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Another Ending - 1 | Bucky Barnes

Character: ex!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a short week watching over your niece, who loves romance books. She thought you were just a normal aunt, but it turns out you have secrets.

Tags: Spies, action, threat, offense, fight scene, violence, romance.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , -

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The weight of the assassin's body presses down on you, pinning you to the ground as his sword hovers dangerously close to your throat. Every muscle in your arms strains as you hold your gun up, barely keeping the blade away from your neck.

The cold metal of the sword gleams under the dim light, a stark reminder of how close you are to death. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, are unreadable, but you can feel the murderous intent radiating from him.

Sweat drips down your forehead, mixing with the dirt and blood on your face as you grit your teeth. With every ounce of strength, you manage to growl, "You're dead to me."

For a split second, you see it—hesitation. The assassin’s grip falters, his focus wavering. That’s all you need. With a desperate shove, you push him off, the sword sliding away from your neck as you scramble to your feet. Your heart pounds in your chest as adrenaline takes over, and you start running, not daring to look back.

The echoes of your past, the regrets, and the pain are left behind as you sprint away. You know that you’ve bought yourself only a few precious seconds, but at this moment, it’s enough. You leave the assassin behind, along with everything that once bound you.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

The lodge is warm and inviting, nestled comfortably by the edge of a tranquil lake. Large windows allow sunlight to pour in, casting a golden glow across the rustic wooden floors. The living room is cozy, with a soft, earth-toned sofa positioned near a stone fireplace. You push the sofa slightly, adjusting its angle to better face the window, where the view of the lake creates a peaceful backdrop.

As you finish, the sound of the doorbell rings through the house. You straighten up, smoothing a hand over your clothes before heading to the door. When you open it, a smile crosses your face.

Standing there is Lori Grant, your niece. She’s dressed in a green shirt and black pants, her short hair with bangs framing her face beneath thick glasses. A pink backpack is slung over one shoulder, and she’s dragging a suitcase that looks far too big for her small frame.

“Hello, Aunty,” Lori greets you, her voice bright with excitement.

“Where’s your mom?” you ask, glancing past her.

“She just left,” Lori replies, stepping inside and immediately struggling with the weight of her suitcase. She lets out a frustrated “Ugh” as it catches on the doorstep.

You can’t help but chuckle softly. “Let me help you with that.” Gripping the handle, you lift the suitcase easily, though you wonder why a 13-year-old needs so much luggage.

As you bring the suitcase inside, you ask, “Are you hungry? I bought some tofu for you.” Your older sister’s voice echoes in your mind, reminding you of the strict health-conscious diet she keeps Lori on. She’s made a name for herself online with her healthy recipes, and now she’s on a book tour promoting her new cookbook.

Lori looks up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of relief and hope. “Aunty, I’m so excited to be here. I can finally get away from the food my mom makes.”

You laugh, a warm, understanding sound. “Oh, thank goodness. How about fried chicken or lasagna?”

Lori’s face lights up, her hands clasping together as if in prayer. “Why not both?” Her eyes shimmer with anticipation, almost teary at the thought of indulging in something she’s missed.

“Yes!” you reply with a grin, already planning the feast.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The two of you cook together, filling the kitchen with the mouthwatering aroma of fried chicken and lasagna. The sizzle of the food and the warmth of the stove creates a cozy atmosphere, and before long, you’re both sitting at the table, enjoying the meal.

Lori, barely looking up from her book, eats with a hearty appetite, tearing into the fried chicken and savoring the lasagna.

You glance at her, amused by how engrossed she is in her book. It’s refreshing to see someone her age so absorbed in reading rather than staring at a screen. She’s been glued to that book ever since she arrived.

“Is it a good book?” you ask, taking a sip of your water.

“Yes. The best,” she replies without lifting her eyes from the pages.

You smile and ask, “What’s the book about?”

At that, Lori snaps the novel shut and looks at you with excitement blazing in her eyes, as if she’s been waiting for this moment. “Oh, Aunty, this is the best book! It’s full of adrenaline, mystery, and romance.”

You raise your eyebrows and nod slowly, recognizing the same spark in her that your older sister often has. “Let me guess, a royal romance?”

Lori shakes her head enthusiastically. “No. It’s set in modern day. It’s an enemies-to-lovers story where both are spies from different sides. They have to decide between love and their duty.”

You nod again, your expression thoughtful. “That’s impossible in the real world.”

Lori huffs, rolling her eyes playfully. “That’s why it’s fantasy, Aunty. Geez, you sound just like my mom.” She returns to her book, burying herself in the story again.

You chuckle softly, setting your glass down as you gather your plate and stand up. “Well, usually betrayal happens in those stories.”

Lori looks up, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. “That’s right! There’s a part where the male character betrays the female character.”

Your hand slips, the plate clattering into the sink, but thankfully it doesn’t break.

“Aunty, are you okay?” Lori asks, concern in her voice.

“I’m fine. My hand just slipped,” you say, brushing it off with a smile.

Lori gets up, carrying her plate to the sink. “I’m already done. I’ll help you with the dishes.”

“Thank you,” you reply, appreciating her help.

As you both wash the dishes, you ask her about life at school. Lori tells you all about her friends, her classes, and the things that make her happy.

“Do you have a crush at school?” you ask, a teasing note in your voice.

Lori hesitates, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “Well… there is one boy. His hair and smile remind me of the male character from the spy book.”

You nearly drop the spatula but manage to catch it just in time. What’s gotten into you today?

“What about you, Aunty?” Lori asks, her tone curious.

“Me?” you respond, a bit caught off guard.

“While living in this lodge, have you ever met a farmer with a six-pack, a cute café owner, or a cool police officer?” Lori asks, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

You gasp, her question catching you by surprise. “Your mom mentioned you’ve become quite the chatterbox.”

“Aunty, your life is a dream. You have it all—except a boyfriend,” Lori says matter-of-factly. She doesn’t fully understand what you do for a living, but she knows from her mom and grandparents that you’ve traveled the world and are now enjoying the fruits of your hard work.

You place your hands on your hips, eyeing her with a mock sternness. “How long have you been staying with Grandma?”

“Three weeks,” Lori answers, wiping a plate dry with a clean cloth.

“That explains it,” you say with a chuckle, ruffling her hair playfully. Your mother has a habit of prying into your love life, and you’ve overheard her sighing over the phone, saying, ‘I’m afraid she’ll die single.’

“But seriously, Aunty, why are you still single?” Lori asks, her eyes wide with innocent curiosity.

You look at her, a sigh escaping your lips. “When you’re older, you’ll understand that life is complicated. There’s no guarantee of a happy ending.”

“Seems like you don’t believe in romance anymore,” she says, her voice soft but probing.

“Lori…” you begin, but her words strike a chord in you. Kids have a way of getting straight to your feelings. You head to the living room, trying to shake off the conversation and turn on the TV. With a sigh, you throw yourself onto the couch.

Lori follows you, still determined to rekindle your belief in romance. But then, something catches her eye. “Aunty, what’s on the second floor?”

“Just a storage room. Full of dust and spiders,” you reply, waving a hand dismissively.

“Can I go up there?” she asks, her enthusiasm barely contained.

“Go ahead,” you say, smiling at her eagerness.

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you hear her running feet thudding up the stairs. You shake your head, chuckling to yourself. What happened to the little girl who was afraid of spiders? Maybe the influence of that action-packed novel, the fantasy world, pulled her in.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Lori’s eyes lit up with excitement as she explored the second floor, her steps quickening with each new discovery. It felt like a treasure hunt to her, the dusty corners and forgotten items fueling her curiosity.

She opened old boxes, sifted through forgotten knick-knacks, and rummaged through piles of clutter. Her heart raced with the thrill of the search, every creak of the floorboards adding to the sense of adventure.

Then, tucked away near the Christmas decorations, she spotted a plain, unassuming box. It didn’t look like much, but something about it caught her attention. With a soft gasp of anticipation, she opened it and found an old, bulky laptop inside. The device was covered in dust, its once sleek surface now dull and scratched.

“Wow,” Lori whispered, her eyes widening in awe. She lifted the laptop carefully and opened it, running her fingers over the keys. “Clicky, clicky. Love this keyboard,” she said, delighting in the tactile response of the keys beneath her fingers.

Unable to contain her excitement, Lori ran downstairs to find you, clutching the laptop in her arms like a prized possession. “Aunty, look what I found! This is so old, and I love the sound it makes!”

You glanced up and your eyes widened in surprise. “Where did you get that?” you asked, a mix of surprise and concern in your voice.

“Near the Christmas decorations. Can I turn it on?” she asked, her eyes shining with eagerness.

