#((locke at almost 4:30am: FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

[tabbytiger]

Girlies I am so concern w my brain /rant

TL:DR My psychotic ass is going more crazy than it already was, and also dissociative amnesia needs to get off my dick because Its starting to become a danger.

I’m so glad I wrote down all the details i could remember from that near miss while I still could recall it bc that was yesterday and I can feel it’s already starting to fade away again.

Nobody honking or anything is really throwing me off bc now I’m sitting here like “Did it actually happen or did I make this up or was it a dream that I had?”

Like I’m going to forget it entirely again soon and theres nothing I can do about it.

I should be idk like going thru ptsd or something I quite literally was going to die. But I’m still sitting here feeling fine and normal, and I was fine and normal when it happened too. I don’t feel anything about it and thats really concerning me.

Instead of like being distraught over the near miss instead I cried in my car in a dmv parking lot for literally 4 hours because I was like “Why the fuck am I starting to lose days, weeks, months and even years.”

I’m not quite blacking out in the middle of a day or anything but I am only remembering bits and pieces of a day and I’m recalling things out of order. I’ve always dealt with dissociation but its never been quite this bad.

Also I’m just like. I don’t know what to believe because I have psychosis.

I’ve just been lying in bed with thoughts looping in my mind and it all looks like this:

Do I have Schizophrenia? What if this is a delusion? Maybe I just think I have it but I don’t and its making up false memories or something to go with it. Are all the stuff that I remember going through when I was a child real? Did I make that up too? If I already feel like I didn’t exist the previous days or weeks then how do I know it happened? I see that I typed out all these messages but I really feel disconnected from the person that wrote them even if that was me on that date and time.

I’m forgetting earlier points brought up literally minutes ago in a conversation, and I’m going in and out the whole time so I’m not even hearing the full thing. Its so bad that when before I would misplace like 1 thing and then find it later.

Now its like, me spinning in circles because i keep thinking about doing something while I’m actively doing something else and I’ll forget that I haven’t done what I was thinking of doing and believe that I did it only to run back downstairs because I indeed, did not do it.

Like the number of times I have left for work at 3:30am thinking and REMEMBERING that I actively put my key in, turning the lock, and locking the door, only to come back home 8 hours later to my dad telling me I didn’t lock the door.

My dad has also told me a handful of times before about something I apparently said but I don’t remember saying it in the way that he’s recalling it, and I’ll be like “I don’t remember saying that” and he’ll be like “whats wrong with you, that’s exactly what you said” but I’m suspicious that he’s making stuff up and maybe hes pulling one of his “not funny and hard to tell if he’s serious or not” jokes.

Though I’ve also had instances on VC with friends where I’ll apparently say something and forget that I said it, cuz they’ll be like “thats what you said you literally JUST said it” and I’ll be like “huh?? I don’t remember saying that” except my friends wouldn’t lie to me and try to make me think I did something I don’t remember doing so I’m just like “I can’t trust my own memory 🥴”

I was so distraught driving home I missed the 1st ramp to get on the highway, and I was actively fighting not to dissociate while driving I missed my exit and had to drive over the white lanes back into a lane. How I remembered getting home and getting there is a miracle at this point.

I think its definitely saying something if me almost dying have no effect on me, and when I think about if I had died I’m still apathetic and neutral. And part of that is also because I have been dying so much lately in my dreams (Sometimes I wake up confused because I thought that dream was real and actually happened) that I’m just like.

“Its okay If I did die, It’ll only hurt for a second, and I’ll feel regret, and then grief but then everything will be calm and all that would have happen would be that I just quietly drift off into the nothingness and It’ll be the most peaceful last thing I’ll remember.”

Like this happened recently and I deadass shot up in bed and I was so confused and disoriented I was literally making sure my body was there and that I could feel. Bc I was like “Did I reincarnate?? Did I reincarnate and very soon I’ll forget all of my past life and this is the last thought I’ll ever have of my old self?” but like no bitch its called waking up 🥴😭

[whimsicaldreemurr]

(Asriel) “You don’t have to do this.”

Send my muse ❝ you don’t have to do this ❞ and see what their reaction is.

* The ground beneath them is iced over. Their soul, projected from their locket, is cracked, slightly off-color - as if barely held together, formerly shattered. Pieced back together, bit by bit, over so many years, and now used for battle in spite of its fragile state. Why did they carry on? They weren’t even sure anymore.

* They only knew that seeing h̨̢͕̯͖͖̮͙̖͈̥͑́͑̾i̟̫͉̺͓͔̺ͧ͝m̘͔̜͖͋̂ͧ̉͌ infuriated them, in as far as they could feel infuriated. Reminded them of the years of isolation. They could’ve been together - maybe another Asriel? Maybe this one? It didn’t matter. They saw him, any version of him, and they remembered no matter how hard they tried to forget the betrayal, the loneliness, the whispers of people who were still alive, in that place between life and death. Waiting.

* They grip the knife in their hand tighter. They grip their locket with their other. They let out a breath, just one, and the edges of the circle of ice that has formed around them abruptly jut out into icicles that dare him to come near.

* “I don’t, do I?” Their voice is not exactly questioning, but thoughtful. Whatever ending this world or any other achieved, however their dearest brother turned out, none of it mattered, did it? 

* It didn’t change how they felt.

* “But I am,” they muttered, as if steeling themself for the task, before more icicles emerged from their growing barrier to launch themselves at him.

[tsukkiseasalt]

Eyes That Won’t Wonder

2

“What, what!?” You shriek.

Another low laugh erupts from him as he leans against the door, his large frame blocking any potential view of the inside.

“I believe that is a compliment.” He mumbles his lips curling up into a sly smile. 

“Y-yeah, it was.” You stammer, words barely making themselves out of you as your stomach begins to do cartwheels.  

“As much as I'd love to stay right here and chat, you’d probably find it to be much more comfortable inside.” He says, smile fully present now, and you take a moment to admire the sight-storing it in your mind. He moves enough for you to slip right past him and pause the moment your feet touch the dark hardwood floors. 

The aroma is the first thing that invades your senses. It smells of pine and a rich tobacco, with slight hints of something sweet- maybe vanilla, you can’t really tell. The home is just as beautiful on the inside as it appeared from the outside. The dark hardwood floors complimented the ivory walls and dark rust colored trim. The living room was sparsely decorated though, it had only one couch, a chestnut loveseat and a matching recliner. He obviously doesn’t get many visitors. 

“Your home is beautiful.” You say breathlessly, eyes roaming the space in awe. 

“Thank you.” He exclaims, a large hand grazing the small of your back as he slips behind you and towards the kitchen. His touch makes your knees go weak and you steady yourself by placing a shaky hand on the door.

“Would you like something to drink?” You hear him call from the kitchen.

“Ah, water please.” You answer, taking a few deep breaths before you saunter over to the counter placing your folder in front of you. He slides the glass in front of you and you nod as a thank you before you begin to sip.

“I don’t think I ever caught your name.” He says leaning back onto the fridge, arms folded over his massive chest.

“Oh, uh, my name is y/n y/ln.” You mumble your index finger rubbing the rim of the glass. 

“Lovely, it fits you.” He says, eyes catching your own. You can't help the blush that arises on your cheeks. 

“T-thank you.” You manage to stammer out, silently cursing yourself for getting so flustered so quickly. He was a patient not some guy at a bar, you needed to get a grip and you needed to get it fast. “Uhm, you’re a bit younger than most of the other patients i have worked for. Is there actually anything wrong with you?” You quiz, but the words come out a bit harsher than you intended. “Oh goodness, I did not mean that in a bad way at all sir- Mr. Wakatoshi, oh my goodness. I am so sorry.” You exhale letting your head fall into your hands. Your words are all becoming a jumbled mess and you can't help the shame that creeps up your throat. Great, now he probably thinks I'm some kind of asshole.

“No, it's okay. I understand what you were trying to say. Two years ago I had to get a disc in my back replaced and it took a lot out of me. Though I can still get around pretty well, there are still certain tasks that I need help with. I am also set to have another surgery on my knee two months from now, so I thought it would be better to have someone get accustomed to me and my habits beforehands.” He says voice monotone. Is he angry?

“Mr. Wakatoshi, I am so sorry if I came off as rude earlier- I didn’t mean to offend.” You say feeling guilty. 

He shakes his head. “You’re fine sweetheart, I’m actually quite flattered that you think that.” Before you have a chance to relish his words he starts again, “I’m going to go put some clothes on, but here. I made a list- well a schedule really- of how my day usually functions. You can look over it and if there is anything that seems to be a bit much for you let me know and we will make alterations to it.” He says walking out of the kitchen and returning with a piece of paper. “Here, I will return shortly.” He says handing you the paper. Your eyes skim the page as you read the text.

7:30am- Arrive & make coffee ( I prefer mine black)

7:45am- Read the newspaper

8:00am- Feed Randy & Lyle 

8:15am- Pour second cup of coffee & wash dishes

8:30-9:30am- 2nd Workout (If you could have a bowl of fruits waiting that would be lovely)

10:00am- Post shower stretch (Help isn’t required but appreciated)

10:30-12:00pm- Take Lyle to the park (You are more than welcomed to join us) 

12:30pm- Lunch / with Aone* (*Mon. & Thurs. only)

1:00pm- Stop at farmers market

1:30pm- Arrive home & check on Randy

1:35-4:00pm- Varies (You may leave at this time or you may stay for dinner.)

4:00-6:00pm- Prepare dinner

6:05- 6:45pm- Eat then wash dishes

All that is required of you is bolded, the italicized text is completely voluntary, though I would enjoy your company.

“Goodness.” You mumble, placing the paper down. “This is even less than I did with Washijō.” You thought you had it easy then just checking his oxygen, helping him up, and taking him wherever, but you were basically an in-home barista.

“I hope it isn't too much.” The voice startles you as he appears beside you now fully clothed- well not really. He had on a pair of dark sweatpants and a gray sleeveless shirt putting biceps on display for all to see.

“Uh, no, not at all sir. I was expecting much more actually.” You admit eyes darting between the paper and his arms. 

“Oh, well I'm sorry to disappoint you.” He says voice low as he bends down to tie his shoes. “I’m sure that there will be more for you to do after my knee surgery.”

“Yes, and I'm not disappointed sir, I'm honestly kind of relieved. I haven't worked with anyone in quite a while, so this is a good refresher to allow me to get back into the routine of things.” You say words falling from your lips before you realize it.

“Is that so?” He asks standing back up to his full height, face full of curiosity.

“Yes, my previous patient passed away and I took some time off. He and I were close, friends even, and the death really hit me hard even though I knew it was coming. It still hurts ya know.” You exclaim as feelings of sadness wash over you at the thought of your friend. 

You didn't know what you were expecting when you told him that, maybe an ‘i'm sorry for your loss’ or nothing at all but it is safe to say a hug was not one of those things. His body was warm and his chest was solid- it felt good. You wrapped your own arms around his waist and closed your eyes. 

“I hope that one day you and I could be friends as well.” He says quietly pulling away. 

You don't fight the smile that graces your face, “Yeah, I feel like we will.”

The words seem to liven him because a large smile spreads across his face again. “Well I’m gonna go lift now, feel free to look around. There's food in the fridge and snacks in the pantry. Make yourself at home.” He says walking to the back of his home.

“Oh, Mr. Wakatoshi!”

“Yes love?” He asks, turning back around, a smile still lingering on his lips.

“Who are Lyle and Randy?” You ask looking back down at the paper, partly to hide the blush that you are now sporting. “Are they your children?” 

“Yes, they are my children. I’ll introduce you when I return.” He laughs before turning back around and disappearing into a hallway.

You sigh as soon as he is out of eyesight dropping your head onto the cool marble countertop, raising your head just enough to read the time on the clock that sits unwavering by stairs. 8:37. You had just under an hour to get somewhat acquainted with the home you would now be in for ten hours a day for six days a week. You decide to begin with the kitchen, opening and closing drawers & cabinets identifying the contents within them, occasionally rubbing a light hand over them. Next is the living room. The wide open space is mostly vacant and you take a seat on the loveseat sinking back into the cushions. “Nice.” You mumble.  

Pushing yourself up you wonder to every room opening the door just enough for you to peek in and see what it is. You hesitate though when you get to the room at the end of the hallway. It’s his. You could sense it, nonetheless you slowly push the knob down and peek inside. It’s clean just like the rest of his home. You don't linger and decide its best to close the door & move onto the next. 

By 9:15  you’d looked throughout his entire home, and it was more beautiful than you could have imagined. The ceilings in the bathrooms were high and had beautiful artworks painted atop of them, they looked as though they belonged in a museum rather than someone's guest bathroom. The spare bedrooms were just as lovely. Each had a shelf that was littered with books and knick-knacks that looked foreign. All of this just fueled your curiosity- what did he do & how long did he do it?

You shrugged as you went back into the kitchen jumping when you saw his large frame in the fridge. He was shirtless, again, but this time his hair was wet and clung to his head. The small gray stripes were clear as day against his dark olive locks.

“Oh, hi. I didn’t think you’d be done yet.” You say awkwardly scratching the back of your neck.

“Yes, I finished early and decided to shower & grab a snack.” He says waving the bowl of strawberries.

“I was about to prepare one for you.” You said.

“Oh, thank you. You don't really have to do anything today, just get accustomed to things.” He says popping the small red fruit into his mouth. 

“Would you like me to stretch you out?” You ask, remembering the list. 

His eyes shoot up to yours as soon as the question escapes your lips and you realize how wrong it sounded and before you had a chance to correct yourself he spoke. “You stretch me out, I mean i’ll try anything once but i’d prefer the opposite..”

His words startled you to say the least, and almost instinctively the words flowed from your lips, “I’d like to see you try.” 

His eyes widened at your remark and at that you began to spew apologies. “Shit, fuck, DAMMIT. God, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that, the stretching part I mean. Well I meant that, but not what I said afterwards. Ok, let me start over. What I meant to say is do you need help stretching considering you just got done working out. There, that's what I meant.” 

Your eyes are frantic as they lock with his. God, it's the first day and I'm already gonna lose my damn job. Just great. His lips are pressed in a straight line for a moment before he finally lets the edge of them glide up into a small smirk. 

“I’ve already stretched, but I suppose I could go a little deeper, maybe a little harder this time.” He says emphasizing the two words as he pops another strawberry between his lips smirk still evident.

“The stretches of course.?” You ask for clarification.

He hums and pops another strawberry between his lips setting the bowl down onto the counter stalking towards you, his large figure quickly engulfing your much smaller one almost instantly. “That’s not quite what I had in mind.” 

You can feel his warm breath on your lips as he leans down, “But if that is what you insist.” 

A loud bark bellowed throughout the kitchen causing you to jump. He smiled and wrapped a protective arm around your waist. “No need to fret, he was probably just getting anxious to meet you.”

“He?”

“Yes, my son, or at least one of them. Come on so I can introduce you.” He says guiding you down the hallway, to his room you assumed. You were correct, you realized as he pushed the door open revealing a large dog. 

“Don’t worry sweetheart he doesn’t bite. Daddy made him promise to be on his best behavior.” He whispers lowly into your ear. 

Fuck, this may be harder than I thought.

hiiiiii, this is the second chapter & you can just check the tag eyesthatwontwonder to read the first. anywaysssss i hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are always appreciated <33

[deiliamedlini]

I did this Tier Ranking the other day of Zelda’s with the most to least amount of agency in their games, and I’m going to be honest... I’m still thinking about it. I was getting so annoyed when I played SS the other day because of something that happens that made me mad. So now, I’m going to rant about every single Zelda because she deserves better. 

This is my short essay on which Zelda’s have agency in their games and why. Omg if only I could have done that topic in grad school. 

So this was my list. 

Before you keep going, this is just spoiler central. So, if you haven’t played, say SS yet, heads up.

I’m going to start by saying I’ve never played the Four Swords games nor watched a playthrough. IDK why there are 4 of her, but maybe it’s just ironic to have 4 of them? But that’s my ‘don’t know’ pile. Maybe she’s epic, but I remember her being captured by Vaati in an intro to the GBA game, so I doubt it. 

~~~

Most Agency: Wind Waker Tetra, Sheik, and Spirit Tracks Zelda

I almost feel like this part of the list goes without saying. Tetra (WW) is a queen. She’s a captain, has a crew, goes where she wants, helps Link, hurts Link, literally, queen. 

Sheik should also go without saying. We don’t see a lot of Sheik actually doing things, but we know she’s doing them. She’s been all over Hyrule for 7 years training, and keeping the world spinning. During the game alone, we know she’s out there rescuing Ruto, trying to fight the spirits in the well, etc. So we don’t see it, but we know it. 

And Spirit Tracks Zelda! SHE’S YOUR LITERAL COMPANION!!! SHE’S WITH YOU THE WHOLE GAME, FINDS A WAY TO FIGHT, HELPS, IS FUNNY, IS ACTIVE IN THE KINGDOM, AND IS AN ALL AROUND UNDERATED ZELDA. She lost a little agency because she has no body, but she didn’t let it stop her. 

~~~

Good Agency: OOT Zelda, BOTW Zelda, TP Zelda

This is the “I’m in danger of being smited for including these three here” pile. OOT Zelda isn’t in it for long as adult Zelda, and she does get trapped in a crystal almost immediately, but you know she was training for years and managed to stay out of sight of Ganon. And at the end, she holds up an entire castle for you to escape. I want her on my team, but I’d prefer Sheik. Plus, this Zelda is one in SSB sooo does that count? I don’t think so but whatever. I wanted to put her lower, but I was thinking of her off screen and she managed to make it up into the ‘good’ agency pile. 

BOTW Zelda. She’s got a lot more agency in AOC than BOTW because she just runs around and basically commands the whole kingdom's army after a while, but in BOTW, she’s held back by everyone! She had the potential! She wasn’t a damsel, she was a smart cookie, she had character, but everyone was like nah girl. Go wander Hyrule doing stuff. And she did! Not because she had agency, but because everyone told her to. She wanted to work with the tech! Let her work with the tech!

And TP Zelda, my girl, I love the thought of this Zelda SO MUCH!! SHE HAS A SWORD!! SHE COULD HAVE USED IT IN THE GAME!! THE CUTSCENE WAS RIGHT THERE!!!!! But you know she defended Hyrule off screen anyway, literally fought with her soldiers to protect her people. Gave her literal life of her own accord, took full blame for things, like, no one told this girl no. She was full blown agency... except that she was locked in a tower for the whole game, then went poof, then got turned into a puppet, then only managed to show off her battle badassery in ONE SCENE aka one of the best multi-stage final boss battles. Just could have pushed her further. 

~~~

Okay Agency: Child OOT Zelda, SS Zelda, ALBW Zelda

Child Zelda. She’s a child. She gave Link an instrument and was forcibly (but thankfully) spirited away on horseback. She doesn’t really DO much at this point. But she WILL! So she’s cool, but she’s just a wee sprout still! 

SS Zelda: Don’t hit me! I love her, her general plot, and her relationship with Link. But she isn’t even allowed to hug him. She is dragged everywhere, captured MULTIPLE times, stuck in a big old amber crystal thing FOR I DON’T REMEMBER HOW LONG, nearly sacrificed, and is bombarded with memories of a life that wasn’t technically hers and she has to sort through being Hylia and not just Zelda. Poor bean. She’s not at the bottom because you can tell that before the game, she was top tier agency queen.  

ALBW Zelda is just... meh. She’s not as bad as ALTTP Zelda, but she doesn’t really do much and then gets stuck in a painting for most of the game. Points if we’re counting Smash Bros again though!

~~~

NO AGENCY: ALTTP Zelda, Oracle Zelda, OG Zelda, Minish Cap Zelda, WW Zelda, PH Tetra, Zelda II Zelda. 

ALTTP Zelda is just a sad, sad tale of ‘can you be more damsel in distress if you tried’? She: starts the game in a cell, hides in a sanctuary, is kidnapped again, is sacrificed, is stuck in a crystal, and finally, is chilling in the end credits. Girl. I’m so sorry for you. 

Oracle Zelda is apparently the same Zelda as ALTTP and it shows. She hangs out in a house and tells you the weather and then (you guessed it) is kidnapped and nearly sacrificed. This poor bean has gone through too much. 

OG Zelda literally pops up at the end of the game and is like HEY you’ve been trying to save me this whole time, in case you didn’t know. And Link’s like omg I have?? Because I don’t even remember her being mentioned outside the info pamphlet and the ending. 

Out of order, but Zelda II, she’s the most relatable, because she sleeps the whole game. She’s under a curse, wakes up, sees Link and is like damn you’re cute, and kisses him. If we use the info booklet, it gets worse and her brother used a spell to blah blah. She sleeps. That’s all she does. 

