren't alone.

"What does open season mean?" Her voice is determined, but the fear in her tone doesn't go unnoticed by either of them.

"It means they want this territory." Ethan answers instead, seeing his brother had gone back to the cold person he was before he ever met Y/N.

Grayson still considered New York his playground and he definitely had no intention giving up such a prized possession many died for him to keep.

"The Silver Snakes must have found out Gray has you now and in our world that means weakness. When one has a weakness, he can be dealt with. You're a liability." Ethan continues until Y/N starts to shake her head, her chin trembling instead of her lips because her jaw is clenched tightly enough to prevent that from happening.

"What does that mean? How does he get the territory?" Y/N insists, walking toward Grayson.

"It means Grayson has to die. Both of us. Heirs if there are any as well." And that's when her world comes crashing down once more.

"We can fight this. Them." She quickly moved ahead, standing on her tiptoes to cup Grayson's face and bring his eyes to her instead of the faraway place this piece of information took him to.

"We will prevail. As always." He noticed her speak in plural, meaning she would fight with him and although he loved her for it, that is exactly why he's so scared now. That's a part of her magic; she sees the sun even in the darkest days.