You shook your head, a hint of hesitation creeping into your tone. “It’s been a long time since I turned it on,” you admitted, memories flickering at the edge of your mind. You had pretended the laptop didn’t exist for so long that it had slipped from your thoughts entirely.

“I’ll throw it away,” you said, reaching out to take the laptop from her.

But Lori quickly pulled it back, guarding the laptop protectively. “Even if it’s broken, I could use this for throwback videos,” she argued, her determination evident.

You sighed, seeing the pleading look in her eyes. “Fine. You can have it,” you relented.

“Thank you!” Lori beamed, her smile so bright that any irritation you felt melted away. She hugged the laptop close and dashed off to the guest room, eager to play with her new toy.

Inside her room, Lori’s excitement was palpable. She carefully plugged the charger into the old laptop and pressed the power button, holding her breath in anticipation. But the screen remained dark, the laptop unresponsive.

Her enthusiasm waned slightly, but she didn’t give up. Determined, she searched online for ways to fix old laptops, flipping the device upside down to look for a serial number or brand name. But the markings were too faded to read.

Her hope began to crumble as she realized the laptop might never work again. With a sigh, she set it aside and opened her suitcase, revealing stacks of novels inside. This was the real reason she had wanted to stay with you—to immerse herself in her books without anyone bothering her.

As the night wore on, the clock crept closer to 10 p.m. You yawned, feeling the weight of the day settle in, and turned off the TV. Before heading to bed, you decided to check on Lori. When you peeked into her room, you found her already fast asleep, curled up with a new book clutched in her hands.

You smiled softly, understanding now what was in her suitcase. With a gentle chuckle, you carefully adjusted her sleeping posture and tucked her in, whispering, “Good night.”

As you left, you saw the old black laptop still plugged in, silently charging in the corner. It had been nearly seven years since you last thought about it. You shook your head, a mix of relief and resignation washing over you. It was better if that thing stayed dead, buried in the past where it belonged.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The next morning, Lori woke up feeling cozy under the blankets. She glanced around, realizing she must have fallen asleep while reading her book again. The comforting silence in the room was a welcome change from the usual yelling of her mother.

This is why staying with you was such a great idea. She turned her attention to the old laptop, remembering she had left it charging all night.

With renewed hope, she quickly jumped out of bed and moved to the laptop. She pressed the power button, but the screen remained stubbornly black. Disappointment settled over her like a heavy fog.

Then, she heard it—the faint hum of the laptop’s fan. Her eyes widened, and a gasp escaped her lips. She clapped her hands together in excitement. “Yes!”

Just then, you called from the kitchen, your voice carrying cheerfully through the house. “Lori! You’ve woken up? I’ve made breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry yet,” Lori replied, her focus still on the laptop, waiting for the screen to light up.

“It’s bacon and eggs,” you added, a hint of a smile in your voice.

The mention of bacon and eggs immediately captured Lori’s attention. It had been ages since she’d had a breakfast like that. “I’m coming!” she called out, her voice filled with enthusiasm.

Without another thought, Lori dashed out of her room, leaving the old laptop to continue its quiet struggle to turn on. Her excitement for breakfast had completely overshadowed her frustration with the laptop, and she hurried to the kitchen, eager for the delicious meal you had prepared.

After breakfast, Lori returned to her room, and her excitement about the old laptop reignited. As she entered, she was stunned to see that the laptop had finally powered up completely.

Her eyes widened in disbelief as she stared at the outdated app icons, which looked dull and unappealing. Despite their lack of charm, something else caught her eye: the email application.

Curiosity piqued, Lori navigated to the email app and discovered a list of old emails. She wondered if the laptop could connect to Wi-Fi. To her delight, it could. She connected it and noticed a new notification. Her heart raced as she clicked on it, only to find a single new email dated five years ago.

“This is like something out of a novel,” Lori whispered to herself, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened the email.

Her gasp was audible when she realized it wasn’t spam or a work email—it was a love letter. She read the email with growing excitement:

Subject: An Apology and a Request

Hi,

I hope this message finds you well. I’ve been carrying a heavy heart and wanted to reach out, even though it’s been a while. I left the organization and have started a new life, but I’ve realized that it won’t feel complete without you.

I’m deeply sorry for everything that happened and for the pain I caused you. I know that I have no right to ask for anything, but if there’s any chance for us to meet and talk, I’d really like that. I’m not expecting anything, but I hope we can find some closure.

Yours,

B.B

Lori’s eyes sparkled with excitement. This was even better than the romance novels she had read. She couldn’t believe her aunt had an ex who had been missing her all this time and had finally reached out after five years.

Feeling a burst of inspiration, Lori unplugged the laptop and raced downstairs to find you. “Aunt! Look! Look! Someone sent you an apology letter!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement.

You were busy preparing to head out to your bee farm, dressed in your suit. The sight of the old laptop suddenly turning on and Lori’s enthusiasm about the email caught you off guard. You knew exactly who had sent it, and it brought a wave of mixed emotions.

With a sigh, you closed the laptop, noticing Lori’s disappointed look. You knelt to her level, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Lori, sometimes it’s best to leave the past where it is.”

“But…” she started, her voice trailing off.

You stood up, adjusting your head protection for the farm. “Just enjoy your time here,” you said gently, then headed out of the house.

Lori sighed, her heart heavy with the sadness in your voice. She could sense the pain behind your words and felt that maybe this person was someone special to you. A sudden idea struck her, and she rushed back to her room, placed the old laptop on the table, and began typing a reply.

With her knowledge of romance novels, she crafted a short but heartfelt response:

Subject: Re: An Apology and a Request

Hi B.B,

Thank you for your message. It was a surprise to read your letter after all these years. I appreciate your honesty and the courage it took to reach out. I’m still processing everything, but I’m grateful for your apology.

Maybe one day we can talk, but for now, I hope you find the closure you’re seeking.

Take care,

Y/N

Satisfied with her words, Lori clicked “Send,” feeling accomplished. She hoped her reply would bring peace to her aunt and the sender.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

A few days passed, and Lori grew increasingly nervous. She kept checking the email, but no new notifications appeared, only that eerie computer-generated voice. You noticed her restlessness; she fidgeted with her fingers and paced around the room.

“What’s wrong? Feeling bored?” you asked, trying to lighten the mood. “We could go out for a while, get some fresh air.”

“Eww… no,” Lori replied, wrinkling her nose at the thought of the hot sun and heavy gear. She enjoyed the freedom of staying with you, but she wasn’t enthusiastic about adventures.

“I’d rather stay here, curled up with my book—” Lori was cut off by the familiar, unsettling notification sound.

You flinched at the sound too, a chill creeping down your spine. Lori quickly ran to the laptop, her heart racing with excitement as she saw the red dot notification. She opened the email and skimmed the reply: "I received your message. We need to meet. I’ll find you soon."

“Aunty, look! This person wants to see you. Isn’t it romantic?” Lori said, her excitement palpable.

Romantic my ass, you thought, feeling a cold shiver as you read the email. You abruptly shut the laptop and started packing Lori’s things. Your sudden, frantic movements startled her.

“Change your clothes. Wear something practical and put on running shoes,” you instructed, your voice taut with urgency.

Lori’s eyes widened with concern. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Forget the books. We have fifteen minutes, Lori. Now!” You dashed to your room, grabbing essentials with swift, practiced motions.

Lori, bewildered but obedient, quickly followed your orders. Fifteen minutes later, both of you were ready and in the car. You sped away, your face set in grim determination.

In the passenger seat, Lori clutched the seatbelt tightly, her voice trembling. “Aunt…”

“Lori, did you not hear me? Some things are better left in the past,” you said, your tone cold and firm.

She nodded slowly, her anxiety mounting. “But why?”

Before she could ask more, a deafening explosion rocked the car. “BOOM!” The blast made Lori flinch as she turned to see your house engulfed in flames. Her face pressed against the car window, eyes wide with shock.

“Oh my God. Is that your house?” Lori’s voice was barely a whisper.

You kept your gaze fixed on the road, your face pale and determined. “This is the reality of espionage. The hardest part is when someone tries to kill you.”

Lori gasped, realization dawning on her. “You’re a real spy!”

You didn’t answer, but the silence was deafening—a resounding confirmation.

“And the person who sent the email is another spy!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah. But unlike the novels, we’re not looking to fall in love. We’re trying to kill each other.” Your words sent a shiver down her spine, the gravity of the situation settling in with chilling clarity.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

At the gas station, you and Lori were picking up essential supplies. Your disguise—a dark hat, sunglasses, and a coat pulled tight—wasn't exactly subtle. But Lori's eyes sparkled with excitement.