Minish Cap Zelda is so precious at the beginning of the game and you can tell her and Link are besties and I wanted more of that! AND THEN SHE’S TURNED TO STONE THE WHOLE GAME. But no, wait, she’s...... almost sacrificed in the process. Deja vu. 

Wind Waker Zelda was cool in the final scene, but she spent her entire portion of the game trapped in a basement against her will for her protection. No agency. That’s really all the poor thing gets to do as Zelda. 

THEN THE DIRTIEST OF ALL DONE DIRTY CHARACTER MOVES IS PHANTOM HOURGLASS TETRA! ONE OF THE BEST ZELDA’S REDUCED TO NOTHING! SHE IS CAPTURED IMMEDIATELY AND SPENDS THE ENTIRE GAME AS A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS WHO HAS BEEN KIDNAPPED AND TURNED TO STONE. I’m still salty and will hate Phantom Hourglass forever for many reasons, and Tetra being done dirty is one of them. 

I feel better now. If anyone actually read all this and has other thoughts on this, I’m fired up and ready to talk because who needs to sleep at 1:30am? Not me!!

[malleux]

Running with the Wolves [4]

masterlist ; << | >>

-> Pairing: Yuri Leclarc x Fem!Reader

-> Modern!Au | Gang!Au | Enemies to Friends to Lovers

-> Word Count: ~1.3k

-> Warnings: Cursing, Inappropriate Jokes

-> Summary: You were just a normal college student, trying to find her way in a new place. You didn't mean to get caught up in the wrong crowd. You just wanted coffee, but now you're running with the wolves.

a/n: i actually lost my taglist and idk if the people on the previous chapters still want to be on it! so please, please, please, if you were on the original taglist and still want to be notified- or if you’re new and want to be notified of new chapters- send me an ask, a message, or a reply! these are the only two i can remember who wanted to be on it.

You were never a morning person. The idea of waking up before 9 was a nightmare to you- even 9 was a little too early for your liking.

When you woke up early for classes, you were grumpy. You had an attitude with everyone who approached you, even Ellie. Everyone knew not to mess with you in the mornings.

But here, standing in Yuri's bedroom at 7:30am, you had no place to get an attitude.

Hapi was knelt at the bedside, carefully helping her injured leader sit up. He winced slightly with every movement, obviously not wanting to show weakness in front of his teammates. Unfortunately for Yuri, though, his members weren't idiots. Even you could see the flinches and tight breaths that he harbored in his chest every time he had to move and quite frankly, it was pitiful.

Hiram's eyes hadn't left you from the moment you entered Yuri's room where they all had congregated. Hapi insisted on wrapping Yuri's bandage first to reach you what do you. You were thankful- you'd never played nurse before. Especially not to a gunshot wound.

The room was quiet. Tense. You could feel everyone's weariness as Yuri slowly laid back in the bed, once more hiding his pain. Hapi patted the blankets and stood up, facing you.

"If the wound starts bleeding again, reinforce it with some dry bandages. Don't take it off if it's not bleeding. If it is, don't take it off until it's done bleeding. Yuri's had enough wounds, unfortunately, so he can help you gauge those things. We cleaned the dirt and shit out last night, so you shouldn't have to worry too much about cleaning it. Just- don't run off again. Please."

You heard the exasperation in her voice and nodded. Rhys held his hand out to you- in it, a small flip phone. You took it cautiously, still not forgetting how the silent man sliced you yesterday, and fiddled with the piece of technology.

"It's a burner phone. We'll call you after visiting both the Blue Lions and Golden Deer to give an update. Afterwards, destroy it. If you need to contact us, there's one number in the contacts list. Text it and just say the code "9653". We'll call back on a public phone. Do not use any specific words that could give away anything. Be subtle in case someone's listening. I'm smart enough to figure out what you're saying." Hiram explained.

Sensing how you absolutely refused to look at, or even acknowledge, Hiram's presence, Hapi continued. "We're about to leave. This is your last chance to redeem yourself, so we hope that you'll make the right decision. Remember, Y/N, we're not going to hurt you."

You nodded, eyes flickering to Yuri's frame. He seemed almost child-like laying in the large king bed, his eyes half-lidded as he listened to his members speak. He met your gaze and you quickly looked away, watching as the Wolves filed out of the room.

Hapi placed her hand on your shoulder. "Yuri's a little difficult to get along with, but he has good intentions. Take care of him."

"Yeah!" Hiram cackled from the hallway, "Make it up to him. Make him some breakfast, give him some head- OW!"

Hapi shook her head. "There's plenty of food in the fridge. Don't order take-out, don't have any form of outside communication besides us. Don't go looking for your phone either, Hiram destroyed it."

"Wait- he what?!" You called out, but they were gone. The house was silent after Hapi had locked the doors completely. You turned to Yuri, who was still glaring at you. "Do you want breakfast?"

"I'd like to be with my team."

Your lips pulled into a tight line and you sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Alright, I'm sorry." When he quirked an eyebrow, you explained. "I- I didn't mean to shoot you. I was scared, and I meant for it to be just a warning shot. My hands were shaking and I didn't even aim. I didn't want to hit anyone."

Yuri stayed quiet, still analyzing your form as you played with your fingers. He looked rather cute, laying there with the soft comforter stopping just below his nose. Only his eyes and the top of his head peaked out, making him seem like a pouting child. A pouting child with a gun and years of combat experience, but a child nonetheless.

"I want pancakes."

☆ ☆ ☆

Hapi was right- there were an abundance of ingredients in the kitchen of the house, ready for you to use. But there was just one problem.

You had no clue how to make pancakes.

Flour, eggs, butter, and baking powder sat on the counter, untouched by your hands as you wracked your brain. You didn't have a phone to look up a recipe. Hiram would probably kill you if you used one of his computers. The flip phone was for emergencies only, and definitely didn't have any pancake recipes hidden in the notes section.

You sighed, deciding to grab a few measuring cups. Then, you stared at the ingredients again. While lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice a certain purple-haired asshole limping into the kitchen and plopping himself down at the table. He watched you for a moment.

"You know you actually have to cook, right? Pancakes don't just make themselves while you watch."

"Fuck-" You jumped and whipped around, the measuring cup flying out of your grip and landing on the floor. "What are you doing up? You need to be resting."

"Do you even know how to make pancakes?"

Your eye twitched. He was ignoring your questions. "I- Of course I do! Now go back to bed before your wound reopens. How did you even get up, anyways? Not even twenty minutes ago you were struggling to sit up."

"I'm a miracle boy. Now, make pancakes."

You huffed and faced your mess again. In a wild guess, you grabbed the measuring cup once more and reached for the milk carton. Two cups should be okay, right?

"You're doing liquids first? Interesting. That's not how my mother taught."

"Then tell me, Yuri, how did your mother make pancakes?" You seethed through your teeth.

The man only grinned and leaned his cheek against his palm. "I'm glad you asked. There's no harm in admitting you're clueless. First, do the dry ingredients. Flour, baking powder, all of that."

You're a dry ingredient, you bit back from saying. Yuri might not be in good shape to fight if you launched yourself at him from across the kitchen, but you didn't miss the glint of the handgun that rested against his hip. The same one you had used to shoot him.

“Now put in the eggs and milk and shit.” Yuri gave you more measurements and ingredients and soon enough, you had pancakes on a plate and were serving them to the charity case that sat across from you at the table. He was quiet as he ate, and to you the tense silence was unbearable. You had to break it.

“These are good- you said your mom taught you how to make them like this? What was she like?” You flinched at the look Yuri gave you, immediately regretting asking.

“She was the one person in my life who I could just be myself around. Not Yuri, the leader of the Ashen Wolves, not Yuri, the man who’s killed more than his members combined, just Yuri, her son. My mom was the best woman to ever exist.” He spoke intensely, and you could see just how much he loved her.

“Was?”

“She- she’s missing.” Yuri closed his eyes and placed his fork down, standing up. “I’m going back to bed. Uh, thanks.”

You nodded and began gathering the plates together, bringing them to the sink to wash them. You were fully aware that Yuri had stopped in the doorway and was observing you as you cleaned. He cleared his throat.

“And Y/N. Just so you know, none of us chose this life. We’re all in the Wolves for a reason. We’ve all got our own goals and plans. Don’t be quick to judge.”

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taglist: @dimitrimidim @emperor-pizza

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[slash-me-please]

The Classics

Warnings: Beth X Fem!reader, fingering

Your head turned towards the small, handheld alarm clock on the bedside table. "4:30am" It read, and you yawned almost robotically. It was still dark outside and dim moonlight lit up the foot of your bed. You briefly wondering how your window was opened but your question was answered as Beth jumped out from behind your bed and roared loudly. You screamed, kicking your legs frantically and pushing backwards until your head hit the wall behind you with a crack.

Beth grinned at your disoriented state all whilst you groaned, curling back up into your covers. "Babe, the adrenaline rush I have right now is fucking fantastic- wanna have sex?"You squealed at her bluntness and did so again when she plopped down next to you after taking her shoes off. "Babe?" "Beth I'm tired! You woke me up at like four am." You complained, turning towards her in time for beth to run her hand over your pulse.

"You need to work on that, you didn't even flinch when I opened your window." She stated, her hand running over your collarbone and then flattening her palm over your exposed breast. Sleeping naked was always so comfortable to you. And convenient for her 4am visits. "Alright maybe you can give me a little incentive to... Y'know? Lock my window?" Beth grinned, dropping her hand to your pubic bone.

Your gasps were always so addictive and she'd love to listen to them the rest of her days, with that in mind her thumb pressed down on your clit and she smiled at your needy whine. You unconsciously spread your legs wider then they needed to be. The bottom of her palm pressed into the sensitive little knob and you flinched, gasping. Her slim fingers dropped and dipped into your heat which you closed your legs at when she started moving quickly.

Gasps and moans filled the small room and they were all yours. You caught a glimpse at how your hips were shaking up and downwards with the motions of her hands and cried out, burying your head into her neck. "Tell me when you're close." She breathed, watching with hooded eyes as you rode her hand. Her thumb flicked your clit playfully and your hips jerked forwards, eliciting a laugh from Beth. "P-Please." You managed to cry, maybe she wasn't in a teasing mood today cause with one more flick of her wrist she nodded.

Immediately you grabbed her arm and convulsed around her fingers, cumming for her. After a few more thrusts of her fingers she pulled them out, bringing them up into your mouth until you sucked them clean, still panting from your release.

"Can I- y'know, maybe help you out?" You heaved, scooting over for her to slide in next to you. "Tomorrow morning babygirl, I'm a bit tired. I had to kill this fucking nasty ass old man today. Bitch had some fight in him." You nodded, wrapping your arms around Beth and nuzzling into her side. "I love you Beth. Please be careful." She nodded and began taking her piercings out. "Go to sleep now. I'll be right there." You nodded tiredly.

-

Sorry for the rushed ending!

[condiscum]

!!!!! All the white shades for Lierik pls!!!!! 💜

God this is literally a year late im so sorry, but i finally finished it so here we gooooo!

White - Do you consider yourself a good person? What’s the best thing you’ve ever done for somebody?

“I mean, yeah. But doesn’t everybody?” he asks plainly, crossing his arms. “I work hard, look after my own. Almost everything I create impacts somebody besides me. I’m not gonna sit here and tally deeds or some shit. It’s a stupid thing to try to prove to somebody.”

Snow - Have you ever seen snow? Do you like it? What do you like to do in the snow?

“Absolutely!” he says, grinning. “I have to travel out to Hoelbrak from time to time— y’know, standard conferences with my northern marketing team ‘n stuff— and that shit’s gorgeous. Have you ever seen the way the sun glints off of the snow in the early morning? Or taken a good look at all of the intricate crystalline structures of the frozen water when you see a large flake intact? It’s great. Sign me the fuck up.”

Frost - What do you like to wear in cold weather?

“Well, first of all, Rata Sum’s in the Maguuma. We don’t get a whole lot of cold weather down there in the tropics, as you might imagine.” he quips. “But when I do have reason to venture outside of the mundane, muggy, incalescence, I bundle appropriately. Hypothermia and frostbite are for dipshits.”

Bone - When was the first time you ever witnessed death? How did it impact you?

“Hard pass.” he says with immediate finality. “Next?”

Author’s Note: Lierik’s parents died in a lab accident in their home when he was still young. It was pretty awful and really traumatizing, and he doesn’t talk about it.

Cotton - What do you like to wear for pajamas?

“Okay, so hear me out.” he says with a grin. “You know those full-body onesie type things progeny wear? Well, those things are comfortable as hell except for one problem. Your feet get cold, right? So— I wish this was one of my own brilliant innovations, but I’m not a fuckin tailor, so I’ve gotta give credit where it’s due: the humans came up with this shit.” 

He sticks his leg out, gesturing at his own feet. 

 “There’s like. Socks attached to these things. But they’re non-slip on the bottom and stuff so you can just wander around in them in the middle of the night. I had some modified for the superior three-digit anatomy and voila! Instant coziness. You should try them sometime.”

Cream - Do you prefer Tea, Coffee, or Cocoa? (If your world has those things. If not, what sort of hot drinks do you have?)

“Well, nothing beats a good hot-chocolate when you’re cold. All sweet and delicious. Buuuuut, trouble is it’s not… energizing enough, y’know?” he says. “Plus, it only has a single static state of being if you want to enjoy it. You can’t throw it on ice. So, coffee is the obvious choice, here.” 

He starts up again, counting each of his reasons on a finger as he does. 

“It’s good hot, sends you right on into the project zone, picks your ass up off the floor at 4:30 in the fucking morning when your incompetent staff can’t problem-solve— and when you get back from that 4:30am problem solving? And your coffee is all tepid and gross? You can just throw it right in an ice cube tray and chuck it in the coolerator. It’s truly one of the best multitools of the engineering world.”

Coconut - What would be your ideal vacation?

He hums, pausing a moment to think more seriously. 

“I guess anywhere less hectic. Somewhere out with my buds. I’ve never been one to keep still for very long, but its always a relief to get away from the hustle and bustle for a while. Just enjoy some time living simpler, wherever that might be.”

Pearl - What do you look for in a romantic partner?

“I’m flattered.” he jokes. “But she’d have to be Asura, for starters. Sorry, mysterious likely-human interviewer, you must be this tall—” he says, gesturing a bit above him “—or under to ride this ride. 

“Past that, though, we’ve just gotta jive. Sure, looks are a plus, but that’s not what it’s about for me.” 

He crosses his arms and leans to one side, smirking. 

“What really drives me wild, though? Smarts. I want a woman who can run circles around me— a tall order, I know, so I’m not in a rush.”

Parchment - Do you like to read or write?

“Reading’s fine.” he says. “Generally, if I’m learning something new, books will hold my attention. New theses from time to time, articles.” 

He shrugs.  

“It’s a little passive for me though. I’d rather be working with something than reading about it any day. It’s hard to improve on a concept without having it in front of you, whether its a drawing on paper or something more three-dimensional. And, frankly, the most writing I’ve done since graduation has been in bullet-points.”

Lace - What would you name your child if you were to have one?

“Oh man,” he manages, “glitch, I don’t know… it sounds like a lot of pressure to name a real, live person. But, progeny are not in my near future anyway, I can tell you that. If it happens, I guess we’ll figure it out then.”

Porcelain - Do you consider yourself a delicate person? Do you fall apart easily?

“Hell no.” he says, rolling his eyes. “Where do you even get these things?”

Salt - Would you consider yourself a mean person? What is it like to fight with you?

“I’ve got a temper, sometimes, I’ll admit.” he says, scratching his head. “But, I’d like to think it’s hard to push my buttons to that point. I’ll tolerate a lot, and I don’t get purposely pointed, but past a certain line, I make no promises of being ‘nice’.”

Ghost- Are you easily scared? What scares you the most?

“I’d like to think I’m pretty fearless.” he says, crossing his arms. “But that’s not to say I don’t have a sense of self-preservation either. Just because I graduated from Dynamics doesn’t mean I’m not well aware of how much precaution has to go into innovation if you don’t want to wind up letting your prototypes take you down with them.” 

He pauses to crack his knuckles before adding “You want something really scary, though? Wasted potential.”

Ivory - Do you play any musical instruments? If so, which ones and how well?

“Eeeehhh—” he starts, waving a hand side to side. “Nothing classical or anything boring like that. But if you’re into some sweet electronica? I’m killer with a drum machine. Gotta have something to put under my sick rhymes.”

Chiffon - Do you prefer a larger and cleaner environment, or a smaller and cozier one?

“Large and clean, for sure.” he says. “I’ve been spoiled for choice for a long while, but the straight fact is that if you want to be able to do anything wherever you are, you need room to do it. A crowded room is stress. An empty room is inspiration.”

Alabaster - What is the most recognizable thing about you? What are people most likely to notice about you when they first meet you?

“Other than my dashing good looks and cutting edge sense of fashion?” he teases. “Well, I do try to keep one statement piece on me at all times: what’s style without a pair of good old fashioned aviators?”

Egg-nog - Do you celebrate Christmas Wintersday? If so, what traditions do you have? Which are your favorite?

“Everybody celebrates Wintersday! Well, everybody who likes fun, I guess. I haven’t been able to go every year, but I try to make it to Tixx’s Infinirarium at least once a year for the Toypocalypse. The mayhem! The adrenaline! The toy carnage!” 

He sighs wistfully. 

“There’s just never a safe chance to cause that much ruckus otherwise. Reminds me of a couple’a friends I had in college…”

Ecru - Do you have curly, wavy, or straight hair?

He grabs a fistful of the thick curly locks on his head and tugs. “Gee, I dunno. Pretty straight, I’d say.”