“This is so cool!” she exclaimed, her voice brimming with admiration.

“It’s not,” you muttered, your voice strained as you tried to mask your growing unease. The thrill of the moment had been replaced by a harsh reality. “I’m taking you to your mom.”

Lori’s enthusiasm faltered as she noticed the tension in your body. “But Aunt… why are you running away if this person wants to see you?”

You sighed heavily. “Because—”

Your words trailed off as a shiver ran down your spine. You felt eyes on you and slowly turned to face the source of your unease. There he was, striding towards you with a purpose.

The man stood tall and lean, his dark hair tousled and his leather jacket catching the dim light of the gas station. His face was striking—handsome in a rugged, intense way. His presence radiated strength and determination.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Bucky didn’t break stride or acknowledge you. His pace quickened, and your instincts kicked in. You reached for your gun, but before you could draw it, a loud BANG! shattered the tense silence.

“Kyaaa!!!” The sound of the gunshot set off a wave of screams from everyone inside the store, including Lori. The chaos erupted around you, but you and Bucky remained focused.

You threw yourself in front of Lori, protecting her with your body. Bucky did the same, his gaze locked on the threats.

“You—” you started, trying to catch your breath.

“We don’t have much time,” Bucky cut you off, his voice a low growl. He grabbed your arm, pulling you up, and snatched his own gun. Without another word, he started firing, taking out the shooters one by one.

You joined him in the fray, your movements sharp and efficient. Bullets flew and bodies hit the floor. Bucky’s sharp eyes and quick reflexes contrasted with your precise, practiced shots.

“Your aim’s getting rusty,” Bucky grunted as he took down another opponent.

“Shut up,” you retorted, focusing on the task at hand.

In no time, the immediate threat was neutralized. You both made a break for your car, adrenaline surging. Bucky took the driver’s seat, his expression grim and focused.

“Wait…” you began, but Bucky cut you off.

“Just put on your seatbelt first,” he said tersely, glancing at you with an intensity that brooked no argument.

You complied, snapping the seatbelt into place as Bucky threw the car into gear. The ride was tense, an awkward silence hanging between you and Bucky. Lori, however, was brimming with curiosity.

She tugged at Bucky’s leather jacket, causing him to glance at her. The way she looked at him, her eyes wide with awe, reminded you of how she had always romanticized the world.

“Are you the one who sent that email to my aunt?” Lori asked, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and expectation.

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t respond, turning his attention back to the road.

Lori turned to you, her eyes glowing with revelation. “I get it. Both of you were spies! But you couldn’t be together because of your jobs! A forbidden love! This is so romantic!”

"!!!!!"

Your jaw dropped, and Bucky’s expression shifted to one of utter disbelief. The two of you exchanged a stunned look, unsure whether to laugh or feel embarrassed by Lori’s innocent but surprisingly accurate guess.

The air in the car seemed to crackle with the weight of her words, as the reality of your intertwined past and present hung in the balance.

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A Doe in Fall (Part 9)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things 📍 Part 10 - Good Deeds

Part 9 - Shiny Things

Ephi moves in, and Ruth reads you like an open book.

「Warnings/Promises: HumanAlastor x Fem! BurlesqueReader, Reference to domestic abuse of non-reader character, fucks, crows, swans, emotions be emotioning, so many birds, I don’t think reader is Aromantic I think she’s just stubborn, Cliff diving is just a joke do not follow people off cliffs, everyone is kicking reader’s ass in some way, my apologies to parts of Texas but not Texas as a whole」

Long time no see ! My head wasn’t in the right space for this story, and my head was also literally not doing well. But! Reading glasses helped since I’m writing on my phone like 7 inches from my face. the goal is Wednesday updates~ there’s about four parts already written so we’ve got a month of runway 👌🏼 Wednesday mornings are ‘God, That’s Good’ by @macabr3-barbi3 and nights are ADIF!

🎶 last time on A Doe In Fall 🎶 : you came home from your first week staying officially at Alastor’s to find your estranged sister waiting on your stoop.

this isn’t sexy but just like minors come on, MDNI? This blog is a sex shop

It’s not that you hated your sister, it’s that you resented her. You could love someone and not like them an ounce… but unfortunately when she left so did your familial love. Which meant all that held you together now was distrust and an obligation to a dead woman. 

“So things didn’t pan out up north?” You waved her into your apartment, agitation apparent in even the gesture of your arm. 

“It’s peachy! Just need to lay low a bit.” She said it with a chipper voice while looking around your apartment like she paid for it. “Wow you weren’t lying about the no money, huh? Talk about a shoebox.”

Charming. 

“Well, Ephi, you’re welcome to leave.” While you didn’t understand the name it wasn’t your business to question what someone asked to be called. Especially considering your own dual identity. You may have disliked the woman but human decency still hung to the bones of the relationship you called your sisterhood.

An obnoxious chuckle, “Nah it’ll do! Just the one single bed?”

“Why would I have more than one bed?”

A deep sigh from her, “Still last to be picked by the fellas, sis?” Her hand passed over your dresses hanging in the open closet, “The ugly duckling was always your favorite story.”

The fine hairs rose on the back of your neck, a cat’s hackles moving as the anger bristled through your body. You opened your mouth to shout all the ways you were not the ugly one in the room, hand already in the air to direct her attention to the dried, hanging flowers covering the far wall. How many people threw flowers at her feet? How many proposals were shouted to her? Wedding rings slipped off fingers and into pockets for her? 

The air in your lungs went flat as a small fire of embarrassment rose in your gut.

How could she so quickly reduce you to a little girl again? Taking the bait for a fight you couldn’t win, because she wasn’t listening to anything but her own voice. Biting the inside of your cheek, your hand fell back to your side.

“You can take it. I’ll just be by for clothes now and then. Been staying with a friend closer to work.” Flipping through your mind you tried to catalog your valuables. What did you absolutely need to not turn up missing?

Ephi sat on the bed and crossed her legs in her best imitation of a lady. “Staying with Mister Fancy Pants?” A smile that reminded you of your childhood. A smile that said, “I won’t tell mom!” Right before turning and running to your mother’s ear.

“No.” 

A giggle two octaves above her usual tone, “Sure, okay! No skin off my back.”

You took your time to gather the items you had forgotten first, then the items you didn’t want her to have. Unsure how exactly to tell Alastor why a week into sharing his home officially you were already redecorating, you left that for your future self to figure out. The first item was obvious.

An angel statue your mother kept on her nightstand. You wrapped it in some newspaper, trying not to look in her direction. 

Your sister chased dick like most people chased liberty. Something she shared with your mother. Which was her right, but it rubbed you the wrong way how she would always forget everyone else in her life when she had a man to call her own. A fair weather friend, at that. 

“How’s Howard?” The dick that took her away so many years ago.

She abandoned the lady act and rummaged through your cabinets, “Who’s that?”

Right.

A gold coin on a necklace. You slipped it inside a sock. 

“So, then, who is the man of the hour?”

Ephi began opening the dresser drawers, poking here and there. “Whaddya mean! I am an independent woman.”

You weren’t sure that had ever been true. While your mother had drilled it into your skull to never place yourself in the need of a man, she always seemed to throw her heart (and house keys and purse strings…) at the feet of any man willing to love her. 

“Love” her. 

There was no love in any of that. A common problem of confusing love with any and all intense emotions affected your mother and many others.

Slashed furniture is not adoration. Breaking windows is not a love language. Bruises are not affection.

Your hands ran down the bag’s shapeless sides. Without thinking, you smiled. Adoration. Love languages. Affection. You had them and the knowledge of their secrets all to yourself. 

Secrets you didn’t need slipping out. Secrets your sister couldn’t hold to save her life, or yours for that matter. You hurried around the room grabbing knick-knacks and photos and jewelry. Alastor would be at work soon, you wondered if you should call to warn him. This time not about a hot headed flatfoot but a nosey sibling.

You’d tell him later. No reason to talk to Brenda again. Quickly your leather bag got full and heavy. What was supposed to be a casual foray into sharing a home already turning into a full on move. 

Everything you needed and a few things no one ever would, because damn would Ephi pawn them the very second she needed something, were safely zipped away. Any plans to relax at home before work were abandoned and you just marched to the door. 

A random memory flashed behind your eyes,  washing Alastor’s hair in the tub until the water ran clear. Why now? The only memory shared in your apartment. And it was an awful one. But, it had Alastor. That gave it value. 

“Hey, if any men come by looking for me you just don’t answer, okay?” You forced your face to relax, to show the sincerity you worked so hard to keep to yourself, “Please, Ephi.”

Her smile widened past unnaturally white teeth, no money for a room but clearly cash for peroxide tooth gel, “Ooh, why? Little sister make some enemies?”

Why couldn’t she just fucking agree?

“My job sometimes attracts crazies. I don’t tell them where I live but occasionally they figure it out. They’ve gotten violent before so…just don’t answer the buzzer. They’ll say they’re damn near anyone to get you to let them up.” You stopped the nervous twisting of your bag’s handle, “Boyfriend, boss, detective. They've tried it all.”

“Aww, sis. Look at you.” She leaned her full figure against the open door frame, arm raised up like a pin up. Ephi was always effortlessly enchanting when her mouth was closed. “Stalkers? Mama would be so proud. Finally learning how to catch a man’s attention.”

The tears that stung your eyes were inspired partly by anger and partly by pain. They came so suddenly you could only laugh in response. 

“Lovely to see your new name hasn’t changed you, Ephi. I’ll be back occasionally. Don’t steal anything, no strangers over. Spare key is in the bowl by the door.” 

“Oh hey!” 

You turned back.

“I do need some cash. Until I find work.”

The numbness blanketed you with a chill. 

“I’ve got like, three bucks. Is that fine?”

Why did you ask that? You knew she could very well say it wasn’t fine and you’d be obligated to offer to get more. Atleast, that’s what you’d have done when you were younger. How easily you both slipped into old roles. Or perhaps she never grew out of hers. 

She mulled it over, “Yeah that’ll be fine.” Her hand came out and waited for the bills.

An open palm waiting for your money.

You pulled the folded bills from your wallet and set them in her hand without touching her skin. 

“Thanks sis!” She turned and closed the door before you could reply.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The other dancers shot you a look when your bag jingled and clanked as it hit the floor, you wincing as you remembered the ceramic figurine.

“You…. going somewhere, hun? The detective got you on something?”

A quick shake of your head. You hadn’t considered the optics. Luckily it was early enough the room wasn’t very busy. A few select missing women would have pried for more information. Your hands fidgeted, unsure what to do. On the way in you saw some newer talent getting their feet on stage, maybe watch them? Too early for make up. 

A loving voice from Ruth, always a savior, “Cigarette?”

You melted at the offer. Alastor wasn’t a fan of the smell so you were slyly cutting back. 

She popped a sun bleached folding chair open and set it in between you both as a footrest. So many broken and ruined chairs littered the sides of the dingy roof, you were shocked she found a good one on her first try.

“Alright, tell me what happened with that detective. Do I need to go rough up a city employee?” Ruth leaned back and settled into her chair with a creak and a whine of the wood.

You needed a second, eyes flitting around as she handed her cigarette for you to take a drag. What could you say? What did she already know? You’d not spoken about it since she helped shoo him away but the appearance of half your belongings haphazardly stuffed into a bag clearly had her alarms going off. 

“So remember the guy who came by for me? Tall handsome one.”

She nodded enthusiastically, “Yes! Of course. Don’t forget a name like his. Or face.” She whistled like a crude man trying to get a woman’s attention in the most annoying way.

“The detective thinks he did something to Tommy. That he was jealous. Which is ridiculous-,” you felt a nervous energy slip down your arms. 

An abrupt laugh, “That string bean couldn’t open a heavy window. He didn’t do shit to Tommy. What a stupid thing to say.”

Did she notice how much you’d been holding your breath? A deep sigh as you let it go. “Exactly! He doesn’t even know about what happened that night with that guy and Tommy’s arrangement; it’s too mortifying. Anyway, the detective has been hounding me about it. I don’t wanna cause trouble.” You ashed the cigarette and held it out for her, “Stuff is still new with him and me, so I didn’t tell the detective his details or work anything. Why would I? So he can harass him too?” The words all tumbled out so quickly. A faucet turned too far to the left.

“Fair.” A few passes back and forth in what you hoped was a comfortable silence and not an indication she was piecing together things you needed to remain unlinked. Finally, “Didn’t realize you two were still seeing each other. Longest one you’ve kept for awhile now.”

Looking up, you marveled at the view of the open sky. Not a cloud in sight. A smile crept across your face, the heat of the sun warming you from the inside out. The slightest chill to the air warning you of Fall. “Yeah.”

She asked what made him so special and you didn’t know where to start. “The obvious,” you began. “He’s so-,”

“Clever.” “Handsome.”

You’d spoken at the same time, her attempt at soothsaying failing miserably.

“Clever, Ruth. He’s very clever. Handsome men are a dime a dozen. But he’s sharp as a tack.” She rolled her eyes and waved her hand around for you to go on. You let your mind toss out the shiniest examples. “He’s so skilled. He knows how to hunt and take apart animals. He can fish. Cooks like a dream. He knows how to clean clothes well and how to use a washing board.” 

“Useful.” She mused. That isn’t what you meant. You weren’t trying to list off his features like a new appliance. It was just— impressive. He was well rounded.

“And he’s terribly kind. He’s always,” how to say it delicately, “going out of his way to help others solve their problems.” That seemed accurate and vague enough. You chuckled to yourself, remembering him at the kitchen table, “His face lights up so bright when he’s talking about his hobbies. Like, I can see his soul glittering behind his eyes and suddenly I’m just as interested in whatever he’s talking about as he is.” You let your eyes close around the mental image of his surprised face every time you complimented him. But they shot open when she began giggling, “What?”

“You’re in looooove,” her foot kicked yours, “I know that look. Head over heels already. Talking about him like he made the fucking stars.”

Wide eyed and stunned, was it written on your face so plainly? “Oh don’t say that. It makes me so uncomfortable. We’re just enjoying each other's company.” When she moved to give you the cigarette again you didn’t take it. “All I was saying was—,” fuck, what were you saying? That he was special? “He’s a very nice person to spend my limited time with. It’s a finite resource and all.”

With a shrug she took another puff, “What’s to be uncomfortable about? Falling in love is a wonderful thing, hun.”

Was it? Honestly, had she ever considered how much damage came with loving someone? It was putting your heart outside your body. Letting someone else carry it around and just praying they didn’t hurt you, or get hurt, or go off and die and take your heart with them. Why would anyone willingly do such a silly thing?

“Cheesy. And kind of creepy. Falling? How do I get back up if things go south?”

You’d successfully avoided emotional attachment to nearly every lover you’d taken. The way women seemed to get struck down dumb by any old John or Jane just wasn’t appealing. Love was for fools. The weak. The dependent.

Or, so you had whispered to yourself as you pretended to not be home when suitors came knocking, as you avoided ringing phones, as you apologized and slid out of restaurant seats after awkward dinners. 

“If you fall hard enough, you don’t get back up.” She said it like it was a good thing. “You’ll love them forever, even if you hate em.”

That was the problem, too. How could she not hear that as she said it? All loss of control of your own heart and emotions was simply bad. People do irrational things for love.

You shivered, “That sounds absolutely horrid, Ruth.”

“Aah,” she dismissed you with a raspberry blown between her lips, “For the right man, you’ll find yourself enjoying the trip down!” 

“Nah, I’m not fan of heights. No dick is worth that.”

“Is that all men are to you? Sex?” She guffawed, taken aback by your comment. Which was odd, given it was Ruth. 

But, Yes.

Well. No . But — he wasn't a man. He was something different. The exception to the rule. Alastor was different.

Or, fine. 

Yes, he was a man. 

No, you didn’t see them as just sex. It was easier to say people were just pleasure and not stop to think about life any other way. Things got complicated when you added another person. Life became sloppy and uncontainable. If you stopped and considered the lives behind the people you used to lead on and let go before things got too difficult, you’d just wound yourself. It was easier to stop at sex.

When you could. Which you could, before. When sex was a token you traded back and forth with someone. But Alastor didn’t accept that currency. You couldn’t hand him your body and get brief but lovely companionship back. Your value had to lie elsewhere, the things you set before him and the wonders he had to offer were much richer in their worth than what you’d ever had before. 

Sometimes it felt like you slid him a penny and he handed you a quarter. You found yourself scrounging up the petty coins of your worth and trying to save them up for him. Practicing your makeup, learning how he liked his coffee, remembering all of the things he said he hated and loved. Attempting to stop smoking. Every act was another shiny offering for him. 

A crow scrounging the park grounds for glittering trash. Not very swan-like, you thought.

“You really don’t think you’re falling for him?” Ruth put out the cigarette in the coffee can beside her. As you turned to argue with her you saw her face full of amusement and incredulousness. It was rhetorical.

The argument withered and you could only pout, everyone that day seeming to catch your tongue, “I don’t wanna think about it. I’ll get scared and run away. He’ll figure out how little I have to give eventually. If anything more is gonna happen, it’ll happen. I’ll just… let it. Why ruin it with… saying childish things.”