[omgokiguess]

wow guys i just got out of rehab today

first of all. it was so terrible except for some of the people there. but also a couple of the people there really sucked too.

the staff was TERRIBLE. they were literally so mean and power hungry. i was friends with basically every patient (except for the few shitty ones) and was really nice to them.... like i took in this innocent 20yo girl who started calling me her big sister and i helped this 21yo girl so much with her anxiety..... like i took care of everyone that i could and i stuck up for everyone that the staff treated like shit. and the staff was so fucking rude to me. the whole staff said so many times “we have no problem giving you extra phone time/computer time to take care of things like work, aftercare, legal problems, financial problems, etc” but literally every single time i asked to call work or call my lawyer or anything i got a no. it literally took me two full weeks to get things straightened out with exelon and i literally got let go from anthro because they would just not let me get on the phone so that’s cool. i never once was able to speak to my lawyer or my pre-trial officer. neat. also i got in a pretty heated fight with this one bitch employee who told me i was disrespectful because i asked her superior to open the laundry room for me because i had my period and needed new underwear out of the dryer. we were like screaming at each other and she ended up being sent home for four days. two guys actually ended up leaving randomly and left all their shit including their phones and wallets. that’s how bad the staff was.

the doctor was really good and knowledgeable and helpful and i really liked him. he was really chill. but i do have to say he really was pushing meds on not just me but everyone. i didn’t get on any meds though, and honestly one of the nurses congratulated me for not getting on meds when i left. i thought it was fucked up that i was the only person not on meds. we’re just alcoholics.... there’s no way we’re all fucking psychotic or something. nobody was on less than 2 meds besides me and i would say the average number of different meds was about 4 for somebody my age.

the staff just really frustrated me. it’s rehab so obviously there are a lot of rules for the sake of having rules and i honestly did not have a problem with the rules even though a lot of them were very silly. like you would not find me complaining about the unhealthy food, the fact that they said the gym would be open certain hours but was actually never open because they were “understaffed,” that our bathrooms were locked from 7:30am - 9:30pm and 25 people had to share two toilets, that there were essentially no covid-19 precautions, that somebody checked where i was every 15 minutes, that smoking a pack of cigarettes a day is okay but the juul is not, that i had to get the actual doctor to approve me using contact solution or allergy medication, or any other stupid thing they enforced. i literally only complained about the fact that i couldn’t talk to my employer(s), couldn’t talk to my lawyer, couldn’t talk to my pre-trial officer, couldn’t figure out my aftercare, couldn’t call my therapist, and that the staff spoke to me like i was either an idiot, a delinquent, or like i was a bitch.

i did put up one little stink though. this bitch that worked there, if we were in our rooms, when she checked on us she didn’t knock she just fucking opened up the door, so i decided to just chill in my room and read in the nude one day cause i knew she would just open the door without knocking... and wouldn’t it be fun for her to have to deal with the sight of my entire bush..... so i went for it lmao. she told the entire staff that she walked in on me LOL and the “director of operations” (this woman is truly a dumb cunt) asked my roommate, who was a 45 year old MD from lake forest, if she wanted to switch roommates (???) and dr. nancy my hero was like “um no i actually lucked out with erin and also diana should learn to knock.”

anyway, nancy and brittany my two fave people, left on the same day which really sucked but whatever. then sam left which also whatever... i loved her too. and then..... oh god i hate to admit this so much.... but then michael came in. he made it in 3-ish days before i left.

i literally have NO IDEA why this would be, but okay the protocol is before you go to rehab you go through alcohol detox in the hospital, so i was an inpatient in the hospital for 5 days. i slept through most of that because they put me on valium for those 5 days so that I wouldn’t experience the hells of alcohol withdrawal. i’m glad i was asleep for most of it though because there was nothing at all to do, they had like 3 different crossword puzzles and no TV but as it turns out..... i wasn’t in the alcohol detox section of the hospital.... for some reason they put me in the psychotic wing..... there were only 6 patients total in that wing and i was the only person living in reality. one woman escaped the hospital because she thought her husband was telling her to leave, and the other 4 men were handcuffed to their beds. i was the only person in there with any sense of reality, and i had gotten there in the middle of the night so i was unaware of other wings in the hospital. on my last night there, they moved me to “2 north” aka the normal alcohol detox wing, which probably had 100 people in it. so in the morning we all had breakfast together and i was like WHAT THE HELL..... I COULD HAVE MADE FRIENDS HERE.... and that’s when i met michael. i knew him for like a full 90 minutes total in inpatient but we were literally instant best friends. we met because some old men were telling me jokes trying to get me to laugh and he was sitting nearby and he was like “so how old are you like 35?” and i was like “you’ve got to be kidding me fuck you....” and he was like “yeah lol i’m kidding” and i was like playing back, like “so how old are you like 45?” cause he looked about 30 and he was like “yes” and i was like okay bullshit so he showed me his hospital band and it said 45..... and i was like okay this is ridiculous. anyway he had been to the rehab i was going to before so he told me about it and he gave me a note for sam and i just thought he was really cool. he was getting ECT treatments which is “a treatment most commonly used in patients with severe major depression or bipolar disorder that have not responded to other treatments. ECT involves a brief electrical stimulation of the brain while the patient is under anesthesia.” aka it’s literally where they put those diodes on your brain and shock you. he got 16 treatments. i thought he might end up back in rehab with me. but he spent like 2 full months in inpatient which is super abnormal, almost everyone is there for exactly 5 days like me. anyways

so michael shows up right before i leave and the big question is WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME...... i spent like 3 days with him nonstop and we can probably all see where this is going but.... this dumbass of course falls for him....???? there were some cuties in rehab and i had NO INTEREST in any of them but idk michael is just kind of.... the personality i’ve been looking for.

couple problems. 1. i have a boyfriend. 2. michael is 5′6″ .... (???) .... 3. i cannot get his fucking stupid smile out of my head and i’m hoping i was just sexually deprived for weeks and this is just a dumb thing BUT

idk my boyfriend like made all these promises of things he was going to do for me while i was in rehab and he kind of didn’t follow through on any of them. i really basically only told him and my sister that i’m going to rehab and my sister lives in boston and so i kind of assumed he would do the things he promised he would do, which clearly was stupid on my part. i can’t rely on him. i should have learned that by now... if i want something done i have to do it myself. i didn’t even ask very much of him. he basically promised four things. 1. he would take care of my guinea pigs. 2. he would check on my car to be sure it doesn’t get impounded 3. he would clean my room before i get back and 4. he would bring me the stuff i need (contact lenses to fucking see, hairbrush, tampons, other necessities) since they wouldn’t let me leave hospital care between detox and rehab. the only one of those he did was take care of my guinea pigs, which is essentially nothing because he goes to whole foods every day and his MAID cleaned their cage.

and idk, we were allowed 10 minutes of combined computer and phone time a day (which is literally nothing), and i always called him and ignored the computer because i thought he would want to hear from me and i would want to hear from him too, but at least 30% of the time i left phone time upset and crying. i mean i was turning my whole entire life around and it took him 13 days just to check to see that my car wasn’t impounded, and he had the audacity to complain that he was overwhelmed with all the stuff he had to deal with on my behalf even though it was literally just feeding my guinea pigs and then he had his own work shit. i suspect he’s taking more adderall than he should again. but i can’t even complain. his dad found the lawyer that may end up saving my life. 

and anyway. he never ended up cleaning my room (he wasn’t even gonna clean it himself, he was going to hire someone to clean it and he couldn’t even do that even though he promised. i don’t need it i just kind of thought he was gonna keep his promise), and it took him 5 days to bring me the stuff i need. i kept in one pair of dailies for 5 days (i wore my last pair over from detox) and went blind for 2 days. my rehab was only 20 minutes from his house, a straight shot on the never-crowded 294. i left him with all of my debit cards and pins too, and bank logins so that he wouldn’t have to pay for anything i needed. 

and idk then when i talked to him, whenever i complained about rehab he would just kind of be like “this is why you should have gone to PSI” which is where he went to rehab for marijuana.... which costs and arm and a leg because his dad will pay for anything for him and he doesn’t understand that i’m paying for this myself. and i didn’t want some cushy rehab. i mean yeah i didn’t want the staff to be such a load of cunts but i didn’t want his cushy frilly rehab experience. i would have really liked my program if there had just been better people working there. and he wanted to talk about my sobriety so much and like.... i don’t want to talk about it with him. idk in his head i think he thinks i’m taking his exact same journey and like i’m NOT. like it’s not even the same drug. he acts like he totally understands and it’s like... yes there is a lot he understands but there’s a lot that’s different and there’s no way ANY two patients ever went through the exact same thing, ESPECIALLY when it’s different drugs!!!!

and i’ve been with him since about 1p today (he was late to pick me up, it was supposed to be noon, which he promised he wouldn’t be late, and him being late was also something i brought up a lot in rehab because it caused me so much stress..... i just KNEW he was gonna be late and it caused me a lot of anxiety and i told him this so much and he was still late) (and anyway the point here is).... i’ve been with him since 1 and he just keeps saying weird stuff about alcohol. which is EXACTLY why i didn’t want anybody to know i was going to rehab. like after eating hospital food for weeks i wanted to go to a nice restaurant and most nice restaurants serve alcohol.... which is FINE like i was not gonna drink.... but he kept saying things like “we probably shouldn’t go to a pub” or “lake forest food and wine hmm better not go there” and it’s like..... i’m fucking HUNGRY i purposely didn’t eat the hospital food because i wanted to eat good food and it took us till 2:30pm to get somewhere because he felt the need to beat around the alcohol bush.... and every time alcohol came up in conversation (which just HAPPENS because that is how life is....) he’d be like oh sorry shouldn’t mention that and it’s like I CAN HANDLE IT..... i literally finally said to him “wow I’m so glad I didn’t tell anyone i went to rehab because if everybody talked to me the way you’re talking to me that would make me want to drink”

and also right before i went to rehab i told him i was afraid i wasn’t going to like him anymore if i was sober. and boy was i right. and adding michael in did not fucking help. i told myself i would never like somebody fucking shorter than me but i can’t fucking help it. i’ve never liked people for their looks anyway and his personality is just fucking perfect. i can’t get his voice and his smile out of my head. and i trust him to be sober. i really do. this was his first relapse in five years, and he only spent one month drinking before getting help. and i think we could be sober together. 

idk maybe i was just so sex deprived that i was just horny or something. i don’t know.

i start online intensive outpatient tomorrow at noon. this week i have it wednesday thursday and friday but it’s gonna be different every week and somebody is going to at least speak with me every day. i’m doing it through derek’s practice and i told him to make sure i have a lot of homework.

i’m not sure how or when i’m going to get back to work. i don’t even really care though. i can always get another job. and after talking to my sister and working through some therapy at rehab, i almost think it’s best to move anyway. i think it would really help me to get away from my parents.

idk. my life is just so in limbo right now. i can stay on FMLA leave for 3 months and on my upcoming court date, that will mark one month. i think it might be wise to use the whole three months. it also might not be wise though because i need things to do. maybe if i could just get back to anthro.....

anthro terminated me in the weirdest way and i think my lawyer can get my job at anthro back for me with a simple letter. that might be the best thing for me right now. 

not to mention.... i haven’t been back to my apartment yet but.... the gold coast has been destroyed. i don’t know what i’m going back to at this point. this is really sad sad sad to say but i don’t think i will be living downtown chicago anymore, once i find some other solution or once this lease expires, i’m leaving. maybe i’ll stay in chicagoland but probably not. if i do stay in chicagoland i’m gonna be living in the suburbs. but i think it only makes sense to get out of here. i think it makes sense to go to the southeast. florida or atlanta or north carolina or virginia. california is always on the mind too but to move there i think i need to be really really confident in my sobriety.  

[ladyseaheart1668]

Endless Summer Book 4 : Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 46)

Description: The captive Catalysts struggle to keep it together. Tahira fights a battle of her own. Meanwhile, Zahra receives a break in the case.

Tagging: @endlesshero1122 @mysteli @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @feartheendlesssummer @whatmcsaid @tigerbryn11

Jake

I don't know exactly what to expect after I feel the wheels touch down and the plane slows to a halt. I guess I'm not surprised when the armored goons who stomp into the bathroom gag us and shove our heads into dark flannel pillowcases before dragging us upright. Makes sense that they don't want us to know where we are—or call out to anyone who might be passing. But that doesn't mean I'm not keeping alert. The landing was rough. Rougher than I would have expected on a sky-worthy private jet. The angle we landed at was steeper than expected, too.  

The staircase getting us down is narrow. So narrow that my armored escorts have to move into file ahead and behind me, and I can feel the handrails on either side if I just lean one way or the other a couple inches. The goon ahead of me must be taking the steps backward, because there's something sharp pressed to the soft flesh just under my sternum, just hard enough for me to feel its point. There's also what's unmistakeably the barrel of a pistol at the nape of my neck. They don't say anything. They don't have to. The warning is clear: don't try any shit.

After the bottom step, I set my food down on a surface that doesn't feel like tarmac or asphalt. It's soft. Dirt. Or grass. Explains the steep-angled landing—and it tells me that the plane transporting us has to be smaller than I was originally imagining. The air on my exposed skin is warm. Humid. Unfortunately, I can't notice any distinct smell to it. There's not much penetrating whatever fruit-scented detergent this pillowcase was washed in before my head was jammed into it. ...Which is either coincidence, and whatever pillowcases they grabbed before starting just happened to come straight from the wash...or there's actually a distinctive smell to this place that they're purposely hiding.

Wherever the plane landed, it isn't far from where they plan to hold us. It's only about ten minutes of being shoved along before I hear a door creak and the heat and humidity is replaced by the sudden icy chill of air conditioning turned on full-blast. I lose track of myself for a moment, but before long, I'm shoved hard from behind. My knees buckle under the assault and connect sharply with a cold concrete floor.

I'm almost surprised when I hear a key click, and the cuffs fall from my wrists. I immediately yank the pillowcase off my head and go for the gag at my mouth, but by the time I've gotten both off and oriented myself, I realize that Sean, Michelle, and I have been locked inside what appears to be an industrial tool cage in a warehouse somewhere, lit by a single lightbulb directly above us—and the goons who dragged us in here are all on the other side of the bars. They don't seem to be leaving immediately, so I stand and turn slowly to face them, glaring.

“Where is your boss?” I growl. “I have a couple questions for him.”

“Yeah, Wolf. Kinda figured you would.” Lundgren's voice hits me like a fist in my gut. He appears first as the cherry-red tip of his cigar gleaming in the dim light beyond the cage before emerging where I can see him. He pulls the cigar from between his teeth and blows a pungent cloud in my direction. I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to cough.

“Where are Mike and my wife, you piece of shit?”

“Darwin's around. Behave yourself, and maybe I'll let him say goodbye before I beat your brains out.”

“What the fuck is this, Lundgren?”

“What the fuck do you think it is? It's revenge. Everything you boys did to me, you think I haven't been dreaming of this moment for the last five years?”

“You got what you deserved, you rat bastard!” I snarl.

“And you'll get yours soon enough, Wolf. I can guarantee that.”

I step up to the barrier between us, the fence of thick wire. I grip at the links, locking eyes with Lundgren.

“I know you aren't in this alone, Lundgren. You died and left a body behind same as Rourke, but that wasn't you. That wasn't the you that's here right now. You're not nearly smart enough to pull that stunt on your own. I know Jeanine was the one who took my wife. So I gotta figure you're both back in Rourke's pocket.” I lean forward slightly, my voice low. “Where is she, Lundgren? Where is my wife?”

“Ahh, right. Alodia. Cute little blonde cunt. Pretty face hides a goddamn superweapon living in a devious bitch. Rourke's beautiful 'mystery,' the key to everything. I'm impressed you managed to knock her up. She looks human enough, but I wouldn't have been surprised to find her kind had crystal teeth down there.” He takes a long drag on his cigar and exhales luxuriously before grinning at me. “Don't worry, Wolf. You'll see her again. I want you to have a front row seat when Rourke cuts the brat out of her. ...I want to watch you watch her die.”

The rage that surges through me is white-hot and blinding, and it swallows my conscious self. I can hear myself screaming, an animalistic howl as I rattle the bars with all my strength, beating the sides of my fists against the metal frame of the locked door. I throw my whole weight into the door again and again until something drags me off, holds me back, pins my arms to my side.

“Easy!” Sean hisses in my ear, holding me firmly. “You're gonna hurt yourself more than him like that!”

I slowly settle, my breath quivering. He's right. As my rage cools to a controlled simmer, I can feel the throbbing at various points where I connected with a metal support pole or the door frame. When he's satisfied that I'm in control, Sean releases me, though he keeps his hands steadyingly on my shoulders. I raise my head to find Lundgren grinning like a kid who's found the cookie jar.

“Thing is...you and Mouse are the only ones Rourke promised me. He might have plans for the lovebirds in there, but I doubt they're gonna be anything but leverage to keep your baby mama in line. And he might not need 'em at all. Maybe I should check. ...Maybe he'll let me kill 'em in front of you as a warm up.”

“You put us in a room together, asshat,” I snarl. “That means you'll have to fight me to get to my friends.”

He shrugs. “That sounds like it could be fun.” Without another word, he turns and marches out of the room, leaving four armored goons standing guard with rifles ready.

There are tears coming to my eyes. I scrub at them furiously with my forearm as I pull away from Sean and look around desperately for something to kick or punch in this room. The only thing here is a metal bucket. Probably our piss bucket, but it's empty at the moment, so I kick it viciously into the wire wall, making the cage rattle. Then I sink to my knees.

“...Rourke isn't going to kill Alodia,” Michelle says softly.

“Damn straight, he's not!” I growl through my tears. “I won't let him. I'll find a way to get to her. I'll protect her.”

“Of course. But I actually meant that I don't think killing her is in his plans.”

“You don't?” Sean asks.

“Think about it. Sure, Lundgren's out for revenge, but from everything we know, isn't it more likely that Rourke's going to try to restart Project Janus? We don't know exactly what kind of power Alodia has in her current incarnation, but I find it hard to believe he's just going to kill her when she's probably more useful to him alive.”

“That doesn't exactly make it all better,” I mutter. “Alive is better than dead, but it doesn't mean she's not suffering right now. And River...and Mike...”

Sean kneels to put a hand on my shoulder. “...Jake's right, Michelle. We gotta find a way out of here, ASAP.”

Bernadette McKenzie

The local time is about 5:30am when the plane from Louisiana touches down in California. The flight is virtually empty. Frank and I meet our daughter at the baggage carousel with fierce hugs, collect our meager luggage, and pile into her car to make the trip to Laguna Beach.

“How was the flight?” Rebecca asks.

“Smooth,” I reply softly. “No troubles.”

“What's the latest news on your brother?” Frank asks.

“They've got various coast guard ships scouring the Caribbean for the yacht he took off on. Apparently, he made it to La Huerta and he and his friends set sail from there okay, but then the signal got lost about an hour north of there.”

“...What about Alodia and her friend?”

“...Everyone's looking into ambulances that have been reported missing in California in recent weeks. There are a couple promising VINs, but there's always a possibility that the license plates were switched.” Rebecca shakes her head. “...I think we're dealing with pros here, Mom. ...No one really looks at an ambulance speeding by with its lights on. No one wants to delay them in case there's a real medical emergency they're dealing with. Procuring one wouldn't have been easy, but once they had one, it was the perfect way to transport captives.”

“I don't understand,” Frank murmurs. “I don't understand why. Why Jake? Why his partner? Why their friends? And why all at once like this? Did they really think none of them would be missed? Or are they trying to send some kind of message?”

“I don't think the why matters, Frank,” I say softly. “...I just want my boy back. I want him back, and his partner, and our little granddaughter, and all their friends.”

“That's all I want, too,” Frank assures me. “...But I also want to know why.”

* * *

The house in Laguna Beach is unlike anything I've ever seen in person before. Under normal circumstances, I would be intimidated—even put off—by the obvious wealth put into such a place. But not today. Today, I don't see the house as containing folks with millions of dollars more than me. Today, I see it as the house containing scared parents—or legal guardians as the case may be, but the point stands. In this gleaming mansion are the frightened family of the woman my son loves—the people who raised the mother of my unborn granddaughter.

Rebecca lets us in. Apparently, they gave her a key, at least while she's staying here with them. The house is quiet, though there are faint sounds coming from a room near the back. We drop our bags in the front hall and Rebecca shows us where to hang our jackets before we make our way through the lower level of the house, following the sounds to a rec room. The light from a massive, wall-mounted television flickers across the floor as a news channel with a droning newscaster plays at a volume I would consider slightly too loud. A woman in a bathrobe lies motionless on the pristine French-style sofa, the screen reflecting in her sapphire-blue eyes. I know immediately who she is. She looks so very much like her niece.

“...Molly Fisher?” I venture, hoping I remembered her name correctly. She looks up at me with weary eyes. I think I can see her summoning the will to greet us. I hold up a hand. “...No need to get up. We're all in the same boat here. ...I'm Bernadette MacKenzie. This is my husband, Frank. ...We're Jake's parents.”

“...And grandparents to my niece's child,” Molly murmurs with a sigh. “...The only living grandparents that little girl has.”

“--Next up, an unusual and alarming string of suspected kidnappings involving a pregnant woman, a best-selling author, two former Navy pilots, an NFL quarterback, and his new wife.” The news segment captures everyone's attention as it starts up. “28-year-old Alodia Chandler of Laguna Beach, California; as well as her housemate and long-time friend Diego Soto, also 28, both went missing yesterday afternoon within hours of each other. Mr. Soto and Ms. Chandler—who is currently 36 weeks pregnant—intended to meet for lunch in Riverside, where they both grew up, and where Ms. Chandler is working as a dance teacher, but they never made it to their rendezvous. Around the same time, Ms. Chandler's partner, 33-year-old Jacob MacKenzie, as well as their three friends, Michael Darwin, aged 32; Sean Gayle, aged 28; and Michelle Nguyen Gayle, aged 28, were all reported missing in the vicinity of the Caribbean islands. Now, details are still emerging on all of these disappearances, but it does appear that Mr. Darwin and Mr. MacKenzie were escorting Mr. and Mrs. Gayle off the island of La Huerta, where they had spent part of their honeymoon. All six victims were part of the infamous Vacation Gone Wrong in 2017, involving La Huerta and the island's owner at the time, Everett Rourke Senior. Police have stated that the close connection between the victims does suggest a personal motive. They have also stated that the disappearances were almost certainly orchestrated by a large, and very organized group. They are asking for the public's help in locating the victims. Any information anyone can provide will be greatly appreci--”

“I hate the language they use,” Molly whispers. “'Suggest a personal motive'. As if it isn't obvious to anyone with half a damn brain.”

She slowly sits up, letting her slippered feet meet the floor. She makes a vague gesture towards the armchairs with one hand, nodding. No one needs a translation. Frank and I both sit down.

“...I'm glad you're letting us stay here while this is sorted out,” I tell her. “It's so much easier to have support at a time like this. People outside of yourselves who understand what you're going through. ...I wish we had known each other five years ago.”

Molly's lips quiver just a little before she draws them tightly together, but I can't help seeing the sparkle of tears in her eyes, even as she ducks her head.

“...I'm scared it will be like last time,” she confesses hoarsely. “...That everyone will come back except Alodia. Everyone will get their kids back except me. ...I never even wanted kids. But she was my little sister's baby. Cassie was gone so damn fast and I...I couldn't just...”

“...Of course you couldn't.”