“You’re naive but that’s okay. Enjoy the honeymoon stage while you can.”

Your eyes rolled, “What if he doesn’t feel the same? Why embarrass myself.” When you sighed the weight of just how heavy and true that sentiment was resonated in your stomach. Telling him you were falling in love? Alastor was a killer. His passion was singular. What good was a dame to him? No, worse than worthless. A liability. A witness. A weak point in the walls he so carefully crafted. If he knew you were in love with him he’d just end things sooner than they would have naturally.

“Dontcha wanna know if he’s a waste of that precious time, then?”

You cackled, choking on your spit. Alastor? He was the most worthwhile thing you’d ever encountered. Time with him suddenly had …. Value. That fucking word again. But time with him, it was slow enough to be deep and rich, but so fleeting you already felt a mourning mood for how much closer you were to the end.

You could only shake your head, “Wait, Ruth, didn’t you get divorced?”

“Shhh that doesn’t count!” She rose and stretched her long arms up to the sun and then out to the horizon, “Plus that’s how I know what I’m talking about! After the honeymoon phase? You’ll be arguing about laundry and wishing you were strangers again. Fighting about children and lawncare.”

As your finger nervously came to your mouth, teeth cutting into the nail, you considered how if Alastor complained about laundry and you could argue back with the comfort of knowing neither would simply leave, that’d be….nice. The safety of being honest without the fear of the other person giving up on you. Was that love? 

And did that matter at all? 

You’d thought earlier you knew the answers but now, when someone else said it, you got scared of those words. 

Ruth must have put a spell on you. As you and a bevy of others danced in line on stage, arms over shoulders and legs kicking high enough to show cheek and jiggle the soft skin of your thighs and stomach, you felt butterflies in your gut. Alastor would be picking you up in a matter of hours. 

A few men sent you drinks, which you repaid with a wink and a kiss blown across the bar before downing the liquor. It was the usual routine. You hadn’t felt nerves to see Alastor quite like that since sheepishly picking out “comfortable” shoes.

Alastor’s eyes widened when he took the bag from you, not noticing your attempts to avoid making eye contact. He let out a chuckle, his best attempt at stifling the joking question, “Already moving in?”

He realized quickly enough that wasn’t a good joke. Not when he finally looked up and saw your stare was distant. 

“Everything okay, dear?” He walked to open your door for you, and you nodded a thank you and an affirmative.

Should you rip off the band aid? Should you just say it and see what happens? 

When you turned to look at him and blurt out a confession, you were stopped by the profile of his face. What a gentle face. A lovely jaw. Even his bones were better than other people’s. What were you doing in this man’s car? What little pieces of glittering trash were you about to toss at him on a random Friday night?

No, in the books you read, confessions were always grande affairs. Fireworks and dinner parties and passionate kisses in rain storms.

You’d have to put a little effort into this. His brows rose as he clocked your staring. Eyes on the road, smirk pulled to the right, his hand came to rest on your thigh.

He deserved something much better than whatever you had to offer. Something unlike yourself entirely. 

The drive home, and yes you let yourself linger on the word instead of shoo it away, you watched a deer jump across the dirt road just past the bridge. 

“The bucks chase the does. It’s part of their mating ritual. I guess it’s not unlike the ‘playing hard to get’ some women like. The longer the chase, the prouder the buck to snag his prize.”

You laughed, “Women don’t like it, I don’t think. Well, some do I am sure but… If we don’t do that then people think we’re easy. We need plausible deniability. If people learn we put out we can claim we didn’t really want to and save some face.”

Alastor grimaced, “Gross.”

Unseen, you nodded and turned to watch the buck leap after its doe. 

“Kind of funny, you chased me down, didn’t you?” Alastor’s comment pulled you back to him.

“Oh yes. That makes you my doe.” Your arm came to rest against the car door, the trees slowly rolling by in the darkness. “Reminds me of the small freckles across your shoulders.”

“My mighty buck!” He fawned, in jest, pretending to collapse into your lap. You shoved him back up and behind the wheel proper. “Well given the chance, I’d chase you for miles.” His hand flexed on your leg.

“To Texas?” You asked. Your usual end point.

“Further.”

“How far?”

“There is no limit. I’d … run right off a cliff, head first, if you were waiting at the bottom.” He took his hand back, needing both to hold the wheel. What he said hit him harder than he had intended. Was it too much? A tad too dramatic? A nervous clearing of his throat, followed by an awkward laugh to put more space between him and the confession. 

The idea of you making Alastor chase you was ridiculous. You enjoyed the games you played with others, but you were never meant to be caught. If you wanted that, you’d just…give yourself. As you had done with him. Only him. The first and last person you ever wanted to give yourself over to in any sense. “And if I just… lied down and let you catch me? Would that make me a poorly earned prize?”

“Nope! That’d make me a lucky duck. And make you quite smart, if I do say so myself.” A wink. “Why run from such a catch like me?”

You landed a smack on his arm, light and playful. 

A truly comfortable silence settled in, just the sound of the car trembling over the rough road. The newest model Ford was still as loud as the last, but luckily you were far from others. 

The words had lingered like smoke, and you felt the need to address them.  

“Don’t actually do that though. If I run off a cliff or something stupid, don’t you dare follow me.”

Alastor just laughed, wasn’t that what you were doing for him already? Diving into hell for some inexplicable reason after Alastor. He wasn’t expressing some lack of self preservation, he was merely letting you know he’d reciprocate the fall. You hadn’t made him run after you, but instead seemed to just….rest your neck between his canines. And trust. 

If you were to go to heaven, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. It was too late to redeem his soul now. How far was heaven from hell, anyways? If the devil survived the plummet perhaps he could scale the walls of his enclosure and breach the gates.

Though, as he thought about the idea of heaven, he considered how happy his mother would be to meet you. To take you from her would be as cruel as heaven taking you from him. 

Maybe he could make a plea. To just be able to see you from below. 

But if the knowledge you were happy and safe was all he had, he’d be a richer man in hell than he’d ever been on earth. It’d be enough. 

He’d just need to broadcast his radio waves a little further for your listening pleasure.

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[mikedfaist]

can you do mike w their baby? pleeeeaase😕💘

He is considerably reluctant to hold her for the first time. Petrified, actually. He lets her grip his finger from the safety of her mother’s chest. Before, she was protected by you, nestled inside where all he could feel were her stubborn kicks during her sleepless nights. The same nights he’d stay up with you because he couldn’t fathom resting while you were kept awake. He watches her grimace as a cold burst of air hits her exposed shoulders, and how you instinctively soosh her, kissing her gently on her covered head. It came naturally to you, and he dreaded the thought he wouldn’t be good enough for her.

When he does hold her for that first time, which came quickly after you became noticeably flustered that her father found excuse after excuse to not hold his child, the tears were quick to follow. She was tiny, and incredibly so. 6 pounds 3 ounces feels light as a feather when you can rest it comfortably in one arm. He was mesmerized by her eyelashes, and her fingernails, and how much she looked like her mommy. You were insistent she had his eyes, but he thought she had your everything else.

Dressing her for the first time was a painstaking task. You would have thought your child was made of glass. It took Mike nearly 45 minutes to decide on an outfit for her to go home in because, “Gotta make a good first impression for Austin.”

He drives 10 under the speed limit the entire drive home, and every little bump and pothole has him wincing. “She still asleep, baby?”

When they get home, he demands you go upstairs and rest. (Of course, you weren’t going to argue). He holds his baby girl, snuggled in a blanket his own mother gave her, and gives her a tour around the house.

“This is the kitchen…we make food in here. You won’t have human food for a while—I don’t mean you aren’t human. I know you’re human. I mean big people food—adults. You can’t have adult food for a while—I mean you can have it before you’re an adult—”

“This is the living room…this is where your mom cries when she watches This Is Us. We have strict crockpot rules because of that show.”

“This is our bedroom…this is where you were made.” Mike received a very disheartening scowl. “With so much love.”

“And this is your room…I hope you like it. It took your mom and I weeks to decide on a color. I made you your crib, too. I’m sure it won’t fall apar. I put Austin there and it seemed okay.”

[wonjns]

How about some super hot, wet, steamy sex with SVT Mingyu at the sauna's or something 😩 He's just so big

hot & bothered — k.my drabble

♡ kim mingyu x male reader // nsfw

a/n. . . OK been getting lots... LOTS of reqs abt mingyu & this one acc sounded hot so i can no longer deny the ppl what they want !!

kim mingyu was seemingly everywhere,, and the fact that he’s your cocky ex is what made it insufferable for you.

it was unbearable — every bar, club, party, or social gathering you went to, he was there… down to even having the same gym membership as you.

you’d been trying to get back in shape over the summer with the new semester starting soon, and you had done a good job of avoiding the 6 foot adonis for weeks now — that is until you decided to take a celebratory trip to your gym’s sauna.

your first mistake was stepping inside without checking through the fogged glass beforehand, and your second mistake was not leaving as soon as your eyes landed on the huge mass of a man sitting directly across from the entrance, long arms stretched out among the bench backs and tan skin practically illuminating the room.

mingyu eyed you with a silent smirk as you stood there gawking at him, nearly naked with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

he was manspread to his heart’s content, drops of sweat rolling down his broad exposed chest, just begging to be licked up.

he had clearly been working hard, and must’ve just finished a demanding day in the weight room since his muscles were visibly much more bulked than you remembered seeing him a month prior. his bulging biceps made you shift uncomfortably, feeling yourself already growing hard at the sight.

mingyu’s fangy grin only grew when he watched you nervously swallow, eyes drinking in even more of his large form. the sweat on his chiseled abs reflected off the dim light and ignited you with memories of your tongue running up and down them in the past. you could still feel his perked nipples on that buff chest of his beneath your palms.

the sauna smelt like musk — his musk. the kind that turned you on during the days when he would come back into the house exhausted after mowing the lawn, letting you suck him off as a form of gratitude.

speaking of, one look at the humongous mountain of a dick print beneath his towel had you stifling a whimper, the bulge serving as a daunting reminder of how fat his cock really is.

every ounce of your instincts pleaded for you to leave, but you could only draw closer to him while he eyed your half-naked body as well, as if you were under a spell. back when you were dating, mingyu always knew how to smooth talk you into his sheets. he simply understood what you responded to and how to get you hot and bothered.

the time gap of when you last saw him was evident in your inability to resist him, since only a few sly remarks and the singular action of running his large hand through his damp hair was all it took for you to lock the sauna door and pounce on him.

you grinded atop of his lap like a needy animal, moaning as he smashed your lips together and wasted no time in tasting you. your desperate hands roamed the vass expanse of his moist, smooth skin and muscular back, groaning into his mouth as you rolled your hips over his towel-covered erection.

you knew you couldn’t take much more when his wet kisses lowered to your neck, mingyu hungrily sucking marks into your skin. oh how you missed that thick tongue laving all over your collarbones while his huge hands gripped you by the waist.

you threw your head back, tangling your fingers in his wet curls. you hated his man, yet he had you in a pool of euphoria without even moving from his spot on the bench.

without ceasing your grinding for a second, you pushed him back before smoothing your palms down his sweaty, melanated chest. the haze took over your mind while you leaned down to latch your lips onto his taut nipples. he threw his head back when you started sucking harshly, the deep moans he released causing your cock to twitch as it leaked precum.

soon you were shamelessly begging him to take the towel off, desperate for just one last good fuck. and he wasn’t even thinking about denying you of it.

you were both stripped down in seconds, both towels long forgotten on the steamy floor as your sweaty bodies collided. he devoured your mouth one more while lifting you up easily, before sinking you down on that monster cock you had never gotten use to. you began bouncing on his lap, weakly gripping his strong rounded shoulders when he pulled you tighter - feeling your leaky cock start to rub against his sculpted abs.

the heat of the room had your body more slick and mind more dizzy than ever. once he took the perfect opportunity to then suck on your nipples (which he remembered to always have been sensitive), you were climaxing in seconds - whining as you shot ropes of white all over his buff chest. seconds later he emptied his load into you.

you were panting, legs worn and trembling like you had just ran a marathon; but granted, how couldn’t you feel that way after having steamy public sex with the tall, dark hunk that was kim mingyu.

before you left, you told him that would never happen again — you both knew you were lying.

© 𝐟𝐥𝐰𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐢 — all rights reserved

[newobsessionweekly]

One Rule Down

Part 2 of The rules are made to be broken series (18+)

part 1 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Tim Bradford x female!TO!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Warnings: NFSW, explicit sexual content. 18+, mentions of blood, shooting, GSW, pain, r being shot, not proofread yet.

Summary: Tim breaks one rule after you got hurt on a call.

Smut A/N: def not the fic I had in mind to post. I seriously forgot abt this series and I loved writing it. Still in my break, but found this in my drafts and I said why not. @senjoritanana thanks for reminding me of this series ✨

Requested: no Words: 1.9k GIF not mine, credits to the owner!

The radio crackled to life with the urgent call—a report of a disturbance at a convenience store on the outskirts of the city. Without hesitation, you and your rookie sprang into action, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you raced toward the scene.

Arriving at the store, you were met with chaos. Shattered glass littered the pavement, and panicked screams filled the air as bystanders fled in all directions. Nolan took cover behind the shop, scanning the area for any sign of danger, while you positioned yourself nearby, ready to support him at a moment's notice.

"LAPD! Drop your weapons!" you demanded, but the only response was something far away from cooperation.

A group of armed men emerging from the store, their faces obscured by masks as they brandished weapons with lethal intent. You're outnumbered, you thought to yourself.

"7-Adam-15, requesting backup at the 6077 W 3rd street. Eight armed men, no sight of cooperation." you radioed, watching over Nolan's.

You nodded your head, silently telling him backup is on its way and to proceed only if necessary before help arrives.

But before you could even react, a figure emerged behind Nolan, a weapon glinting in their hand. Instinct took over as you lunged forward, pushing Nolan out of harm's way just as the gunman opened fire.

As you moved to shield Nolan from an oncoming barrage of bullets, a searing pain ripped through your side, causing you to stumble backward with a cry of agony. Blood stained your uniform as you collapsed to the ground, your vision swimming with pain and adrenaline.

Pain exploded through your body as the bullet struck true, sending you crashing to the ground in a heap. The world spun around you as you struggled to catch your breath, the taste of copper lingering on your tongue as darkness threatened to consume you.

"7-Adam-15, requesting backup and R/A to my location, officer down!" you heard Nolan's voice crackle over the radio, his words a distant echo in your ears as you fought to stay conscious. "I repeat, officer down!" Through blurred vision, you watched as Nolan returned fire, his movements swift and precise as he engaged the gunman in a fierce firefight.

But as the minutes dragged on, your strength waned, your vision growing dimmer with each passing moment. The pain was unbearable, a searing heat that radiated through your body, but still, you refused to give up.

With every ounce of strength you could muster, you reached for your radio, your fingers trembling as you struggled to make contact with dispatch. "Backup… R/A… officer down," you managed to choke out, your voice barely a whisper as darkness threatened to claim you.

As Officer Bradford heard Nolan's panicked voice crackling over the radio, a cold chill ran down his spine, sending shivers of fear coursing through his veins. Without a moment's hesitation, he knew something was terribly wrong with you, and he couldn't bear the thought of you in danger.

Ignoring all protocol and the rules you both agreed upon, Tim threw caution to the wind and bolted into action, his heart pounding in his chest as he raced through the streets of Los Angeles to get to you. Beside him, Lucy Chen clung to her seat, her eyes wide with concern as she tried to keep up with Tim's breakneck speed.

"Backup… R/A… officer down," your voice echoed through the radio, broken and shattered as his heart sank, tightening the grip on the steering wheel.

Arriving at the scene, Tim didn't even bother assessing the situation—he simply rushed to your side, his heart in his throat as he took in the sight of you lying on the ground, blood pooling beneath you. Panic gripped him like a vice as he knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch your face, his touch gentle yet urgent.

"Hey, hey, Y/N, can you hear me?" Tim's voice was hoarse with emotion, his eyes scanning your pale face for any sign of consciousness. "Hang in there, okay? Help is on the way."

It's been months since you both agreed to those rules and everything was by the book. You were seeing Tim almost every night, finding solace in each other's arms, pleasure blooming between you.

Despite his efforts to remain composed, Tim's façade of strength crumbled in the face of your injuries, his hands shaking as he applied pressure to your wound, his mind racing with a million different fears and possibilities. He knew he had broken the rule you both agreed upon, but in that moment, all he could think about was you—your safety, your well-being, your life hanging in the balance.

As the minutes ticked by agonizingly slowly, Tim's anxiety only grew, his heart hammering in his chest as he prayed for the sound of approaching sirens. He didn't care about the suspects still at large or the chaos unfolding around him—all that mattered was you, lying there before him, fighting for your life.

He had broken the cardinal rule, the one about not letting your personal lives disturb your professional duties. And in doing so, he had shattered the fragile balance you had worked so hard to maintain.

Yet, amidst the turmoil of your emotions, there was a part of you that couldn't help but feel grateful for Tim's presence by your side. Despite his gruff exterior and tendency to push people away, he had rushed to your aid without a moment's hesitation, his concern and fear evident in every word and gesture.