Molly looks up at me. “...She was a good kid. High-spirited. Rob and I just weren't ready, no matter how much I wanted to keep that piece of my sister. I thought if we hired a nanny, I could have my cake and eat it, too. Keep Cassie's kid around without having to really parent her. In so many ways it worked. ...I never really had to answer the hard questions about who her parents were, because she mostly didn't ask them. I don't think she trusted me enough. I got to spoil and indulge her and dress her up like a little doll and feel proud of her accomplishments when I knew what they were...but she figured it all out. She's smart. She knew we weren't great parents. She knew we couldn't really handle her. She got to be a teenager...she got rebellious...by the time she went to college, it was like she was just a tenant in a boarding house who came to stay with us over summer, Christmas, and sometimes a week or two in the spring...”

“No one's teenage years are easy to parent through,” Frank says soothingly. Molly gives a short, bitter bark of laughter.

“But we didn't parent! That's my point! We punished when she broke our rules and ignored her when she wasn't making trouble. ...We lost her for five years, and we swore we'd do better with our second chance, but it's all been the same shit! We throw our money at her, buy her expensive gifts, but we don't know what's really going on! We've never asked her about how her pregnancy is going. We only know she's having a girl because Jake told Rob at work after they found out! We didn't think to ask. We've never thought to tell how proud she's made us or how much of a wonderful person we think she is or how much we lo-love her...!” She gulps and lets out a sob, covering her face with her hands. “...I'm sorry. I shouldn't be pouring my regrets out onto complete strangers who are guests here...”

“Oh, shah!” I can't help myself. I go over to the couch and sit down beside Molly, drawing her into my arms. “We're not strangers here. We're mothers. Mothers and fathers. Now, don't argue. You're that girl's mother, no matter who gave birth to her. Every mother has regrets. I'm not here to judge you for what you could have done better. I'm here because right now, we don't know where our kids are, and we're scared out of our heads.”

It takes a moment, but Molly melts into my embrace, winding her arms around me like a child with a teddy bear.

“I can't do this again!” she sobs piteously. “God, how can I do this again?!”

Alodia

The small portion of the sky that I can see from the bed is still dusky when I'm wrenched from my sleep by a loud noise. Vague images from my dreams—a plastic doll swaddled in my arms, a brightly lit stage wooden stage, the darkness beyond the polished lip, and the dark, narrow staircase that impeded my path up to the stage where I was supposed to be dancing--linger in a cloud on top of my brain, the fog pierced by footsteps, and finally by hands that yank the  blankets back and drag me upright by my arms. My baby twists in my womb, no doubt agitated about being suddenly jostled. When Diego yelps, I finally come fully awake.

Arachnid goons have us both by the arms, and we're being dragged to opposite sides of the room while Fiddler stands in the center of the bare wooden floor, looking between us with a smug, predatory smile.

“Wh-what are you doing?” I manage to croak.

“I intend to make sure you remember who is in charge here, my little blonde brat. Don't think no one noticed that you puked on one of my friends last night.”

“I was motion-sick,” I protest. Even as I do, I realize that she probably doesn't really care. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that what's happening right now is a power play, nothing more or less. The problem is that I have a sinking feeling that I know how she plans to assert her authority. “It wasn't something I did on purpose.”

“You're probably telling the truth,” she concedes. “But, it was still nasty and smelly. And in the event that you're lying and you did do it on purpose...”

Before I can react, she whips around and drives her closed fist into Diego's gut. His knees buckle as he doubles over in pain, coughing. The Arachnid goons hold him upright as I struggle against my own captors, crying out angrily. Fiddler crosses the room and grabs my chin, pressing the walls of my cheeks into my teeth.

“That's me going easy on you,” she hisses, bringing her face close to mine. “If you don't do everything I tell you to do, I'll go harder. Understand?”

I can't really talk with her fingers squeezing my face, but I nod as much as I can. This seems to satisfy her, because she releases my jaw.

“Good girl. Now, you and me are gonna go downstairs. You try fighting me on it, I'll give your buddy a beating he won't forget.”

I'm not going to fight her. I don't have it in me to test her right now. The Arachnid soldiers holding Diego let go of him and he sinks to his knees, clearly trying to swallow a grimace as he looks up to meet my eyes. I can't think of anything reassuring to say. My vision blurs with tears as I turn and move dazedly toward the door.

I'm quiet on the stairs, concentrating on taking each step without falling. I'm not blindfolded this time, but late pregnancy has me prone to weakness and dizzy spells, even without the added stress of being goddamn kidnapped by someone I watched die five years ago.

The downstairs of this cottage or cabin or whatever is just as sparse as the room at the top of the stairs. The curtains over all the windows are heavy and drawn, no doubt to keep us from seeing out—and possibly to keep anyone else from looking in. But what I find myself really fixating on is how clean everything is. Like someone swept and scrubbed in anticipation of our arrival. That feeling is only compounded when it turns out that Fiddler is leading me into a rustic but pristine bathroom where hot, clear water is flowing out of a polished tap and crashing into a clawfoot tub. Steam rises off the surface of the water, nearly halfway up the tub. A washcloth and towel hang on the bar beside the vanity. A pair of gray sweatpants and sweatshirt sit neatly folded on the closed lid of the toilet, along with a pair of cotton panties and plain white socks.

I can't stop a faint, “What the fuck...?” from passing my lips. Fiddler snorts.

“Are you blind? It's a bath, blodie. A healthy fucking bath, heated to 98 degress.” She goes to turn off the tap. “And a change of clothes. I told you my employer wants you and your parasite healthy.”

“...You can say 'Rourke',” I mutter. “We all know who's greasing your palm. ...Am I going to be permitted some privacy?”

Fiddler snorts. “And risk you trying something stupid? I don't think so.”

I roll my eyes. “What exactly do you expect me to do? Climb out the window with this belly? You think I'm just going to abandon Diego?”

She shrugs, but she doesn't move, nor does she attempt to argue her point. She doesn't have to. She's got the power here, and she knows it. I sigh and start to undress. I'm still wearing the sweat jacket and unitard that I left the studio in yesterday. I peel them off and fold everything neatly and deliberately before stepping carefully into the tub and lowering myself into the water.

I can't deny that the water feels amazing. But the fact that it feels good only serves to upset me more when I remember that I'm a prisoner here. I find the soap in a dish beside the tub and start to scrub resentfully.

“...This isn't going to end how you want it to end,” I inform her flatly.

“Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better,” she replies, which I might have expected.

“My baby will not be born in captivity. ...This isn't La Huerta, Fiddler. This isn't Rourke's territory. We're not isolated on an island while the rest of the world is burning.” I turn a sidelong gaze on her. “And my husband is still out there. Do you really think he's going to rest before I'm home safe?”

The slow way she smiles makes my blood freeze. When she speaks, her voice is a purr. “Oh, I was so hoping you would bring him up. I absolutely wanted you to find out this way.”

My heart drops like a stone, splashing into something icy in my stomach. “...Wh-what are you talking about...?” I ask, my voice thin and breathless.

“Rex Lundgren's got Wolf now. Oh, don't panic. I can pretty well guarantee he's not dead yet. No, it's too soon. And I'm pretty sure he and Rourke want to make sure you see it when he does die. But he probably isn't having a whole lot of fun right now.”

The soap slips from my numb hands as I grip the edges of the bathtub, struggling to breathe. I stare into the rippling water between my bended knees. On the edges of my vision, my submerged thighs are a strange shade of gray, starkly contrasting the pink kneecaps that peak up above the surface like islands. My panicked thoughts chase each other through the storm in my head, tackling, wrestling each other for dominance.

Jake...oh, god, Jake...He isn't dead! He can't be dead. Even Fiddler says he isn't dead...Yet'! Not dead 'yet'!...And he might be suffering...he might be in pain...

“...Why...?” I whisper. Fiddler rolls her eyes.

“Jesus, do you really have to ask?” she sneers. “You said it yourself. He'd only be getting in our way if we left him to his own devices.”

I glare at her, feeling my expression twist into something ugly with sorrow and anger. “Why do you hate him so much?” I snarl. “Did he dump you or something?”

Fiddler raises an eyebrow. “Now why would you assume that?” she sounds irritated.

Her question actually catches me off guard, but only for an instant. Just enough that I can get the tears under control. I fish the soap from the water and rub it between my palms. “Your hatred is clearly more than professional. It's personal. You were glad to turn him and Mike in all those years ago.”

“I was thrilled,” she agrees. “But why do you assume it's because we were lovers? Because I'm a woman, any hatred I have for a man has to be because he scorned me?”

That actually gives me pause for a moment. “...I just can't imagine Jake doing anything else that could possibly explain why you hate him so much.”

“Of course not,” she scoffs. “You're his perfect 'princess', and he's your dashing goddamn rogue hero. You're a fucking fairy tale, and neither of you will ever be anything except perfect in the other's eyes. I could tell you why I hate him, but it won't make sense to you because he'll always be a paragon to you!”

“...So what did he do to you?”

“He showed me up!” She practically spits the words. “Five years I had been fighting and clawing my way into the elite ranks, and then suddenly this scrawny kid from the fucking swamp just comes in and is immediately the best pilot in the whole goddamn Navy?! Everything I worked for was just snatched away and handed to someone else?!”

“...That's the way life goes sometimes,” I reply softly. “There's always someone better, Fiddler.”

“Yeah, well. Sometimes you get the chance to tip the scales back in your favor. You know the only reason I don't just kill you right now is I'm sure whatever Rourke is planning for you is worse. And whatever it is, I hope Wolf lives long enough to see it.”

* * *

When my bath is finished and I'm dressed in the unflattering gray sweatsuit provided to me, I'm hustled back to the attic room. Diego isn't there when I get back, and I almost panic. But within a few minutes, he reappears with damp hair and wearing the same plain gray sweatsuit that I am. He smiles mirthlessly when he sees me.

“...Guess this is the uniform for prisoners here. Gray is the new black, anyone? ...Doesn't really have the same ring to it as 'orange,' but it also goes with more...”

I don't answer. I'm crying again, and all I can do is run to him and throw my arms around him. I press my face into his shoulder as he winds his arms around me.

“I'm sorry...” I whimper. “I'm so sorry...”

“Oh, Allie...this isn't your fault. None of it is your fault.”

I pull back to look at him. “Are you okay? It looked like she got you pretty bad before.”

He winces a little. “Well, I won't say it didn't hurt. But I'm undamaged. I'll be okay.” He puts an arm over my shoulders, leading me over to the bed. “C'mere. Come sit down.”

I go where he leads me, sinking down onto the bed. I scrub at my eyes with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, sniffling.

“...Do you remember back on the island, when we found the game room in The Celestial?”

“You mean when we still thought the Vaanti were trying to kill us?” he says wryly.

“Yeah. And we found the dossier with my name on it?”

“Right. The one with like, zero information on it, except your birthday and your birthplace.”

“...I didn't understand it. At that point, I still had this whole timeline in my head. The one where you and I grew up together. The one we're living now. I couldn't understand why I was the one with the highest threat rating, the one no one could figure out. I thought I was simple. Nothing special. And if I didn't know what I am now, I still wouldn't understand.”

“...What do you mean?”

“...The people I love most in the world are all smart and successful. Geniuses, athletes, revolutionaries. You write books that make the best-sellers list. My husband was an ace pilot in his day. Raj is a world-famous chef. Michelle is a doctor. Quinn is changing lives. ...I'm a dance teacher who didn't even finish college. To the casual observer, I don't really seem to fit in with the rest of the family.”

“...But you know none of us would be where we are without you, don't you?”

I know. Of course I know. It's the whole reason I was born, and it's the cause of all the existential angst I've been experiencing for the last ten months. But I'm not up for rehashing all my insecurities right now. Not even to Diego. In any case, my mind is only leaping to them in an attempt to distract me from much more pressing fears. ...It isn't working. I look up at Diego.

“...Lundgren is alive, Diego. He has Jake.”

Diego's expression crumbles as the color drains from his face. “...Oh, god...Oh, Allie...” He pulls me into his arms and holds me hard against himself, rocking me just a little forcefully. I didn't think I had tears left, but here I am, soaking Diego's gray sweatshirt with them. His hand trembles at it strokes my hair.

“...Fiddler says he's probably alive. ...But just because Lundgren wants him to suffer.”

I feel his grip on me tighten. “...We're getting out of here. I don't know how yet, but we're getting out. Either we get ourselves out, or someone will come for us. All I know for sure is that we have the best family anyone could ask for, and they have never let us down.”

In spite of myself, I feel the weakest smile tug at my lips. “...Aren't the inspirational speeches my thing?” I mumble.

“Yeah, usually. But it kinda seemed like I needed to step up here.”

A sound escapes me that might be a mix of a cough, a whimper, and a half-hearted laugh. I feel like I'm back on the mountain pass leading to the La Huerta Observatory, helplessly dangling miles above the rainforest with the rope knotted around my waist and a failing grip above me as the only things keeping me from plunging into the arms of the open air and oblivion. I grip Diego more tightly.

“...Stay with me, Diego. Whatever happens, just promise me you won't let me be alone.”

“...I promise, Allie.”

I don't know if it's a promise he'll be able to keep. But I appreciate him making it.

Kenji

I get to the hospital early the morning after the attack. I didn't sleep very much, but I don't feel tired. I'm anxious and agitated and a single cup of black coffee doesn't really help matters. I have to stuff my hands in my pockets to hide how much they're shaking.

Eva is waiting in the hall outside Tahira's room when I arrive. Seeing me approach, she pushes herself off the wall she was leaning on and comes to meet me. Her expression is one of grim determination that makes my heart twist painfully. That's not a good news expression.

“...How is she?”

“Stable. But still unconscious.”

“Is that normal?”

“For anyone else? I don't know. Doctors are being kinda vague about that. All I know is that it's not normal for her.”

“What are the doctors saying?”

“Very little, according to Rochelle and Grayson. Just that the damage wasn't as bad as it could have been and her vitals are strong.”

I sigh, and pull my hands out of my pockets without thinking to rub them over my face. When I pull them down again, Eva is frowning at me.

“You okay?” she asks. “You're...kinda shaking like a leaf.”

I shake my head, stuffing my hands back into my pockets. “It's fine. Coffee jitters. Plus I didn't really sleep last night.”

“Yeah, me neither,” she admits. After a moment, she reaches out to put a comradely hand on my shoulder. “...She's gotta be okay. They can't just...they can't just take her down...”

“No,” I agree, my voice grim. “They can't.”

I feel the tingling on my fingertips a moment before it registers that my phone is going off in my pocket. I groan, pulling it out to glance at the screen. I don't recognize the number, and I tap to ignore, stuffing my phone back in my pocket.

“Who's calling?” Eva asks.

“No one I know, and no one I care to talk to.” I lean back against the wall. “...So, can we see Tahira?”

“Yeah, I think so. I was in there for awhile before you got h--” She cuts herself off when my phone starts to buzz again. I groan, pulling it out of my pocket to read the screen.

“Same number.”

“You should answer.”

“Probably some over-enthusiastic telemarketer,” I grunt, tapping ignore again.

“...You sure about that?” Almost before she's finished her sentence, the buzzing starts again. I swear under my breath and finally raise the phone to my ear.

“Hello, who is this?” I snap.

“Katsaros,” a familiar voice grumbles back. “About time you answered, you shiny bastard.”

“...Caleb?! What the fuck?! Where the hell are you?!”

“Never mind that.”

“How did you even get this number? Did Tahira give it to you?”

“No. Never mind how I got it. ...How is Tahira?”

“Stable,” I answer flatly. After a brief hesitation, I add. “But...still unconscious.”

“...I gotta tell you something. Something she said when she was in my van. It didn't register at the time, but it might be important. ...She said, 'I think there was something on the knife'.”

“...What does that mean?”

“The fuck do I know?! Maybe it means she was poisoned somehow!”

I feel the blood rush out of my head. It makes sense. Too much sense. “...Shit...” I whisper, my voice weak and hoarse. “...If you're right...”

“...Look, I'm gonna do what I can to track down her attacker. Or at least the weapon. If I can get that back to your brainiacs, maybe they can do something with it.”

I don't mention that the only medical doctor we could actually trust with the secret side of Tahira's biology has been kidnapped from her honeymoon. I guess Dax's biologist friend at Prescott Industries could be trusted with a sample of Tahira's blood...but that would mean acquiring it...

“Caleb, be careful,” I murmur, lowering my voice. “The...person that attacked her...they aren't human.”

“Aww, you worried about me, Katsaros?”

“Fuck you!” I snarl. “I don't give a shit about you! I just care about getting hold of whoever hurt Tahira!”

“Okay, okay. Calm your tits. Seriously, relax. Remember I can conjure fire. ...But you mind telling me what this thing is, if it ain't human?”

“They're...like a hyper-evolved human. Superior strength, speed, and super senses.”

“...So it's like us.”

I sigh. “...Superficially, yes. ...You get your hands on them, or on the weapon, I'll explain in more detail.”

“...You saying that'll make you trust me?”

“I'm saying that if you help us save Tahira, it will be a huge step in the right direction.”

Tahira

I'm not conscious. I'm sure that I'm not conscious. The last thing I remember was the bright florescent light in the operating room and a face in a surgical mask hovering over me. I was cold. But the right side of my torso felt like it was on fire. Neither of those two sensations have altered, even as I open my eyes to a familiar fuschia sky. I roll my head carefully from one side to the other. The world takes a moment to catch up and slide into focus, almost like I'm drunk. But I see what I was expecting. Crystals. Giant crystals sprouting from the landscape. I'm back in the crystal dimension. The planet where I was born.

I roll carefully onto my uninjured side. The pain remains suspiciously steady. The motion doesn't cause it to flare. There's no tugging sensation to warn me that I might be about to tear whatever stitches they put in me. I sit up slowly and lift my shirt to examine the wound. But there is no wound. Just a red glow, as if there's a flashlight lodged in my torso. It burns. But the rest of me is cold. But I'm not shivering. I press a hand to my chest, and feel the steady throb of my heart under my palm. I raise my hand to hover under my nose and deliberately push out a hard breath. The rush of air tickles my skin. I'm breathing. My heart is beating. I hurt. I don't think I'm dead.

Tahira...!

The voice fills my head and spills out into the air around me. I look up sharply to see a shimmering figure floating among the crystals. I squint. Only three beings I would expect to appear to me this way. Its shape is vaguely masculine, which narrows it down to two.

“...Dad?” I venture to guess. But immediately I realize that isn't right. “No...Vaanu. Uncle. What's happening? What am I doing here?”

Wake up, Tahira. There is desperation in the voice in my head. You must wake up. I cannot reach my daughter.

“Alodia? What's wrong? Is she in trouble?”

Your enemies are moving against you. I cannot reach her. You must wake up.

“Of course. Right away...” But even as I say it, I am aware that I can't. “...Wait...I don't think it's gonna be that simple...”

Wake up, Tahira.

“I swear I'm trying! ...I think they poisoned me, Uncle. I felt so strange before I slipped off. Like I could feel a fog filling my head...” It had all come on too fast, I remember thinking. With my enhanced strength, I shouldn't have collapsed so quickly. I shouldn't have gone into shock. I should have been able to hold out longer.“...Am I dying?”

Though the thought does bring on a twinge of anxiety, I'm not nearly as scared as I probably should be. Still, Vaanu's next words are comforting.

You will not die. But you must fight.

“Right. Fight. ...Um...how?”

...Wake up, Tahira! WAKE UP!...

I grit my teeth as I struggle to my feet. The pain doesn't change with the motion of my body, but it still hurts enough to be hindering. Still, Vaanu has told me what I need to know. I'm alive. But I'm trapped. Trapped in my mind. And I am not going to escape lying in the dirt. I gather my strength and take a step. My bare foot sinks into soft purple dust. It supports my weight, and I raise my other foot to place it in front, leaving behind a neat impression in the dust behind. That's the hardest part over. I don't know where I'm going, but I've taken the first step. I'm coming, Alodia. Wherever you are, I'm coming.

Zahra

I spent the night on the floor of the office. Iris has been plugged into our systems since the news broke. Her hologram has mostly stayed off, but the lights flickering on the surface of her drone assure me she's staying vigilant. Craig came by sometime after midnight to bring me food and coffee—and an extra-large sleeping bag and pillow for us to share. I didn't get a lot of sleep, but that's par for the course. And it was nice to have Craig spooning me all night, feeling his breath against my neck. I catch a little sleep around four in the morning, waking up a couple hours later to find him gone, the heat fading from his spot in the sleeping bag. I check my phone and find a text alert:

P2: Gone to get breakfast! BBS! <3

I smirk, tapping out a reply: Better b donuts

P2: So many donuts!!! I R best bf evar!