As for Tim, he couldn't shake the sense of guilt that weighed heavily on his shoulders. He had broken the rules, betrayed the trust of the one person who meant more to him than he cared to admit. He cursed himself for allowing his emotions to cloud his judgment, as he reached out to take your hand in his, a silent vow formed in Tim's heart: no matter what the future held, he would do everything in his power to protect you and keep you safe, even if it meant breaking the rules one more time.

The front door opened with a loud noise, drifting you off sleep. Tangled in your sheets, enjoying the silence of some time away from the chaos, it was your last night before you're back on duty.

You haven't heard from Tim since you were shot. After a short visit from him while you were in hospital, too drugged to process what happened, you were left with a buzzing phone, messages from Nolan and Lucy making your days pass agonizingly slow.

There he was today, holding some takeaway in one hand, blocking the light from the hallway penetrate your bedroom. He was tall and imposing, wearing the uniform that made him look like a Greek God.

You didn't make a sound, waiting for him to make the first move "Bought you some food."

He motioned to the bags in his hand as you secretly thanked him. John and Lucy took shifts to drop by your house and bring you something to eat, especially in the first days, when it was impossible for you to move more than ten steps without cursing between your teeth and question the day you decided to become a cop. You don't regret it, but for your safety it was better if you would've chosen another path.

"Thank you," you replied to him, as you tried to maintain a serious expression. You tried to make things as easier as they were, not showing any signs of your feelings, but it was in vain.

Things weren't going to be back as how they were before Tim broke that rule. It wasn't just about the rules, it was about the consequences of his actions, leaving two rookies to handle a situation way out of their league as he rushed to your side, those dangerous men almost slipping away.

Neither of you didn't say a word as you finished the food. He knew he messed up, and it was funnier than it should've been. Tim was the one who came up with those fucking rules and he was the one breaking them. You did it yourself, officer.

Before you could process, you found yourself swirling your tongue around his in a desperate desire. Tim wasn't far behind you, catching up immediately the rhythm of your movements, not backing up any second. He needed this more than he wanted to admit. He needed your touch. He needed to touch you and make sure you're okay.

Keeping his distance in a moment he knew you wished someone to be there by your side, was killing him. But it was necessary, since both of you started to drift off from the rules. And Tim always goes by book. Well, with some exceptions that happen to include you.

Longing for his touch, for him helping you feel anything but pain, decided to get rid of your clothes as quickly as you could. You needed to feel him inside you, to make you whole again.

He was moving painfully slow, memorizing every inch of your skin. You let him guide the rhythm, as you enjoyed his hands on your body, driving you crazy with every kiss placed on your skin. You run your fingers lightly down his body, feeling his boner pressing hard on you.

You wanted him inside you, you wanted to feel him and forget about everything that happened. He traced the shape of your wound, as he teased your nipples slowly, leaving warm marks on them.

"Damn, you are so perfect." he breathed, enjoying the sight of your curves embraced by the warm light laying over them. All of your scars are visible, letting both of you vulnerable. But it didn't stop you.

He cupped your cheeks, pressing his forehead against yours as he closed the distance separating you, making you escape a loud moan of desire that you were holding for too long.

Both your bodies were filled with a warm wetness as he moved slowly inside you, like he didn't want to cause you any more pain. His kisses were sweet and tender, caressing your body as his movements drove you crazy any second. Something in his movements changed, being more gentle, like he didn't want it to stop.

Something in his motion made you wonder if it has to do with his fear of losing you, the same fear that clouded his mind the other days.

The rhythm became more chaotic and intense as you threw your head back into the pillows, tugging on the sheets as pleasure exploded between you in synchrony. Digging your fingers into Tim's shoulders as you locked his gaze, the climax was approached with a sudden burst of energy, making your bodies shake uncontrollably as he was buried deep inside.

After the moment consumed, you thought he'd disappear into the night so suddenly as his arrival. But he didn't, he hold you close, afraid if he'd let go of you, he'll never see you again.

He couldn't understand his feelings, why he desperately wanted to make sure you're okay. You're a grown up woman who can take care of yourself, but still he was there afraid he can't protect you. And he wanted to be able to protect you. In none of the rules wasn't specified that you are not allowed to care for each other, and he placed his care into the professional relationship. But it was far from the truth.

[asmutwriter]

The Gangsta's Wife (Part 8)

DESCRIPTION: Whilst you're husband is away for business reasons you have an unexpected (and unwelcome) guest.

WORD COUNT: 2865

From Beginning / Previous / Next / Master List  

WARNINGS: pregnancy, knife, knife violence, injury, injury detail, fight, blood, Thomas calls reader 'love', drinking, drinking whilst pregnant (brief), swearing

DISCLAIMERS

This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand

This story does not follow the timeline of the show

It had been a couple of weeks since that night. Your husband was near London on business matters. He'd recently purchased a race horse so he was minding that over the past few days. You were taking this time of bliss to have a small nap. Your fatigue having increased over the past few days. Knowing you had caught up on the housework you decided to allow yourself a restful afternoon. You were going to read however sleep soon had other ideas.

You jump awake as you hear a gentle knock on the front door. You let out a soft grumble as you wipe your eyes. Pushing yourself up. Your hand instinctively going to your belly as you walk over to the door. Unlocking it. Assuming it was one of your in-laws, or one of your sisters who'd forgotten their key. Possibly even your husband. Your wide smile to greet your guest being stunned as you see a man waiting outside.

"Mrs Shelby?". Your scan over their frame. The smile fading completely when you see the knife hidden in his coat. You go and shut the door on him. His hand coming out and stopping it. You turn quickly. Making your way upstairs. Just as the door swings open.

Someone grabbing the lower half of you leg. Tripping you. The air from your lungs being forced out. You turn your body. You bring your free leg up. Kicking him. He grabs at the flesh of your lower leg. Yanking you down a few stairs. Able to straddle you. You struggle as he grabs the knife out. Holding the knife up to go in for a swipe. Bringing your hands up as a means to protect yourself. One over your face, the other near your stomach.

It goes through your palm. You scream out as he removes the item. Going in for another swing. Bringing your knee up and kicking them in the crotch. He grunts out. Hand going to his injury. You clench your good hand. Bringing it back and hitting it into his face. Hearing his nose crunch under your fist. He fumbles on the stairs. Nearly falling down them. Him moving off from over you. You bring your foot up, placing it onto his chest as you shove him. Him falling down the length of the stairs. Giving you enough time to turn back around. Scrambling up the stairs as you regain your footing.

Pain going through your body as you get upstairs. Running to your bedroom and shutting the door. Holding your wounded hand by your torso. Heavy breathing as you run over to the window. Lifting the glass panel up. You weigh up the option of climbing out. But the fall being too high. Plus you weren't overly agile or slim in the best of times. Especially not with a 6 month pregnancy belly. You bite at your bottom lip as you go to plan B.

You look for a place to hide. Noticing small blood spots on the floor from your injury. You take your hand. Then rubbing it over the edge of the window frame. Biting your lip to dull any sounds of pain as silent tears stain your face. Hearing the bedroom door start to open. You drop to the floor. Hiding behind the full length mirror you have standing in the room.

The door opens. Seeing two feet walk into your room. You bite at your lips. Shutting your eyes, every ounce of you willing yourself to not make any noise. You hold your wounded hand near your chest. Your other hand coming up and covering your mouth as you become aware of how heavily you are breathing.

The attacker goes over to the window. Presumably looking out of it. You watch as he carefully and quietly wonders around the room. Obviously having the same thoughts of you of your practicality of getting out the small space in such a rush. You see him look under the bed. In the wardrobe. Then he comes over to the mirror. You stay as silent as you can. Practically holding your breath.

Watching as his feet walk out of the room. Hearing them make their way downstairs. You look at your hand. Trying not to gag as you see the wound. You go to the bottom of your skirt. Hand shaking as you tear the end of it. Using it as you wrap it around your injury. Gritting your teeth as you finish. Holding it close to you.

Resting against the wall as your eyes remain fixed on the door. You will yourself to not pass out. Trying to focus on something. Anything. You sit for what must've been a few hours. Waiting behind the mirror. Scared that if you move you'll pass out. Or get found. So you stay still. As much as you can given that your entire body is shaking. Tears still falling down your cheeks as you watch the doorway. You become alert again as you hear noise downstairs.