An email alert scrolls down at the top of my phone screen. At the same time, Iris' drone chimes, her hologram flickering to life.

“Zahra, an email message has come through, marked high priority.”

“Thanks, Iris. I got it.” I double-tap the alert with my thumb and my email opens. I don't recognize the address—a string of apparently random numbers and letters—and there's an attachment. I would brush it off as a phishing scam or a virus attack, except for the message that accompanies it:

To find Cassandra Sullivan's daughter, consult her first baby. Everett Rourke was never above buying what was useful to him, no matter how ill-gotten.

“...Cassandra Sullivan. That was Alodia's mom's maiden name,” I murmur aloud.

“What about Alodia's mom?” I turn to see Craig pushing through the door, balancing a box of donuts in one hand and a dangerously sagging cardboard tray of two coffee cups in the other. I leap up to grab the tray of cups before our precious caffeine fix ends up all over the carpet.

“Jesus, Craig! Put the cups kitty-corner when there's two of them! It's too heavy when you put them both on one edge!”

“Sorry. So, what about Alodia's mom?” I show him the email pulled up on my phone. He frowns. “...What does that mean? And who sent it?”

“No idea. Iris, can you trace the IP address?”

Iris' holographic eyes flicker for a moment. “Email was sent from an internet café in Barcelona, Spain.”

“Internet café?” Craig repeats. “Those still exist?”

“...'ProjectGalatea'...”

“Huh?”

“That's what the attachment is called. ...How's our antivirus software, Iris?”

I swear Iris's smile looks smug. “Useless compared to me, Zahra. That is why you always take me with you when you go hacking.”

“Touché. Well, I'll let you take care of opening that attachment, then.”

“Of course, Zahra. I...oh, dear...” She trails off, frowning.

“What? What's wrong?”

“Observe the screen, Zahra. I believe there is something you ought to be aware of.”

I move to sit in front of the computer, where Iris has displayed a readout of security data. It takes a few times going over it to realize what I'm looking at. When it finally sinks in, I feel the blood drain out of my head. My hands start to shake on the desk in front of me.

“...Shit...oh, shit...how...?!”

“Z? What is it? What's wrong?” Craig comes to grip my shoulders. “Hey, P1, take a couple breaths.”

“...Security breaches on the island. Three of them. They weren't there when I originally went through the data logs. Iris, are these time stamps accurate?”

“I am afraid so, Zahra. These files came from the back-up archives. I was only just alerted to the discrepancy. I don't know why I didn't catch it sooner.”

“I think I know why,” I reply grimly. “Whoever is responsible, they had access to the latest codes or they would have tripped the alarm. And they were able to delete the records from the primary logs, so they have access to the security system. ...The first breech is about an hour after we lost contact with Jake, Sean, and Michelle.” I feel Craig's grip tighten at the mention of Sean.

“So...what's that mean?”

“...We won't know for sure until we look. But I have a hunch that those three at least are still on the island.”

[emrysabbott]

Was that JACK FALAHEE I just saw walking down the hallways? Oh wait, no - that was EMRYS ABBOTT. The CIS MALE is a 21 year old HOUSE who is in 10th YEAR. I heard the HALFBLOOD has chosen to SIDE WITH THE ORDER which explains why HE is PROTECTIVE and AFFECTIONATE, but also CLOSED OFF and PROMISCUOUS But who really knows?

what the actual ever fuck am i doing with my life

anywho, some of you may already know emrys, as he was involved in a plot drop on valentines day, in which he died. SURPRISE BITCHES, i’m terrible at killing off characters, and now i’ve fucking made him so.

tw: murder, death, manipulation, gaslighting?

BACKSTORY:

so emrys is the brother to gwen, winnie, cain & bryn and the cousin to blaise.

his backstory is the same as theirs so i won’t go into too much detail but his parents and younger brother were murdered when they were younger, he desperately needed to protect the babies (win & bryn), even though he was like 8. bless.

he was raised by his grandparents, almost has more siblings than fingers, you know the drill.

he was sorted into gryffindor because he’s a reckless idiot with a heart of gold

makes tones of friends bc he’s a generally outgoing happy person but like, they’re kinda just surface friends??? because he tells VERY FEW people about himself and his past and shit 

due to this, whenever he tries to date it doesn’t usually end well. he usually goes back to being friends with them or shatters their hearts. HE TRIES THOUGH. 

he’s also shit at romance, honestly. 

he wants to become an auror, and so while his majors focus on dada & potions, he’s in clubs for the main five that’s suggested subjects. boy actually is really smart and good with magic, but acts dumb.

was probably asked to turn up to the slug club but turned it down because he doesn’t agree with it.

adores his siblings and they can do no wrong in his eyes. except cain. he thinks cain can be a pain in the ass but loves him anyway

anywho, that’s basically who he was BEFORE. now as i mentioned, emrys “died” on valentines day. here’s what REALLY HAPPENED.

emrys was given an amulet as christmas by elijah (he didn’t know it was him or he’d have yeeted it in the bin)

this amulet allowed him to be imperio’d

it wasn’t used until just before valentines’ when emrys kept disappearing for long periods of time and reappearing with no memories of what he’d done. (he told very few people about this, he just made up excuses)

on valentines day he was controlled into helping break out DE’s from azkaban. 

he was caught helping them, but Elijah didn’t want to loose him as an asset, so they faked his death. probably used a disguised muggle body as emrys. 

he was kept hidden away, mostly kept under the curse which he tried to fight, but didn’t succeed. 

now they have a new plan for him, they want him to kill dumbledore. so, they had him “escape” from where they were holding him. they roughed him up a fair bit and sent him to hogwarts. as far as emrys is aware, they’d kept him locked away (he has VERY little memories of what happened during this time) and he escaped and ran to hogwarts. he doesn’t really know why he showed up there, but he pretty much collapsed the second he got into the entrance hall.

he was found by winnie and bryn.

he’s currently now in the hospital wing, healing.

he’s still under the curse, just no one is aware it’s the amulet that’s cursing him. they knew he was cursed when he helped the DE’s before but they thought it was a face to face spell, not a cursed object. ( a few know about this and they’re gonna fix him)

but for now, he’s kinda fighting his own mind trying not to like, go through with whatever they’re gonna make him do. he’s aware he’s being controlled, but he doesn’t know the plan. he also can’t pyschically tell anyone bc he’s been cursed not to. like he can’t actually say the words. 

so he’s gonna be a little bit of a mess, hiding behind terrible humour

he may have a few more black outs?? but he’s stuck in the hospital wing, so he might just chat shit or try and leave until someone catches him

i hope this makes sense as it’s 4:30am. 

also he needs plots and im down for most things.

[eturni]

Day 14 - Eggnog

Day 14 of @drawlight‘s advent calendar challenge. https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/189391982184/drawlight-drawlight-aziraphale-crowley-for Today is eggnog. This one gave me a surprising amount of trouble in part because I hate eggnog with an unreasonable passion and in part because I'm away at the moment but refuse to fall behind on a challenge. Then quite suddenly it picked up both pace and feelings and I'm actually fairly proud of where it ended up. Even if it is late at 2:30am on 15th. If I haven't slept yet it still counts as the day before, right? 

“Here, try this. Know it’s not your usual thing but it’s big with the Americans. Plenty of alcohol and very indulgent.” Crowley stood in the centre of the newly trimmed up shop and offered up a glass mug of some beige drink with frothed milk and topped with what smelled like grated nutmeg.

The look of it certainly made Aziraphale feel at ease. It rather matched his usual aesthetic and if it was for Christmas it smelled the part. “What is it?” He asked, taking the mug and smiling at the warmth as it spread through his palms.

“Eggnog. Used to do similar stuff here back around 4-600 years or so. They took it over there and really ran with it though. Got it a bit flash and got much better with the tipples.” Crowley grinned, taking a slow sip of his own drink with a carefully measured smile.

There was something in it that Aziraphale didn’t trust. Whether it was something he hadn’t seen or perhaps the demon was attempting to ‘tempt’ him with something that actually had no moral negative.

It was with no small amount of suspicion that he finally took a sip from the drink, frowning as the odd creamy flavour settled in, something slightly alcoholic lingering at the back. The angel shifted his shoulders a little, sucking at his tongue to try and recall what was so familiar about the drink before taking a slightly more substantial sip.

Creamy, sweet with the thickness that evidently came from the egg in the name. It was warm but somehow reminded him of the cold. Of being terribly itchy. Of…

He pulled a face and something in Crowley’s gaze lit up with pure demonic mischief.

“This is just posset by another name!” He accused.

The sudden flash of teeth from the grin stretching wider still was more than enough confirmation. He still had the audacity to lean back and take the smallest sip of his own drink. This time Aziraphale was looking for it and caught the slight flutter of a cringe amidst the grinning. “It’s got eggs in it.”

Continue reading on AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638803/chapters/52017748

or:

“As did several versions, including that terrible stuff they had up Haile’s Abbey.” His frown only deepened as he remembered that awful time. It had been offset only by the sheer amount of reading he had managed to do as part of the order and even that hadn’t been enough to form even a slight fondness. It did help contribute to some of his current collection when he left. However.

“C’mon, it’s different. And it’s a traditional Christmas thing over there. Enjoy it why don’t you? May as well until we’re back with the Dowlings and you’re back to pretending you do anything with that garden.” He rolled his eyes.

“Well as suspected you do better with Warlock. Now, why don’t we have something proper? Mulled wine?”

“Ah come on angel, you haven’t even given it a shot. I bet I could get you to like it. Can use almost any alcohol in it. Few different spices too. How about I try some out on you?” He asked, lips quirked up on only one side and eyes dead on him over the rims of sunglsses.

There was the temptation. The offer. So it had been both a terrible trick and an attempt at overindulgence. “Absolutely not.” He placed the mug down firmly. “

“Oh come on. I’ll just do a little glass of each. May as well relax while we can right? Give the tradition a fair chance, in the spirit of Christmas?”

“There is absolutely no point to this beyond you attempting to have me waste the evening on something I don’t even like.”

“Not a wasted night, angel. We’ve done the holiday thing a lot and I just thought about trying out something else.”

That and waste your evening with me. Waste a night. Don’t even think to kick me out. The world’s ending and seeing you most days as someone else still isn’t enough. He thinks, mind ticking over the ways to find the things Aziraphale enjoys enough to accept him for a few hours longer.

“Why not have a tasting session? Couple of drinks. Shortbread palate cleanser between.” Crowley smiled a little when the shortbread seemed to give him the little crack of an opening he needed. It hurt sometimes (or more than sometimes) that after all these years he still had to fight so hard for every moment. But he would. Aziraphale was worth it. He would every time.

“You do have a way of making it sound less objectionable...” Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully.

Crowley grinned, too bright, trying much too hard to be more than it was. “Look, we can plan for Warlock while we’re at it so it won’t have to be all play and no work. He’s going to really start on the boundaries and questions next year. Terrible twos is not just a term plucked out of nowhere. Lots of angelic influence to be had, stopping the wrong kind of questions.” Crowley wheedled further, expertly dances around the razor-edged emptiness in his own heart.

“Well… we should take some time about that before we go back...”

The next moment the table was full of small glasses and Crowley was grinning. “Great” He took the tray over to the little side table and motioned for Aziraphale to get himself comfortable.

The early evening passed into evening, then night and almost morning again as an angel and a demon sat warm in a bookshop that smelled far too much of cream and nutmeg but also of the usual old paper, ozone, sulphur and a hint of mould.

True to his words Crowley spent some of the time explaining Warlock’s stage of development to the principality as they drank and discussed potential lines of influence from both of their sides. Their separate sides.

Of course the moment that Aziraphale’s interest diverged Crowley followed it like a plant followed the sun; desperate for nourishment and leaning into warmth. So by the time they were on their 12th iteration (whiskey with cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg) Aziraphale was slightly unwound.

By the time they were on the 20th (rum and cognac with star anise, nutmeg and cardamom) Crowley felt bold enough thanks to Aziraphale’s slight inebriation that he was watching the angel openly. The artificial lights on the tree twinkled behind him and still had nothing on the natural glow that somehow always emanated from the other. He found himself almost silent as Aziraphale held court on dear Oscar and how much better things could have been if he weren’t so backwards about a few significantly important things.

He watched his angel talk and relished the time with his own voice and his own face and just the two of them in the warmth close to the fire.

By the time several sets of Londoners were rising for the morning (despite the sun not even lightening the edges of the sky) they were on a long shot concoction that pushed the bounds of true eggnog with peppermint schnapps, mint, cinnamon and a higher ratio of cream to milk than was strictly necessary.

At some point Aziraphale had migrated from his own chair and into the couch that Crowley lounged across. At some point Crowley had gone from lounging backwards to lounging in towards the angel. At some point Aziraphale’s eyes caught Crowley’s and snagged. Alcohol dusted red high on his cheeks and good company brushed a gentle smile onto his face that was reflected on the demon’s. In the space between breaths Aziraphale’s eyes became the blue of his angelic core and Crowley belatedly noticed the change in the air. That he had, perhaps, been found out.

He licked his lips, about to explain himself, and something of a squeak or a groan slipped from the space Aziraphale left open before the angel clamped down on it.

“I… You should probably be leaving Crowley. Though thank you for the attempt. I think, perhaps, I could grow a taste for some of these.” He looked to the mugs with an expression of regret despite his slightly glassy eyes. “Yes, I think I could quite enjoy a change given time and a few tries. Perhaps stick to the mulled wine though. Better the devil you know, don’t they say? Best not to start trying to change up our traditions when we hardly know what happens in eight years.”

Crowley felt something twist in him. He looked closely at Aziraphale and very much wanted to figure this out. Unfortunately the cowardly part of him didn’t want to sober up here and perhaps, with more clarity, find that he was reading signs that weren’t there. “Tell you what, when we save the world, you’ll tell me which you hated the least and we’ll toast Christmas with some eggnog.”

“Oh… I suppose I don’t hate any of them really. I just don’t always understand the flavours. But I suppose… I suppose that could be nice. Be safe as you go Crowley.”

The demon snorted a laugh and gave a salute as he backed out of the door. “Merry Christmas to all. And to all a good morning.” He tried not to think much at all as the cold outside hit him and tried to chase some of the comfortable fuzz from his mind. Eggnog was something he would neatly package and place into the lock box of his heart and not dare think about except in the darkest parts of the years ahead.

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

baseball!Harry blurb

My first job out of college was good--good in the sense that I didn’t have to relocate out of Southern California, and good in the sense that I didn’t end up somewhere like Springfield, Illinois.

No offense to Springfield, Illinois--but my dream to be a broadcast journalist and on air talent was more more likely to take flight in Los Angeles than it was in the middle of nowhere.

I’d gotten to the ballpark early enough to have dinner, get settled, and do a few promotional shots with Mark, the faithful cameraman who’d been giving me pointers and tips since I’d started at NBC Los Angeles. The crowd was already pretty full--which wasn’t shocking for game three of the World Series--and I was constantly trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach.

“Relax,” Mark said, looking up from the camera he held. He’d set it down on a seat nearby--adjusting a few settings as fans filed down the aisles around us. “You’re doing fine, you’re gonna be great.”

I appreciated his words of encouragement, mostly because my boss had made it clear that they were taking a chance by sending me to game three. Ilana Perry--the usual sports girl they sent out to the sidelines--had come down with the flu and was unable to do the gig.

Lucky for me, I was young, bright-eyed, and obnoxiously asking for bigger and better and more assignments since I started with channel 4 in May.

They’d liked me well enough--they liked my highlight reel and my resume was impressive for someone my age. I’d had access to amazing equipment and good stories at UCLA, so getting the job offer from NBC was like hitting the jackpot. I accepted immediately.

“I know, I know,” I said to Mark, holding my microphone and papers close to my chest. In a minutes, we’d head to the locker room to do a few interviews before the start of the game, but Mark needed to fix whatever technical issue was occuring.

“Alright, I think we’re good,” he said, lifting the camera off of the seat and inspecting the side of it once more. Mark, a 55-year-old man who was old enough to be my father, had been working for channel 4 since he was my age. His regular reminders about my on-air charm and my ability to sniff out a good story helped in moments like these--moments where it felt like my career was on the line.

I nodded at him, allowing him to take the lead as we made our way down into the concourse. We strolled passed vendors, past fans in face paint and the long lines at the bars, until we found the unmarked door and security personnel who granted us access into the locker room.

Thankful for the laminated pass around my neck, I stepped in behind Mark, and seemed to take my place behind fifteen other journalists and reporters.

Beyond the other microphones and recorders, I could see his brown hair peeking out beneath his hat. He chewed on a piece of gum, nodding at the person in front of him who scribbled down whatever words he was saying.

Harry Styles, the young and questionable player from England, of all places, was somewhat of an interview favorite. He’d been with the Oklahoma City Dodgers last season, and after another player had surgery, Harry was brought it and immediately made a difference.

No one expected him to be so good, and no one expected him to be so funny, so charismatic, and so friendly.

“If we can talk to him, we should,” Mark muttered under his breath, standing beside me as we stepped forward in the line. A few other players milled about, but it was clear, everyone wanted to get a chance to speak with Harry.

“I know,” I nodded. “I’d love to ask him about that game in June when he hit for the cycle and came into home with a bloody nose.”

Mark let out a laugh--he always liked it when I came up with good questions, or conversations that seemed out of left-field. Everyone tonight would be asking how he felt--only 24 and playing in the World Series. He’d expect it from me--he’d expect the blonde girl with channel 4 to ask him if he was nervous, if he was excited.

But I knew the game better than that--I knew the amazing feat it was to hit for the cycle, and I’d rather talk to him about something unique. If I really wanted to know how nervous he was for tonight’s game, I could easily watch KTLA in the morning, or just about any other news station.

I watched the man in front of me ask him the same old questions. How’s the weather here compared to London? What’s it like to be in the World Series? You’re so young, are your parents proud?

He answered the questions with a grace, nodding and smiling and making an effort to be approachable--he adjusted his hat and locked eyes with me when the man walked away.

“Hi, Nicole Pearce, channel 4, NBC,” I shook his hand, smiling up at him as Mark moved around me, trying to find a good angle to get the shot.

“Harry Styles, outfielder, Los Angeles Dodgers,” he smirked back, his accent was thicker than I imagined, his eyes were a shade of green that couldn’t even be captured on TV. “How are you?”

“Good,” I nodded at him. “A little overwhelmed, I only started back in May.”

I didn’t know why I was telling him that--the last thing I needed was for him to think I didn’t know what I was doing or what I was talking about. He didn’t actually care, he was just being nice and making conversation while Mark got everything set up.

“I know how that feels,” he laughed. This was his first season in LA, he was young and bright-eyed and ambitious, just like me. “Sometimes when I get nervous, though, I just pretend everyone else is naked--that usually helps.”

I laughed, feeling a flush come to my face when his eyes went wide.

“I mean, not now, like--I’m not nervous now, you’re making me very comfortable,” he said, his words rambling into a run-on sentence to avoid any awkwardness. It might have been too late.

“Alright,” Mark looked up, a smirk tugged at his lips as he looked between us. “Ready?”

Harry only nodded, his cheeks still tinged pink from his accidental innuendo, but then he looked at me to start us off.

I cleared my throat when Mark gave me the count--3, 2, 1.

“Nicole Pearce live from Dodgers Stadium with outfielder Harry Styles,” I spoke into the microphone, focusing on the lens in front of me. “Harry, I’m sure most people are asking you the typical questions tonight--are you nervous, how’s it feel? But I’ve actually got a question for you about that game in June, if that’s alright.”

He immediately knew what I was talking about, fighting a bit of a smile that tugged at his mouth. He nodded, waiting for me to continue.

“You’re the youngest player to hit for the cycle in your first season with the Dodgers, but that Tuesday night game--how’d you get a bloody nose?”

He gave me a full smile now, chuckling a little as he nodded. I hoped he appreciated the humor, I hope he was thankful that I didn’t ask him the same thing that everyone else had asked.

“I’m not sure, really,” he shook his head. “It was totally out of the blue and couldn’t have been worse timing.”

“I’ll take it there was no celebration after that home run, then? No high fives or anything?”

“No, definitely not,” he shook his head, “I went straight to the locker room with a trainer--but it stopped, I was alright.”

“And Los Angeles is thankful for that. Good luck tonight, Harry. From the locker room, I’m Nicole Pearce, channel 4 sports.”

Mark pointed in our direction to let us know we were out--I looked back up at Harry, who’s eyebrows were somewhat raised. He chewed his gum still, but I couldn’t read the expression on his face. For a second I was worried that I’d bothered him--was he embarrassed, was he annoyed that I didn’t focus on tonight’s game?

“That was good,” he nodded down at me. “It’s always nice to get a break from the same old questions.”

“I was hoping it’d be a welcomed break,” I said honestly, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Will you be here after?” He asked suddenly, Mark watched on as he held the big camera in front of his torso.

“Here? In the locker room?” I suddenly felt aware of the line of people behind me--the other reporters who were waiting to get a piece of him, waiting to ask him a question and get some insight into his mind.

He nodded, crossing his arms as he looked down at me again. His uniform--the white and blue--complimented him well. Despite his newness to the team, he had an air of confidence that I could tell was genuine. He knew he was good, he knew he was making me a bit nervous.

“Yeah--I’m here all night,” I answered.

“Good to know,” he smiled. “I’ll try to find you later.”

**

I knew that being in this line of work meant uncertainty. It meant flexibility and it meant doing a lot of things on the fly. I had no idea, however, when I walked into Dodgers Stadium at 6pm that night, that I would be there until the next morning.

The game went 18 innings--the equivalent to a double header and the longest game in World Series history. While the fact that Mark and I stayed to cover the whole game was good for my career, it was anything but for my sanity.

At the 13th inning I was sure we were going home--the Red Sox had scored and our luck wasn’t great. I’d almost resigned to another loss, until we tied it again.

The longer the game went, the longer I watched Harry play and make catches and celebrate with his teammates, the more intrigued I was about our conversation.

He was friendly, that I had heard from other reporters in the field and other people I knew from work. I’d never met him before, but the way he smiled at me and said he’d find me later--it made me not as mad about sticking around.

Then again, it wasn’t like I had much of a choice--it was my job, after all.

I brushed on more makeup in the media bathroom, hoping to cover the circles under my eyes and make it seem like I wasn’t so exhausted. My schedule at the station had my sleep all over the place--some days they’d want me to do the morning shift and cover for one of our main anchors. That had me up at 2:30am and in the office by 3:30.

Things like this--games, sports, the thing I really wanted to cover--had me reapplying makeup in the middle of the night. I’d already done a sideline interview with the manager. Apparently he recognized Mark as one of the usual suspects nearby and offered a few seconds--that was one of the perks of working with Mark.

I’d watched Harry, out of the corner of my eye, make his way out of the dugout when they’d won--they all stormed the diamond to congratulate their teammate who’d hit a walk-off homerun. I think they were just as happy as I was that it was finally over.

“Excuse me, sorry--NBC, excuse us,” I muttered, hoping to push through some of the people at the back of the locker room. It was smellier than before, all sorts of scents wafted through the warm room. There were plenty of players who’d already been in and out of the shower, but the heat from the bodies and their exertion still clung to the air.

“Want to talk to Styles again? He played pretty well,” Mark asked, taking a second to hoist the camera up to his shoulder.

I scanned the room. I needed to be professional--I couldn’t let the flush on my cheeks or the skipping heart beat take over, even if the Dodgers’ youngest star player had possibly pictured me naked. That wasn’t the point.

“Sure, yeah, we can find whoever,” I shrugged my shoulders, hoping to just forget about the entirety of my conversation before. I needed to take this seriously. Covering this game was huge, I didn’t need to fangirl over someone just because he was a professional athlete.

We made our way to stand in the group of people near Max Muncy, I shoved the microphone through the crowd of recorders and iPhones, hoping to catch whatever he said. He was appreciative, he was excited, I managed to ask him a question about how he feels heading into game four, and then it was over.

The locker room was thinning out most of the players had changed and talked for a few minutes, they were likely heading home for what was hopefully a good night’s sleep.

I was standing with Mark, who was just about to power off the camera and gather his belongings, when I spotted him near his locker. His name was plastered above it, he stood, bent over, as he packed up his things. He smiled and offered a handshake to one of his teammates, the same smile on his face that I’d seen much closer early in the night. I cleared my throat when Mark, with raised brows, caught me staring.

“Relax, I was just seeing what he was doing,” I rolled my eyes, annoyed that Mark was clearly amused by my crush.

“Sure,” he laughed, dropping his Sony HXR into the bag he toted around. “I heard him say he’d find you later. I can give you some space.”

“Oh my god,” I rolled my eyes again, falling into step with him quickly as we headed towards the door. “Please, I’m going home, too. I’m exhausted.”

He opened the door back into the concourse and paused when we were outside. He took out his cellphone, looking at the time. “I’m in lot five, where are you?”

I pointed down the main hall and frowned. “Lot ten,” apparently the senior media got the better lot. “But have a good night, I’m back in on Sunday.”

He clicked his phone shut and put it back in his pocket. “Have a good night, Nic.”

I waved him off, draping my own bag over my shoulder as I began to trudge down the hallway. The walk to my car wasn’t terrible, but it was long--especially in the heels I’d been wearing for the last 18 innings.

I scrolled mindlessly as I walked, watching the array of tweets come in about the game, the score, the insanity of the entire evening. I was about to turn down the hallway that would bring me out to the parking lot when I heard voices approaching behind. The whir of a golf cart quieted, causing me to turn around.

“Hi,” Harry Styles smiled at me--clad in athletic shorts and a sweatshirt. The man driving looked familiar, maybe one of their trainers, maybe a teammate. “Nicole Pearce, NBC 4, right?”

I nodded, feeling a flush rise on my cheeks. His hair was brushed back under a Dodgers hat, which sat backwards on his head. He smirked at me. “Need a ride?”

“Oh--I’m fine, I’m in lot ten,” I said, pointing over my shoulder to motion to where my car was parked.

“You’ve still got a ways to go,” he informed me, the corners of his mouth still pointed upwards. “Come on, get in,” he motioned to the backwards facing seat behind him. I looked up and down the hall, wondering if this was something that I’d get in trouble for.

Since I didn’t know the answer, I figured I was allowed to feign ignorance. “I hope I don’t lose my job because of this,” I said quietly, climbing up and taking a seat--my feet were immediately grateful for the relief.

“If you lose your job because of me, I’ll personally call your boss and give him a very stern talking to,” he nodded solemnly.

I laughed, running a hand through my hair, hoping that my cheeks weren’t so pink that he could tell I was nervous.

“Are you local, Nicole?” He asked as we lurched into motion--the driver took the turn down the hall for lot ten, I nodded in response to his question and cleared my throat.

“I went to UCLA, grew up in Sherman Oaks. Now I’m in Studio City.”

He was twisted around to see me, his arm on the back of my seat. I could see the stubble on his face, the way it grew up his chin and on his jaw line, the way it sprinkled his upper lip. He was tan--all the playing in the sun must have changed his skin tone a bit, but he smiled at me.

“Bit of a drive in rush hour from here, no? How was your drive out?”

I shrugged--the 5 was always a mess, but I’d left from the studio after Mark and I had gotten the equipment we needed, so the route was more direct. “It’ll be better now at almost 1:30am.”

He smiled still, his eyes just scanning over my face as if he had something to say as we exited out the stadium and into the dark parking lot. I kept eye contact for a minute, though self-conscious about the heavy makeup I wore. It looked fine on TV, but in person it always seemed obnoxious.

The gold cart slowed to a stop. “A couple of teammates are headed back to my house just to hang out, have a drink, if you’re not doing anything.”

My eyes must have went wide, he laughed and shrugged. “Or not--if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, I appreciate that,” I said quickly, cursing my overly expressive face and my inability to ever play it cool. “I just, it’s late, I figured you’d all go home and sleep.”

He laughed again, taking the baseball cap off of his head to smooth out his hair before replacing it. “Yeah, we will eventually. Hard to go straight home after a night like that,” he threw a thumb over his shoulder back towards the stadium.

I nodded--it made sense. It’d be hard enough to sleep at all after the events of the night. I stared at him, his eyes scanned my face once more, a smirk tugged at his lips and he shrugged his shoulders, as if asking me why not?

“Yeah,” I said. “Okay.”

**

When I found myself seated on a plush beige couch in Harry Styles’ living room, directly next to Joc Pederson and Walker Buehler, I knew that I could definitely lose my job for this.

I mean, it wasn’t like any of them cared who I was or even really asked. I’d walked in with Harry, thankful that the ride from the stadium to his house was only 25 minutes. I’d abandoned my car at the stadium, he said that of their trainers could drive it out later for me or I could get it in the morning.

I pushed the fear out of my head--I wasn’t the type of girl to do this, but something in me told me that it’d be a night to remember, a night that only comes once in a lifetime. I think I was right.

There was enough beer to furnish three college frat parties, a few of Harry’s teammates swatted a ping pong ball back and forth at a table near the kitchen, a few of them were watching replays of the night’s biggest plays on the TV in front of us.

Harry, who’d disappeared into the kitchen to get me another drink, returned and handed it down to me. “I can give you a tour, if you want,” he held a hand out, helping me from the couch. I stood, surprised at the height difference between the two of us now that I was without my heels.

He was tall, that was clear. He had broad shoulders, white teeth, curly, messy hair that was still tamed beneath his backwards hat. I followed him out the living room, away from the people and down a main hall.

He flipped on a light switch and stepped aside so I could see in. “Guest room,” he said. “Normally where my mum stays when she comes out.”

I smiled, picturing his family from the U.K. coming out to experience America’s past time. “How often does she come?”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “A few times a season. She’s out now with some of my aunts and cousins, but they’re all in a hotel.”

He flipped the light off, shut the door, and led me down the hall. “Bathroom there,” he pointed into a dark door.

“Yep, I used it already,” I laughed, watching him offer a smirk over his shoulder as he continued to lead me towards the stairs.

The foyer through which I’d entered was impressive enough as it. Beautiful dark wood end tables lined either side of the room, a second floor was visible, wrought iron railings lined the stairs and the overlook above.

“You saw the kitchen and the living room,” he said, climbing the first few steps. I climbed behind him, keeping enough of a safe distance. Sure, my job had allowed me access to a few celebrities here and there. Once I got to go to banquet where Demi Lovato gave a speech, there was even the time in college where I’d gotten to go to a journalism expo where Katie Couric and Don Lemon were, but I’d never experienced this.

I’d never been invited into someone’s home who’d I’d interviewed only a mere hours ago.

Harry led me down a hallway that seemed to have an end in sight. “Bedroom there, office there,” he pointed at two doors on either side of the hall. “There’s a bathroom with that one, it has a really nice tub.”

I laughed, following him down the dark hallway until he stopped at a set of double doors. “This is the master, my room,” he pushed the doors open, revealing a king sized bed clad in gray sheets and a gray duvet. He had a few jerseys framed above his bed--names I didn’t recognize but teams that I did.

One of the Yankees, one of the Astros. “Isn’t is kind of against the rules to have these?” I teased, walking closer to his bed and pointing up at them. I could hear the people downstairs, the cheering at the TV when they saw themselves do something amazing. He flicked the light switch on but kept the lights dim.

I turned around to see him, his lips were tugged into a smirk once more as he shrugged. “I mean, maybe--but they don’t spend a lot of time up here,” he motioned to his teammates downstairs.

“And this,” I looked to the protected bat that was mounted on the wall, signed by David Ortiz. “This is incredible, have you met him?”

“Unfortunately no,” he rolled his eyes, coming closer to examine it beside me. “He retired the year I got drafted.”

“My dad has loved the Dodgers forever, but he loves David Ortiz.” I said mostly to myself, still taking in the shiny bat that hung on the dark red wall.

I looked over to him to find his eyes on me once again--his eyes scanned down my face to my lips, and before I knew it, my body was pressed to his. His lips were unbelievably soft, his hands felt rough from gripping a bat, but soft as the moved down my size. I let my hands reach up to his face, feeling the stubble on his chin against my palms as he kissed me harder.

It was crazy--all of it, really. A typical night at work became a historical game and now it was surely something to remember. I let Harry push me towards the bed, he pulled away slightly when we toppled down, a smile on his face as he looked at me.

“Sorry--I hope that wasn’t too forward,” he paused, a look on his face almost told me he was now embarrassed, as if he felt bad for the way we’d pressed ourselves together.

“It’s fine,” I giggled, he held his weight on his elbow as he stared down at me. “Forward isn’t a bad thing.”

He brought his lips back to me, less feverishly this time, kissing me deeply and letting his hand trace down the hem of my dress. Stupid work dress--it was the least sexy thing I owned. If I had known this would happen, I’d have gone with the black one with the questionable amount of cleavage.

His fingers pushed the fabric of my dress aside, trailing up the skin of my inner thighs. I heard laughter erupt from downstairs, but Harry didn’t budge. His fingers crawled up to the fabric of the thong I wear, which he quickly pushed aside to allow himself access.

I let a moan out against his lips when he middle finger grazed over my clit. He smiled into me, letting himself rub at my center harder as I arched my back into him. Something about the uniform, the accent, the way he’d smiled at me in the locker room--all of it made me want him more than I’d ever wanted anyone.

He pulled away from me quickly, his lips red from blood flow. “D’ya want to take that off?” He pointed to the dress as he knelt on the mattress. I nodded excitedly, reaching back to tug at the zipper, but he ultimately brushed his hand against mine when he pulled it along my spine.

He pulled it off of me, leaving me in my bra and thong on his mattress. He pulled his own shirt over his head, removing the hat along with it. He brought his lips to mine once more, his left hand moved down to cup my breast, grasping me over the fabric.

I let my hand reach down to his shorts, feeling the bulge that grew beneath them. He let out a whimper when I palmed him over the material, he shoved a hand beneath me to remove the bra from between us.

His lips moved quickly to my nipple, he swirled his tongue in circles as I let me fingers grasp into the hair at the nape of his neck. He was good at this--which I think he knew, but he was surprised when I pushed him off of me.

“Go down on me,” I said suddenly, a smirk crossed his face as heat flew to my cheeks. I wasn’t necessarily one to be bossy--but I knew what I wanted and he seemed willing to do it. He moved his way down the mattress to the edge of the bed, looped his arms under my thighs, and pulled me closer to him.

“Gladly,” he raised his eyebrows as he pulled the black fabric from my hips, bringing it down to my ankles before I flicked it to the ground. He pressed a kiss against me first, just a light sucking and a gentle heat left me wanting more--enough so that I reached a hand down and pressed him into me. He laughed lightly, letting his tongue make contact with my clit, I let out another moan as he worked at me.

I don’t know if it was the fact that there were people downstairs, the fact that this was definitely against something in my contract, or the fact that I’d be sure to see him again, but something about the whole situation made it hotter.

He brought a finger up to slide in and out of me, his mouth still connected to my center as he licked away--my back arched off of the mattress and his name escaped my lips.

He liked that, apparently, because he pulled away from me and smirked. I sat up, reached forward to grab at his shorts, pulling him closer to me and pulling the fabric away from his cock in one swift motion.

His knees jerked a bit when my hand clasped around him, he let out a deep breath when I took him into my mouth. I giggled, smiling up at him as I let my tongue slide up and down his shaft.

“Fuck, Nicole,” he said, his eyes closing for a second as he leaned his head back. The sound of my name on his lips made me work harder--I wanted to hear it again. He was in my control, he was only thinking about me in this moment, and that felt good.

I sucked at the head, my hand cupping his balls for a minute, but soon, he placed a hand on my shoulder and gave me a slight push. “Can I just fuck you?”

I laughed, appreciative of his question as I shifted back on the bed. He crawled forward on top of me, stepping out of his shorts altogether. He grasped a hand around himself, bringing it to my core and letting a shiver rake through my spine as he teased me with his tip.

“Please,” I said, through a cracked voice. He smiled, pressing himself into me and letting out a groan.

He let himself come closer down to me, brushing a piece of hair out of my eyes before letting his lips find mine once again. “Fuck,” he said, a bead of sweat dripped down the side of his forehead.

I couldn’t believe it--his eyes were closed as he thrusted in and out of me, and not only did it feel amazing to have him fill me, but I couldn’t help but marvel at my own luck.

“Harry,” I said lowly, he opened his eyes to make sure I was okay--but when he realized I was as pleased as he was, he kept moving, his cock moving against my clit in the perfect motion.

“I’m close,” I said, arching my back again to let him rub against me more.

“Yeah, baby, come on my cock,” he said, his eyes open to watch my face as he thrusted harder. It didn’t take long, and hearing him call me baby didn’t seem to hurt, either.

“Oh, fuck me,” I whimpered, feeling myself tighten around him.

“Fuck, Nicole,” he said--seemingly as close as I was. I reached my hands up, cupping his face and bringing his lips to mine, in an effort to keep both of us quiet.

He moaned against my lips, I could feel his orgasm only a few seconds after my own subsided.

He pulled his lips away from me, I opened my eyes to catch him smiling, a laugh escaped his lips. He was panting, his breath still short as he pulled himself out, I propped myself up on my elbows as he climbed off of the bed.

“Would you like to take a shower?” He asked.

I sighed, hoping to calm my own heartbeat before standing. “Sure,” I said.

He offered me a hand and pulled me off of the bed, pressing another kiss on my lips once I was stood in front of him. I followed him into the bathroom, where he turned on the shower, and let me step in first.

I let the water wash over me, a smile on my face from the shocking events of the night. The only thing that would make it better is if I could have done a story on it.

[avengerofyourheart]

Flour Girl {5} (Bucky x reader AU)

Characters: reader, Bucky (Jimmy), Wanda.

Summary: Discovering the cute guy you just flirted with is the heir of a rival bakery, you suddenly find yourself running into him all over the city. Can your small boutique bakery compete? And how do you deal with the guy who seems determined to make your life a living hell? Luckily you’re distracted by a secret admirer…But who is he? (Inspired by “You’ve Got Mail”, Enemies to Lovers)

Warnings: none! Mild swearing?

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Ahh!! I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all of your love and support for this series. it means the world to me. There’s a lot more snark and sweetness coming up and I can’t wait to hear what your thoughts are!! Any and all feedback is appreciated. i adore you all. <3

<<Part 4   Part 5   Part 6>> 

Flour Girl Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

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It’s a rotten morning when you’re awake even before your 4:30am alarm, unclogging a toilet. Your life was so glamorous. Mrs. Carter in 3G had called multiple times in the middle of the night and you finally answered, since she clearly wasn’t giving up. By the time you got back to your apartment, it was almost 5am. You were exhausted and now running late. Wonderful.

A brief, hot shower later and you were walking through the bakery into the safe space of your kitchen. Baking always put you in a calmer state after such a frazzled morning. But first, coffee. You added fresh grounds to the reservoir and hit the button to brew before tying on your apron and washing your hands.

It was a croissant day, so you pulled your chilled dough from the fridge. Carefully, you rolled it into a perfect rectangle and then folded it into thirds before wrapping it again. One more hour in the fridge and it would be ready to turn into croissants. The oven was on with the usual pastries baking when you got a text from “B”, and this time with an image attached.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you opened the attachment, excited and nervous. It was of a mug of coffee, still steaming, with the caption “Most important meal of the day.” No identifiable clues as to who your mystery texter was, and for a split second you were disappointed. Did you really want to know who it was? What happens then? Would you share who YOU were? That was too much to worry about so early in the morning.

Shaking off the thoughts, you clicked the icon for your phone’s camera and snapped a photo of your own mug of coffee with one word added. “Agreed.” Before sending it, you made sure nothing in the background would give the receiver any idea of your location. You hit send.

The oven timer went off then and you went about finishing all the pastries to sell and deliver. Wanda texted that the train was delayed and she would be a little late, so you took down the chairs and got the pastry case ready for the shop to open. Fresh coffee was brewing as Wanda walked through the door.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N!” she exclaimed immediately upon entering.

“It’s fine, seriously, I have things handled,” you assured her with a smile. “But I might have to duck back upstairs in a little while for a nap. Today started even earlier than usual,” you said with a tired sigh.

“Ooh. I’m sorry. Tenant problems?” Wanda grimaced.

You just shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle. I’m off to deliver. If I happen to be gone when the food delivery truck arrives, will you text me? I won’t be far away.”

“Of course,” she agreed, tying on her own cute apron and pulling her hair back.

“See you in a bit!”

_________________________

Your last stop of the day at the Nest proved a little more difficult, since the most convenient parking spot was currently occupied by a Barnes Bakery delivery van. Of course it was. Walking a little further than usual, you arrived slightly out of breath with arms aching as you pushed through the glass door. You staggered the last few feet and placed the two boxes on the counter with a huff. It was then that you noticed your nemesis leaning on said counter. Again.

“Morning, Y/N. Late start today?” he taunted with a grin.

You might have replied more honestly then, but Clint had arrived so you held your tongue. “Limited parking on the street this morning,” you said with a mild glare at the curly-haired brunet. He looked well-rested and perfected styled as usual. Jerk.

Clint looked over the pastries and signed the invoice as you absently rubbed at a stain on the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“Everything looks good,” he replied, handing you the form. “I might have to change my order for next week, though. Just a few less items. I guess the more savory items like the bagels are selling better so I have a little less room for your stuff. Not to worry, though, people still like having options,” the blond patted your hand with a grin.

Trying to return the smile, you let out a shaky breath. “Of course, yeah. Send me an email of what you’d like to change. No problem.”

“Great. I’ll see you two later,” Clint waved before walking over to help a customer.

Jimmy said nothing, but felt content to linger and sip his cup of coffee without a care in the world.

Having recovered, you whirled toward him. “Feeling proud of yourself?” you asked with a withering glare.

He just shrugged with a smirk. “Well, I’m not unhappy with this turn of events. You know how it goes…supply and demand,” he annoyingly explained before taking another sip.

“Yes, I understand that concept. It doesn’t take a business degree to grasp it,” you spat back at him. “Did you have to hog the whole street, too?”

“Looks like I have another…” he glanced at his watch, “15 minutes before the meter runs out, so yeah, I do. No more deliveries, so I might just stay a little longer.” Jimmy pushed away from the counter and settled on a nearby chair.

Fists clenched at your sides, you took a deep breath and grabbed the invoice off the counter. One last glance his way and you left without a word. What an insufferable man. Reaching your car, you got a text and saw it was from Wanda. You rushed back to the bakery just in time to see a delivery truck double parked outside.

“Sam, hi!” you jogged up to meet the man on the sidewalk.

The handsome, dark-skinned man gave you a smile as you arrived. “Hey, Y/N. Just in time, any later and the company starts to charge for late deliveries,” Sam told you regretfully. He had been your regular driver since you had opened. He was always kind to you, but the company did have regulations to uphold.

Catching your breath, you replied. “I know, I’m sorry. Rough morning. I’ll get the cellar door open.”

Rushing through the bakery and briefly speaking to Wanda, you squeezed down the narrow stairs at the back of the kitchen hidden by a door and into the small cellar. Most business, especially food establishments, had to have a storage area but limited real estate meant it had to be underground. You could barely stand up in the cellar and hauling 50 pound bags of flour up the stairs wasn’t fun, but you made the most of it.

You unlocked the padlock from inside and knocked twice before pushing the heavy metal doors open. The knocking alerted anyone nearby to get out of the way. Sam assisted laying the doors flat and then climbed down to help set up the ramp along the stairs. The best way to get everything down the stairs, or at least the non-fragile items, was by sliding them down with someone who could catch them at the bottom. It also helped you check off ingredients as they arrived and you could make sure they were put away properly.

Sam hollered that he was ready to go and you gave him a shout that you were as well. It only took about 15 minutes to unload and catch the items, but by the end your arms were aching and your back was sore from bending down in the small space.

“That’s the last of it,” Sam called down to you, but your brow furrowed at that. Something didn’t add up.

Climbing up the stairs, you accepted the order invoice Sam handed you and you looked it over. “I’m missing a bag of flour,” you told him, concerned.

“Yeah, I know. It busted open all over my truck when I tried to lift it. The loading guys must have torn it. Sorry about that. We could try to get a bag to you tomorrow, but there would be a delivery charge,” he said apologetically.

Biting your lip, you weighed the possibilities. The delivery fee was a crazy amount of money just for one bag of flour and you just didn’t have the extra money. You always tried to order a little extra just in case, but without that bag of flour, you’d just have to cross your fingers that what you had would last you until next week.

“No, that’s okay. Just credit me the bag of flour and I’ll get more next week,” you decided.

“Alright,” he said, making the adjustments to your invoice. “Sign, please.”

After waving goodbye to Sam and locking the cellar doors, you checked in on Wanda at the front.

“Hey, Y/N. Business has been steady, but nothing I can’t handle if you want to take that nap?” she offered.

Pushing away the desire to sleep, you shook your head. “No. Thanks, though. I need to work on a few savory recipes I’ve been thinking about,” you said resolutely.

“Right now?” she asked, concerned.

“Right now,” you replied, squaring your shoulders.  

It was time to fight back.

________________

Part 6>> 

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Oh, snap!! She’s ready to fight!! Ugh, Jimmy and is bagels. And a photo from “B”!! Ahh!! Turned out to just be coffee, but I’d be nervous, too! And Sam!! yayyy!!! I love him. Such a sweetheart. It also occurred to me while talking to Becca that some might not know how croissants are made! Or croissant dough, as mentioned, so I added a link to a youtube video and I’ll link it right here as well. Trust me when I say any homemade croissant you buy is worth every penny! I’ve also been thinking about sharing recipes and/or doing short videos about make the baked items I’ve mentioned. Let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in! I love you guys. Can’t wait to hear your thought!! Thank you for reading!! :)

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[jiminniethemarshmallow]

Forgiveness (Drabble #8)

1. “I missed you so much” 2. “Like what you see?” 48. Gym 75. Blowjob 100. Makeup Sex

It has been an entire week since you and Jimin had your argument. An entire week since you had last seen or spoken to him. You and Jimin didn’t fight often, most disputes were over trivial things like where to eat for diner or which movie you should see at the theatre, never anything like this. It started when you went to go out with your friends last week to a club a bit farther from your home than Jimin was comfortable with, but you assured him that your friends knew the area well and that it wasn’t anywhere shady. As you were getting ready to leave, Jimin made a comment about your outfit, saying it was too revealing for you to wear out especially as a woman going to a club without male supervision— a comment that made you scoff. You weren’t alone, you reasoned, you’d be with a group of your closest friends the entire time, but he worried what might happen if you got separated or if they all decided to leave with other people, leaving you to fend for yourself. After talking your way out of his interrogation, you came to a compromise— you would text him around midnight to tell him things were okay and that you were safe and then text or call him again when you got home so he knew you made it back safely.

Long story short, you forgot. Jimin received your message at midnight, but didn’t hear from you after that. He worried himself for hours trying not to panic because he knew you liked to stay out late when you were with friends, but when you didn’t return his calls or texts, his resolve broke and he stormed to your house. Your lights were on when he got there, a clear sign that you were in fact home and while relief flooded his chest, Jimin could only feel the boiling anger crawling up his neck because you so blatantly ignored his request. He used the key you gave him to enter, not even bothering to knock, and when he came in he found you passed out on your couch, still fully dressed in your scanty dress and sprawled half off the cushions.

“(Y/n).” Jimin called, his voice hollow and deep as he watched you come to your senses groggily and look up at him. His eyebrows furrowed and you could see his lip curling into a frown when he noticed that you were very drunk, eyes glossy and body unstable.

“Jimin?” You mumble, squinting in the light at his figure hovering over you.

“Why didn’t you text me when you got back like I asked?” He got straight to the point.

“Huh?” You were still struggling to comprehend the situation, wondering how Jimin got here and exactly how you got home yourself.

“What time did you get home?” Jimin tried to remain calm, but the longer you took to answer, the angrier he got.

“What time is it?” You ask, squinting across the room at the clock on the wall. It read about 4:30am. “Oh, I’ve only been home for about... 2 hours?”

“Only 2 hours?!” Jimin was about to lose it. “Do you know how worried I was? I called you at least 5 times within those two hours and you didn’t answer a single one of my messages. I asked you to do something simple, text me when you got home so I know you’re safe; but you had me up all night worried sick, ready to trash the entire city looking for you just to find you drunk and knocked out on your damn couch!”

He was seething, you could practically see the fumes coming off of him as he ranted, eyes narrowed and hands motioning around him. In all honesty, you were only taking in about half of his words, your brain not being able to process it all at the moment, so you just stared blankly at him until he was finished, face red and breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry, I forgot.” Is all you can say. You neglect to tell him that you don’t even remember who took you home or when you passed out for that matter. Grabbing your phone from the floor, you see all of the messages and missed calls from him. Some seemed worried, some desperate, some irritated. You shut your eyes in an attempt to collect yourself and Jimin continues.

“You’re sorry? You forgot? (Y/n), this is serious. If something were to happen to you I don’t know what I would do. But you don’t even seem to care! I didn’t even want you to go out tonight, the least you could have done was let me know you were okay! God, I swear sometimes it’s like you’re a child, you don’t think about consequences. If you went missing I wouldn’t even know where to start looking because the last time I contacted you was at midnight and this is four and a half hours later. It’s almost morning! And why the hell did you think it was a good idea to get this drunk, do you know how dangerous it is to get drunk when you’re out alone, without someone you trust?”

“Jimin, stop. I was with my friends, I was fine.” You try to explain, but it only makes him angrier.

“How was I supposed to know that when you didn’t tell me?!” He raised his voice, so you raised yours.

“I’m a grown woman, I can handle myself! I don’t need a babysitter and I can drink however much I want. Stop acting like you’re my dad!” You shout, finally coordinating yourself enough to sit up on the couch. That was the last straw for Jimin and after a few more bitter exchanges with you, he stormed out, leaving you alone.

The thing that bothered him the most was that you were ignorant to how he felt and how terrified he was for you. It wasn’t about him being possessive over you or wanting to control you, it was about your safety, because if something did go wrong that night, he would blame himself for not protecting you. It wasn’t until a few days later, when you weren’t terribly hungover, that you realized this. You were reckless, this you knew, but you didn’t know how much your actions affected Jimin, someone who cared for you deeply.

So now it’s been a week and he still hasn’t spoken to you— not that you tried to speak to him after the incident either— and it doesn’t seem like that will change any time soon. His members noticed Jimin’s sour mood immediately, appalled when he locked himself in his room the entire day after, knowing how he hates being alone. They tried to talk to him but he sent them away and it took another day after that for him to start talking to them again. Every time your name was mentioned, he would roll his eyes, and whenever someone asked where you were he would grumble something about not knowing or caring and how you were probably doing something reckless. This concerned his friends and after a week of him moping around and snapping at others, they had enough.

“Hey (Y/n).” Yoongi’s voice resonated on the other side of your phone.

“Hey Yoongs, what’s up?” You ask, digging into the bag of chips in front of you.

“Not to get in your business or anything, but what’s going on with you and Jimin lately?” He asks cautiously, listening to you nearly choke on the chip you’re eating.

“What? Nothing.” That wasn’t a complete lie. There was literally nothing happening between you two.

“It’s just, I’ve noticed you’re ignoring each other. Well, we’ve all kind of noticed. And Jimin’s been in a really bad mood and he gets all sensitive when we bring up your name.” Yoongi waits for your response, listening to the breath you take on the other end.

“We had a fight.” You shake your head, cheeks heating up in embarrassment and you have no idea why. “I was drunk and in the wrong and Jimin was just being a good boyfriend and worrying about me, but I was... drunk and stupid.” You sigh.

“You didn’t cheat on him, did you?”

“Never! God, Yoongi, you should know me by now, I would never.” You defend passionately.

“Then this is fixable. Just talk to him and apologize, tell him he was right and that you’re sorry and fix your relationship like adults. I’m tired of seeing him act like this.” Min Yoongi was no relationship expert, but he did have a lot of common sense. You suppose the solution was clear to everyone on the outside of this, but you didn’t think so. Talking to Jimin wouldn’t be as simple as he made it seem because both of you were stubborn, but you knew things wouldn’t get better if you continued ignoring each other, so you mustered up your courage and decided to face him.

“Ugh, fine.” You sigh, putting down your chips. “Where is he?”

“At the gym. You know how he gets when he’s upset, he just exercises away all his frustrations and comes back looking like a body builder. He’s bulked up a lot this week, it’s kinda scary.” Yoongi half chuckles as you shuffle around to find your shoes.

“I don’t even know what to say to him.” You groan when you reach your front door.

“You’ll figure it out. I know he’ll probably forgive you to moment he sees your face.”

“But what if-“

“Gotta go (Y/n), good luck! Don’t go home until you’ve fixed this.” And with that he hangs up, leaving you to your own devices.

Whenever Jimin was stressed, he always found solace in physical activity. It helped take his mind off of things, distract him from whatever it was that bothered him in the first place, and today that’s exactly what he needed. Jimin was no longer upset with you about that night, he was completely over the situation and wanted nothing more than to go back to you and offer his forgiveness for your drunken impulsiveness, but that was not an option for him. It would be wrong to go to you first and reconcile your relationship when he did nothing wrong. You had to be the one to come to him, so he waited and trusted the fact that you would eventually come around, even if you haven’t spoken to him in a week.

Today he saw something funny happen while out at the studio and his first reaction was to text you about it so you could laugh with him, and he typed out an entire message before his better judgement stopped him from hitting send. Contacting you first would be forfeiting this imaginary game you were playing, making you the automatic victor, and he was not about to let that happen. So he headed to the gym to blow off some steam and keep his mind off of you.

Jimin spent hours exercising, benching the equivalent of your weight effortlessly while distracted by thoughts of you. He tried cardio, running on the treadmill endlessly to burn off the tinge of guilt he felt for yelling at you like that, wondering if maybe he was actually the one in the wrong and not you, then turning up the speed to disperse those thoughts because, of course not. He moved on to the pull up bar at the back, lifting himself over and over and ignoring the burn after many reps, too lost in thought about what you might be doing right now, if you were having the same dilemma as he was. Since you started dating, you’ve never been away from him this long voluntarily, only when he was forced to leave for tour or to do promotions all over the country. But even then you were in constant contact with him, always telling him how you were and making sure he was taking care of himself. Jimin didn’t like this lonely feeling overtaking him in your absence, so he worked harder to fill the void.

Stepping into the deserted gym, you contemplated what you would say when you saw him. Would he even want to see you? Of course he would, you knew Jimin couldn’t stand being away from you for long, but you were still wracked with nerves. You explore the empty building cautiously, listening for any music or clashing of weights, but you heard nothing. Weaving through the assortment of machines and racks, you almost give up when you come up empty handed, but something tells you to check in the back and soon you see a movement in the corner.

Jimin is at the very back of the gym using the pull up bar, his shirt discarded on a nearby bench and earbuds stuffed into his ears. Sweat drips down his back in streams, defining his muscles as they flex with effort to pull his weight up and down, and the motion has you mesmerized, everything you wanted to say flying out the window as you stare at the work of art before you. It’s only then that you realize just how sexually frustrated you’ve been this entire week. Jimin catches sight of your figure in the mirrors lining the wall in front of him, your parted lips, wide eyes, and tinted cheeks amusing him. He drops down from the bar and turns, pulling out an earbud as he smirks at you.

“Like what you see?” His cocky remark breaks your trance and you close your mouth, shifting nervously to your other foot. You can’t think of a reply fast enough, so he walks away from you, grabbing his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. “Did you need something?”

“Jimin- I, uh,” You fumble, trying your best to ignore your choking pride. “S-sorry.” The word slips from you slowly, almost sounding insincere, and Jimin raises his eyebrows in amusement at his stubborn girlfriend.

“For what?” He wasn’t going to let you go that easy. He didn’t want you to know that he had already forgiven you the moment he saw your face, just like Yoongi predicted. You take a breath as he approaches, stopping to stand right in front of you.

“I’m sorry for not listening to you and for yelling when all you were trying to do was be a good boyfriend and take care of me.” You give him your most innocent puppy look and he barely bats an eyelash. “That was wrong of me,” You continue. “From now on I’ll try not to be so inconsiderate to how you feel.”

When Jimin doesn’t say anything, you flounder a bit, unsure of what exactly he was looking for. He stares at you with an unreadable expression before shrugging and walking toward the locker rooms.

“Okay.” He says simply as he breezes past you, grinning when he hears your rushed footsteps following closely behind him.

“Where are you going?” You ask, frustrated, but all he does is pull his phone out of his pocket and hand it to you along with his attached earbuds.

“Hold this, I’m gonna go shower.” And with that he disappears into the male locker room. You stand there with a dropped jaw, knowing how he gets when he has power over you, and you purse your lips, huffing and following after him.

It takes him by surprise when you come up behind him just as he enters the water, he didn’t expect that you would have the guts to come in, but seeing that no one was there, there was no reason for you not to. You pull back his curtain as he washes himself, unbothered by your presence, giving you the same incredulous look you were giving him.

“What?” He asks.

“Do you accept my apology?” You bite your lip as you await his answer, watching him look you up and down.

“I guess...” He says finally, wanting to make you sweat a little. “But I might need a little more convincing.” The look in his eyes is darker than before and it makes you heat up inside.

“How can I make it up to you?” You ask, eyes trailing his body now as well as he stands there naked before you, rinsing off in the streams of warm water.

“Why don’t you show me how sorry you really are.” Jimin suggests, stepping deeper into the shower to make room for you. You hesitate only for a second before stripping out of your clothes. Putting each layer in a pile on the long bench splitting the aisle, sitting his phone on top of them. Once naked, you step into the small space in front of him, following his tongue with your eyes as it swipes along his plump bottom lip. You press yourself close to him, shutting the curtain behind yourself and resting your hands on his hard chest, pushing him until his back hits the wall.

“Baby, I missed you so much.” You coo, looking into his eyes and running your fingertips down his front, stopping at his V line. He bites his lip when you lean forward to kiss and suck at his neck, careful not to mark him too much. “I should have listened to you, you were just trying to protect me.” You mumble into his skin. “You always know what’s best for me, how to make me feel safe, loved... how to make me feel good.”

He shutters when your hands slip lower to grip his hardening length to give him a languid pump. A grunt leaves him when you squeeze, lips ghosting his ear before you take the lobe between your teeth and nibble, just like he likes it.

“I felt bad after our fight. I don’t like when you’re upset with me and I’m sorry for making you worry like that. So please forgive me, Jimin, it was so hard for me to be away from you for so long.” You practically moan, giving him another jerk.

“On your knees.” He orders sharply. Jimin’s hands fly to your waist as he begins pressing you down, watching with lidded eyes as you sink until you’re eye level with his dick. When you look up at him with innocent eyes, he grabs himself at the base and lifts his tip to your mouth, threading his fingers tightly in your hair with the other hand. “Suck.”

On command, you open your mouth and take the head of his cock between your lips, using your tongue to tease the slit and swirl around it a few times. Jimin inhales when you take him a little deeper, caressing the underside of his shaft with your wet muscle and sucking hard. You would never admit it, but you love blowing him almost as much as he loves fucking you. You love the feeling of him slowly engorging in your mouth until he’s rock solid, his weight heavy on your jaw. The soft skin feels good on your lips as you continue your work, pulling back and feeling it pull up with your lips to add more friction over the sensitive ridge at the underside of his tip.

Jimin’s fingers twist in your locks when you take a deep breath and drop all the way down on him, forcing yourself forward until he hits the back of your throat and your nose presses into his lower abdomen. A broken moan resounds from him and echos along the empty walls of the locker room making you squeeze your thighs together because— fuck, he sounds sexy like this. You try to pull back from your position, laving your tongue up the thick vein running up the underside of his cock, but once you get about halfway, Jimin pushes you back down roughly, making you gag harshly around him out of surprise.

“Holy fuck, (Y/n),” He gasps, looking down at you from above and watching as tears gather at the corner of your eyes from lack of oxygen. He pulls you away by the roots of your hair and you yank your head back, breathing heavily but still stroking his length with a closed fist. Jimin waits for you to look back up at him before smirking, biting his lip at how sexy you look on your knees in front of him. “Mm, you’re so hot, baby. You can be a good girl and take me like that one more time, can’t you?” It was less of a question and more of a warning on his part, but you nod anyway, opening your mouth again and bracing yourself.

As soon as you’re ready, he pushes your head forward until he’s down your throat again, but this time you’re more prepared and try not to gag. He holds you there for a few seconds, throwing his head back in ecstasy and shutting his eyes tight to focus in on the feeling. Jimin can’t even begin to describe how good you feel around him. Water runs down his face, the shower long forgotten, but he can only feel how your throat softly pulses around his tip with the effort of fighting back your reflexes. And when you swirl your tongue under him, a moan escapes involuntarily from him that startles you both with its volume.

His grip loosens on your scalp and you remove yourself from his length, letting his tip stay in your mouth as you catch your breath. Jimin smiles at you when you meet his gaze, using his free hand to move stray hairs from your eyes gently.

“Good girl.” He murmurs, but his breath hitches again as you suckle on him, focusing your attention on his frenulum. You can feel his precum coating your tongue and you suck, causing more to gush out and giving you a taste of him. The salty liquid makes you moan around him, arousing you more than before, and it takes everything in you not to reach down and rub yourself in front of him. You bob your head along him when you feel his dick start to throb, setting a fast speed from the start that makes him groan out loud. “Ah, you’re mouth is so good. You suck my cock so well— just like that, baby.”

Jimin pants heavily above you, thrusting his hips gently to match the pace of your mouth and you look up at him to see the look on his face. He looks like he’s in absolute heaven as his stomach muscles flex with effort, defined muscles working hard with every labored breath he takes. You reach up and trail your nails down the ridges and Jimin groans, pushing his hips a little harder into your mouth to reach deeper greedily. Your hand drops all the way until you cup his balls lightly, rolling the pliant skin in your palm as you blow him vigorously.

“Oh shit, ‘m gonna cum.” Jimin warns, breathless and desperate, sweat getting washed away by the water. You hum and lick a stripe down his length to take his testicles into your warm mouth and as soon as you give them a gentle tug, his breath hitches and he explodes in your hand. You feel his cock twitch as spurts of his cum shoot past you and onto the shower floor behind you, your hand still pumping him through the intense high. With one long moan of your name, Jimin relaxes, leaning against the wall for support while you give kitten licks to his tip, wanting to taste the remnants of his messy release.

You pull back once he’s clean, looking up at him once more before he drops his hand from you hair in favor of pulling you up by the face to kiss you eagerly. You moan from the heat of it, the first kiss you’ve shared in a week, and you missed this so much. Finally breaking apart, Jimin rests his forehead on yours as you catch your breath, smiling when you open your eyes.

“I forgive you now.” He sighs, pushing off of the wall to turn off the water.

“You better, I just gave you the best blow job of your life.” You smirk, watching as he licks his full lips.

“If this is the reward I get, maybe we should argue more.” Jimin shrugs, laughing when you hit his chest. “But if you ever scare me like that again, be ready for a real punishment.”

Although that was supposed to be taken as a threat, you could stop the heat from rushing to your core at the thought of Jimin punishing you “for real”. He didn’t even fuck your throat this time, so you assumed this wasn’t a serious punishment, but you were kind of excited to see what he would do to you if you actually made him angry. It was tempting, but you also hated when he was mad at you.

“Oooh, scary. Please don’t hurt me Big Bad Wolf.” You tease, Jimin’s hand coming down on your ass before you can even react. The noise echos off the tiled walls.

“Watch it.” He growls, but he can’t conceal the smile on his cheeks with you back in his arms.

[noorakardemmomesaetre]

Serpent Territory 

Chapter Five, Jack and Coke 

Or read it on Ao3

Pairing: Betty Cooper x Jughead Jones

Rating: Explicit.

AU: Jughead Jones is the newly appointed leader of the Southside Serpents.

Everyone’s a bit older, 25-26.

Summary:

when bad boys and bad girls collide. 

warning: smut with a side of plot ahead. 

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

Her words are hot against his ear as he stands between her legs, her knuckles whitening as her grip tightens on the bar counter.

“Of course it doesn’t.”

His words are rough against the soft skin on the column of her neck as he sinks his teeth in, wanting to leave her with a bruised reminder of this night.

Her ankles cross behind his back, pulling him against her and she smirks when she feels how impossibly hard she’s made him already. Her lips crush his, his tongue sliding against her own as his fingers fall between them, pressing against the damp lace.

He grins a little too arrogantly as he pulls away and she rolls her eyes teasingly, bringing her lips to his neck to suck and bite until she leaves a mark of her own. He groans softly as her teeth sink into his lower lip and he pushes her skirt up, past her upper thighs.

“Jughead,” she breathes, kissing down his bare chest as his fingers grip her upper thighs, “are you really going to fuck me on top of this bar counter like I’m just some random girl?”

He almost laughs, his fingers tugging her hair as he pulls her head back to meet his heated, lust-filled gaze, “No Betts, I’m going to fuck you on top of this bar counter like the queen you are.”

Her arms wrap around his neck as they meet in another heated kiss; his fingers hook into her underwear, dragging them off and pulling her towards him, so that she sits at the very edge of the countertop. His grin widens as she spreads her legs open and his eyes drift back up to the playful smile on her face.

He kneels down, trailing hot kisses and nips against her inner thighs, before he presses his mouth against her clit, sucking it gently before running his tongue up her heat. The excitement of their bodies finally colliding mixing with the anxiety of possibly being caught by the sleeping Serpents just down the hall is making their movements rushed and rough. Her fingers yank his wild curls as her other hand slaps against her mouth, stifling her soft moans as he continues to slide his tongue deep inside of her. His fingers grip her inner thighs, leaving red imprints as her nails scratch against his scalp.

He feels her begin to quiver, her core tightening as he works on her clit, allowing one of his fingers to slide inside of her, her wet warmth only making him that much harder.

He feels her shudder, a loud sigh escaping her as her hand falls from her mouth and slams against the bar counter. He straightens hurriedly, pressing his lips against hers, the need to be as close to her as possible overwhelming him.

She’s still catching her breath when her fingers fly to the drawstring on his navy blue pajama pants, and he grips the back of her neck, deepening their kiss, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

“I’m clean,” she says softly against his mouth, lifting her gaze his as the kiss breaks, “and on birth control.”

He presses another kiss to her lips before he pulls back, capturing her chin between his fingers and holding her gaze, “I’m clean too, Betty.”

“Good,” she says quickly and yanks his head down to hers for another deep kiss, her fingers tugging the drawstring loose.

His pants fall to the ground and she lets her gaze drop to his fully hardened length, a pleased smile replacing what once had been a smirk.

“Like what you see?” he murmurs against her ear, grinning as he tugs her earlobe between his teeth.

“It’ll get the job done,” she whispers back, giggling when he pulls back to arch an eyebrow teasingly at her. She grips him with her hand, running it up and down his length before he leans forward and presses the tip against her entrance.

She wraps her legs around his waist again, pulling his head down to press her lips against his. He slides inside of her slowly and she gasps, pressing her forehead against his as she adjusts to his size, her breathing rapid and hot.

Their mouths are barely an inch apart as he waits for her to move against him, to signal that she wants this, and he can feel the heat between them growing thick.

Her heels press against his lower back as she breathes, “Jughead,” and he shoves himself inside of her, clutching her hair roughly between his fingers as his eyes close, the feeling of being inside of her beyond anything he could have imagined.

She moves against him and he pounds against her, again and again, their rushed and heavy breaths syncing with each thrust.

Her nails drag roughly down his back and the pain only makes him pound harder, knowing that he’s going to wake up tomorrow with remnants of this night on his body. She wraps her hand around his forearm tightly, pulling back to meet his gaze and he can see she’s so close.

He moves his hands to grip her waist, grounding her against the countertop, as he thrusts into her deeper and harder than he had been before, slamming his lips against hers. She kisses him back for only a second before she lets her head fall back, her nails digging into his arm.

“Fuck,” she groans as her body tightens around him and he moans into her neck, finding his own release deep inside of her.

As soon as her body relaxes, she pushes him out of her as if she can't possibly believe she's let this happen and hops down from the counter, tugging her skirt down.

He immediately yanks his pants up and smiles at her, attempting to ignore the way the loss of her body pressed against his stings.

A smile she tentatively returns before glancing around and whispering, “do you have a bathroom?”

His fingers are intertwined with hers as he leads her, giggling softly, past the main bar bathrooms towards a door with seven complex locks on the outside.

His bedroom is bare, only a few pieces of furniture and a large bed. He hopes she doesn’t notice how impersonal it is, how it doesn’t represent who he is in the slightest, as she makes her way to his master bathroom.

He looks at the clock and a blinking 4:30AM glares back at him, making his heart drop in a way he definitely doesn’t want to acknowledge. She opens the door quietly a few moments later and tilts her head at him as she shuts off the light, a smile tugging at her lips.

“I hope this is okay,” she says, tugging on the bottom of one of his favorite S t-shirts that is now adorning her curves and his eyes travel the length of her body appreciatively.

He knows she’s wearing nothing else and it makes him think things he shouldn’t be thinking, running his fingers through his hair as she climbs onto his bed, pulling the sheets out and snuggling underneath.

“You are an enigma, Cooper,” he mutters, not being able to fight the grin on his face as he slides under the sheets with her, allowing her to snuggle against his chest.

“Do you mind if I stay? For just another hour or two-”

“...I want you to stay.”

He bites his lip, quickly regretting the words that now hang heavy in the air between them, but then he sees the way she’s smiling, resting her head against his chest and he reminds himself to relax.

“Tell me, Serpent Prince,” she says softly as he runs his fingers through her hair absentmindedly, “if you could be anything you wanted, what would it be?”

“Promise you won’t laugh.”

Her lips curve into one of the most genuine smiles he’s ever seen grace her face and he brushes away the warmth that creeps into his heart at the sight of it.

“I promise.”

“I like to think I’d be an author,” his voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, “I’d want someone to finish reading a novel I’ve written and, you know, say, ‘wow...that was good’.”

She doesn’t respond right away and he chuckles nervously, “but you know, it’s just a dre-”

“I love that,” she interrupts, her thumb rubbing against his ribcage, before she adds thoughtfully, “I bet you’re a great writer.”

“I’m not terrible,” he smirks cockily and she smacks his arm, smiling up at him as he chuckles and shakes his head.

“What about you? What would you be if you weren’t the Ghoulie Queen?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?” she’s gone back to rubbing her thumb in gentle circles against his tattooed skin and he thinks I could get used to this before instantly brushing that thought aside.

“I promise.”

“I think I’d be a detective, or maybe work for the CIA,” she says, shrugging before she glances up at him, “I’d want to solve crimes rather than...commit them.”

He runs his fingers through her hair again, the soft golden strands falling against his calloused hand as he works up the courage to just ask her.

“Betty,” he finally says, finding confidence in the peacefulness that’s found its way around them, and she offers a small smile, shifting her body towards him, “how did you become...a Ghoulie?”

The sudden silence makes him regret asking and he wishes he could turn back time, just two minutes, but then she sighs and gives a half-hearted shrug.

“I was about four years old when my biological father left us with absolutely nothing,” she finally sighs, glancing down at his black sheets and pulling at a loose thread, “my mother did everything she could to try to find us help, but almost everyone she asked turned her away. Everyone...except Malachai.”

Jughead winces, his temper flaring at the name of the idiot Ghoulie leader who had only irritated him since he’d first repped his Serpent colors.

“Long story short...his help came with a price.”

He watches her, noting the way she continues to pull at the thread on sheet with one hand, running her fingers through her hair with the other while keeping her gaze averted.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs after a moment, his fingers tilting her chin up to him, forcing her to meet his own gaze, “that our parents... didn’t give us a choice.”

Her eyebrows furrow as she stares at him and, for a second, he feels as though he’s said something terribly wrong.

But then her lips press against his and he cups her face, kissing her back slowly and passionately. Her tongue runs against his bottom lip and he sighs comfortably against her mouth when she moves his sheet and swings her leg over his waist, straddling him.

This is different than earlier, he can feel the difference, as she kisses him, her fingers weaving through his hair as his hands fall to her waist. There’s a silent understanding between them now, a kinship almost. She pulls away, smiling at him as she sits up and feels how hard he is against her inner thigh. The moon shines through his blinds, casting a patterned glow across her body as her hair falls in front of one side of her face.

He reaches up, tucking the strands behind her ear before he breathes, “fuck, you’re beautiful.”

Her smile falters as she watches him, her chest heaving a bit faster as he continues to look at her and she grips his length in her hand, positioning herself.

She slides onto him with ease this time, her head falling back as she moans softly and he arches his own back, his fingers gripping her waist. She feels so warm and tight wrapped around him and he thinks I could bury myself inside of this woman forever before promptly dismissing the thought.

Her hand braces against his abdomen as she slowly lifts herself up and falls against him, riding him again and again as his fingers dig into her hip bones, the heat rushing through him causing his breathing to fall from his mouth, shallow and rushed.

She brings her gaze back to his as he feels her toes curl near his knees and he can tell she’s on the edge, which only makes him raise his hand to the back of her neck, drawing her back down to him.

She kisses him, moaning softly against his mouth, her fingers weaving into his hair and grasping it as she continues moving against him. He can feel himself, so close, but his fingers dig into her back as he attempts to hold off, wanting her to cum first.

When she does, so does he, and her fingers remain strongly intertwined in his hair until she pulls away, panting heavily.

Attempting to steady his own breath, he holds her gaze as he lifts his hand to gently cup her cheek.

“Betty,” he breathes, his clock now reading 5:30AM causing an anxiety of the unknown to course through his veins,  “please tell me I’m not going to regret this in the morning.”

Her eyes remain locked on his as her own breathing slows before she closes her eyes, turns her head and places a soft kiss against his palm.

Meanwhile at Ghoulie Manor...

“Where the fuck is she? It’s been four hours.”

“Relax, Cher, they’re probably in deep, intimate conversation,” Kevin grins, glancing up from his phone briefly to catch Cheryl’s glare.

“I swear, if she-” the harsh sound of a heel piercing the top step of the staircase stops Cheryl short.

“Where is he?”

Her voice slices through the air like ice, sending shivers down their spines and Cheryl immediately steps back, motioning to the man currently strapped to a chair in the middle of their basement.

One lone bulb illuminates his bloodied and bruised face and he raises his gaze to meets her as she walks towards him, her heels clicking against the cement floor.

Stopping in front of him, a smirk tugs at her lips as she surveys the damage.

“When he finds out where I am,” the man sneers, taking a second to spit out the blood pooling in his mouth, “he’ll burn this fucking place to the ground with you and your daughter in it.”

“Oh, I hope he does...because if we burn,” Alice Cooper bends down, her long manicured nails digging into the swelling around his chin, making sure her and FP are at eye level,  she yanks his head to attention, “so will you.”

I just wanted to thank you all for your patience with these updates! I love receiving asks about this fic and it means so much to me that you care and are kind towards me about the wait.

A big big thank you to @bugggghead for betaing this chapter for me! you are such a positive and lovely part of this fandom and I'm so grateful to have you as a friend! ❤

Reading your comments completely makes my day, so leave them if you'd like! xx

[june-10th]

Reynolds High School - June 10th, 2014

I woke up that morning like any other school day. I threw myself out of bed at 5:30am and got dressed. I said bye to my mom and headed to the bus stop. My 45 minute bus ride consisted of my usual quiet morning naps and talking to my friends, as you do at the age of 15.

It was the first day of finals, which was a 3-day schedule to round out the last week of my first year of high school. When the bus got to school, we filed off to go to our usual morning meeting spot where all of my friends stood waiting for the bell to ring. First thing that morning, I headed to my Language Arts class for a final review, the last review of the year before testing periods started. My teacher was already trying to get everyone to pay attention as we entered during the first 5 minutes of class. We heard the intercom. At first, we thought that they might be giving morning announcements even though it was earlier than usual. Instead, we heard, “The school is in lockdown. This is not a drill!” It didn’t seem real and we didn’t know if they were being serious or it was just a drill. We whispered as we crammed into the corners of the classroom, away from the view of the door. The teacher locked the door after ushering in a few stragglers who hadn’t made it to their classes and then he slid up against one of the far walls, where he could see everyone. We heard people shouting, closing doors and some brief yelling, but people were getting out of the hallways. My teacher looked like he was trying to keep his cool but we could tell he was worried. We sat on our hands for nearly an hour in silence. My legs were asleep and I was bored. The lights were off and we weren’t supposed to make a sound. Nobody really knew what was happening. I was sitting next to a close friend who was anxious and freaking out, but I just handled that time with humor. It’s what I do when I’m tense I guess. I wouldn’t really start to comprehend what happened to me that day until much later. 

The rumors of what was happening ran rampant through everybody involved- someone with a gun got too close to the school, a kid committed suicide, someone called in a bomb threat to weasel out of a final, or whatever. I didn’t have a phone, and barely any way to contact my family to let them know what little I knew. I couldn’t tell them that I loved them or that I was just sitting on the gross classroom floor for what felt like an eternity. At the time I wasn’t really worried. Not near as worried as I should’ve been. Looking back, I can’t believe how little it affected me during the lockdown. I might’ve not made it home to say bye to my family that day. 

Over the next 40 or so minutes, the situation became clearer. There was an active shooter in the gym, on the opposite end of campus. I was lucky to be where I was. I wasn’t guaranteed to be safe but it was reassuring to hear more details. I was hoping my friends were okay. I was hoping I would be fortunate enough to go home. I sat under a desk that I barely fit under and shared memes with my friend. We tried to laugh silently instead of freaking out and panicking. Meanwhile, Police in tactical gear swept the halls. We heard dogs in the distance and then two armored men with assault rifles came into the classroom. We all stood up after hours of sitting in the dark, in a room that was far too small for all of us. We walked toward the door where the two police officers instructed us on how to exit the school. One of them had a K-9 and they both carried assault rifles that rested at my eye level. Every officer had a firearm. We were instructed to make our way down the hall to the center of the school and toward the front entrance. We walked in a single file line with our hands on the backs of our heads. The officers escorted us silently and slowly. We made our way out the front door and saw what seemed like every single police unit in the county parked wherever their cars would fit- hundreds of lights still flashing. They took us across the parking lot to the main road in front of the school. In the middle of the street, each of us took our turn getting patted down by one of the police officers. We then surrendered all of our backpacks to the officers for evidence checks. They deposited the bags in a huge pile on the front lawn of the school. If there was anything we needed in our bags, we would have to wait at least a day to get it at the pickup point at the middle school gym. I wasn’t sure if I’d see my stuff again. 

After our initial pat down, we were instructed to make our way to the parking lot of the church directly across the street from school. There, more police officers gave each student another pat down. It was almost embarrassing and felt absurd, but it was necessary, as intrusive as it might’ve seemed. After our second pat down, we were instructed to wait in the parking lot for further instructions. The city was sending public busses to transport kids to a grocery store parking lot about a mile and a half away to reunite with parents. People wanted to get out fast so they crowded the lines when the busses started showing up. I decided to stand back with my friends and let others ride the busses first. We stood around and made jokes for a long time to cope with the day. Volunteers handed out bottles of water and eventually set entire cases of bottled water down on the ground. One of my best friends and got into a competition to see how many bottles of water we could drink while we waited. I got up to 8 but he drank at least 9. We shared some good laughs and ran to the bathrooms way too often over the course of the next few hours. Still in the church parking lot, we noticed that the lines for the busses were starting to thin down a little bit. My friend and I got split up and rode on two different busses. Both were going to the grocery store, but they were crowded. From the bus window I saw my friend rush off of his bus with a police officer so he could go into the Carl’s Jr in the grocery store parking lot to pee. We still laugh about it sometimes. It’s what we like to remember. 

I didn’t know for sure if my parents would be there to pick me up. It hit me while I was on the bus that they hadn’t heard anything from me in over 4 hours. They didn’t know if I was okay because I had no way to contact them. We got off the bus and my dad was there waiting for me. I’ll never forget his face that day. He looked so relieved to see me. He was smiling but I could tell how exhausted he was. I was one of the very last off any bus that day. I rode home with my eyes shut only able to feel the wind on my face.

 I remember two kids didn’t make it off that bus. They were my age and in my grade. They were my classmates. I will always remember that two families didn’t get their sons back.

I don’t think I started to process that day until at least a year later. As more school shootings appeared in the news, I started to realize that I was a school-shooting survivor. I’m still processing it, and I will continue to do so daily. It’s not something I’ll be able to forget.

Over the past few years, I’ve continued to work through this experience. I’m not a big fan of guns, 4 years on. I always jump at the chance to tell my family that I love them. I struggle to leave the house without saying goodbye to my cat. 

Being involved in something like this changes you. I was lucky to live and some say that my community was lucky to have only lost two lives. But we lost two students that day. Two families lost a son and a brother. After wounding a teacher and killing a classmate, a student took his own life. I don’t think he understood the gravity of his actions until it was too late.

A classmate was in the wrong place at the wrong time and he’s gone now. He can’t come back. At my graduation ceremony, they laid aside a chair for Emilio Hoffman since he passed. On the chair were his signature red Chuck Taylors. Emilio’s mom created a foundation in his memory called Emilio Inc., which is dedicated to mental health awareness. Emilio was killed by a mentally-ill person who should not have had access to weapons. My community is still healing from wounds which some will never be able to recover. I have friends still going to counseling four years later. I have friends diagnosed with PTSD. My high school is on a list of fatal school shootings. Corpses can’t talk or fight for shit. We have to make sure our stories are heard, since they can’t tell them.

It’s surreal, you know? Nobody should ever have to suffer through this. It’s a burden and a horror. It’s true pain. The point is that it’s still hard. Writing this was hard. I haven’t tried to write about this day 4 years ago because I didn’t know if I could handle it.

It’s 4 years later. My name is Colin. I will never be the same and I will fight.