Looking around you for anything that could be used as a weapon. Biting your lip as you're met with nothing of use to you. Then an idea. You bring your good hand down. Taking off your high healed shoe. Unbuckling the straps of them both. Quietly resting one down onto the floor as you bring the other one up. Holding the top of it. Heal outwards. Gripping around the sole. You move out from behind the mirror. Over to the doorway. Just around the corner so you can remain hidden. Giving you the advantage. Your hand slowly bleeding onto your shirt as you keep it close to your chest. Holding the shoe up. Getting ready to attack.

Your whole body shaking as they cautiously step into the room. You bring the shoe up. Aiming for their head. They turn quickly. Grabbing your wrist to prevent you from harming them. Going to reach for his gun but stopping as he meets your eyes.

"Tommy" you say his name. A small sob coming out. Dropping the shoe you held as you wrap your arm around him. Your wounded hand still clutched to yourself. Fresh tears falling as you hide your head into his shoulder. His arms coming up and holding you. Your entire body shaking.

He unwraps his arms. Moving away slightly as he holds your face. "Florence are you hurt?". So much adrenaline coursing through your body that you forget to answer him. His eyes going to your injured hand. He goes to take it. But you keep it clutched to yourself. "Let me look". He takes your reluctant hand in his. Gently holding the wrist of it as he unwraps the cloth you used. You grip at your skirt. Looking away as you clench your teeth. Body still intensely shaking.

"You're ok love. I've got you" he gently moves you to sit on the bed. Shutting your eyes as you feel queasy. You're hand going to your stomach as you take in a few deep breaths. John and Esme coming up the stairs.

"Thomas?"

"She's been stabbed. She has a sewing kit somewhere in here" you hear them fumbling about. Unable to work out which one announces they've found it. Your husband sits next to you on the bed. Gripping your good hand with his. His arm going around to hold you close to him. You feel someone grabbing your arm. Holding it out. Opening your eyes you see John is sat beside you. Gripping your lower arm and wrist.

Esme using a match, putting the needle into it before placing it into a drink of you presume alcohol or water. You go to move away. Shaking your head as she kneels in front of you. Tommy and Johns grip tightening around you. "The wound needs stitches. Its going to hurt but I'll be quick, ok?".

She takes your hand. Starting to sew your hand up. You cry out. Tommy holding your good hand as you go to push her away. John holding your arm out so you can't retract it. Your husband shushing you comfortingly as you cry. His arms keeping your body pressed against his as both the Shelby men keep you still.

She kept her word. Although it seemed like hours, the procedure was done in less then a minute. Taking the glass she had used for the needle and pouring it over the wound. Causing you to cry out again. Scrunching your eyes shut as you grip the hand of your husband. Fresh tears falling down your cheeks as you feel John lets go of you. Thomas kisses your temple, stroking your hair.

"Well done love. It's over". Moving the hand from your hair. Feeling him move from behind you. Your body weight resting against him. Feeling something cold hit your lips. Jumping as you open your eyes. A whiskey bottle. "Drink. It'll help dull the pain". You shake your head.

"Liz. Mary..." you whsiper. Going to stand up, Thomas's arm still wrapped around you. Keeping you sat on the bed. Esme speaks next to you.

"Both safe and next door" you nod. Letting Thomas lift the bottle. Letting your drink a large quantity of it before removing it. Placing it back on the side. You breath heavily. Shutting your eyes again as you try and focus on your husband. His warmth. Scent.

"They got Arthur and Michael too" John says. Tommy nodding in response. "I thought you said that we were safe"

"I thought we were too..." he says. Voice quiet as he holds you close to him. Your eyes remaining shut as your breathing becomes steady. You hear commotion from downstairs. You flinch. Eyes widening as you go closer to your husband. Body must still be on high alert from the chaos as you back away slightly. Thomas grips your hand slightly tighter as you watch the doorway. John cautiously going and seeing what the noise was.

"They took my son" you hear Polly say as she storms into the room. The Shelby boys and Esme relaxing slightly. "Thomas they took my fucking son" she says again. "You promised that he'd be safe. You said-"

"Polly" he tries to calm her.

"No. They took Michael. They took my boy" she shakes her head. Obviously trying not to break down fully. "You need to get my son back. Thomas get my so-"

"Enough." He cuts her off. The tone sharp and precise. Sending chills down your spine. "Family meeting next door. Now. John get Finn" he nods. Going out, shortly followed by his wife. You see Polly's eyes frantic as they look at her nephew.

"Thomas" she says. Sternness in her voice that you can only put down as a Shelby tone.

"I said go next door. I will talk to you there" she clenches her jaw. Borderline stropping out the room as she leaves. Hearing her footsteps loud on the stairs. He moves from behind you. Kneeling in front of you as he rests a hand on your cheek. His other hand still holding onto yours.

"I'm sorry Mr Shelby... I tried keeping the baby safe..." you shut your eyes. Tears swelling in them again. He nods. Lips slightly parted as he watches you.

"I'm going to change your out of these clothes, ok?" he speaks softly to you. You nod your head. Feeling him start to undo the buttons of your shirt. You wince as he pulls the sleeve over your arm and hand. More ease on the other one, less injured one. Throwing your blood soaked garment onto the floor. You hear him stand up. Opening your eyes you watch as he gets a damp cloth. Coming over he cleans up some of the dried blood on your arm and torso.

Where you'd been holding it so tightly against yourself you'd managed to bleed through your shirt. Tossing the cloth aside he gently places a new shirt over your frame. He kneels in front of you. Holding your good hand. Watching his eyes scanning your features. As you look down at him.

"I'm going to call the midwife and get her to come and check you and the baby over. I can't see any wounds near the child but I think its best if we check, ey?" you nod. "I need to go next door and have this meeting. Find out exactly what happened and why" You shake your head.

"Please don't leave me..." a feeble whisper comes past your lips. He looks at you. Nodding slightly before standing. You keep your eyes on his as he pulls you up by your good hand. One arm holding your hand still as the other goes to the lower part of your back. Letting you gain your balance. Your body still shaking.

"I'm going to find the man that did this to you" he speaks in a low, hushed voice. "I'm going to make him pay. For harming you. For harming our child". You meet his eyes again. Cold. The stare making your breath hitch. You look downwards. Keeping a hold of his hand as he leads you next door. Sitting you down onto a chair before the family meeting ensues.

The midwife came round less then 24 hours later. Checking over you and the baby and confirming that you were both fine. Although your body had gone into shock it doesn't seem to have affected the pregnancy. Once Thomas had heard this news you didn't see him for a long time. Not that he'd left you unprotected. You made note of the various Blinders patrolling outside your house.

It was midday during the weekend. You were playing a game with your sisters when you hear the front door open. You turn quickly. Standing up - mind you a little wobbly - but quickly to see your husband walk into the living room.

Your eyes scanning over his features as you look at him. Lifting his head up to look at you. "I need you and your sisters to come with me"

"Why?"

"Go pack a bag each. I'll wait here" he says. Eyes drifting to your sisters who look at him then at you. "Go" he says. Sterner this time. Your sisters having better judgement then you stand up. Scurrying past you and Thomas. Hearing their footsteps on the wooden flooring upstairs. Your eyes dart between his two blue orbs. His stay steady and fixated on yours. "Go" he repeats. You shake your head

"I want you to answer my question"

"I'll answer your questions when we get in the car and start driving"

"No. No you can't do that. You can't just expect to leave us alone for days. With no contact. No say as to where you've gone. Then turn up expecting me to get into a car with you without asking any questions. No". Reaching up he takes his cap off. Your eyes glancing at the small piece of metal that glints in the light of the room. Watching as he puts it onto the cabinet near the door.

You try to read him. His posture. Placing his hands in front of him as his eyes become steady on yours once again. You keep your ground under his menacing stare. Making a point by folding your arms over your torso. Feeling your hands shaking as you clench them against you.

"I want answers". Your voice a whisper. He takes in a breath through his nose. Exhaling as he speaks.

"Did Detective Campbell try and fuck you?". The sudden question shocking you. Taking you a while to come up with a response.

"Excuse me?"

"Did he try and fuck you?". You flit your eyes between his.

"He may have... suggested such notions... But I refused him"

"You should've told me"

"I didn't see it being necessary"

"I'd like to know when my enemy tries to fuck my wife. I believe that is the reason he hired that man to attack you"

"Because I refused to have sex with him?".

"And to enforce his argument of how dangerous this life is. That this world is filled with blood and violence". You bring your hand to your stomach. Holding it, rubbing a thumb over the swell of your belly.

"Why do you want me to pack a bag?"

"I'm going to move you and your sisters to a safe house. One that only I and a handful of my most trusted men know about"

"How long will we be there for?"

"Until I have dealt with the current threat and it is safe for you to come back home"

"Who will be with us at the safe house?"

"It'll be you and your sisters. I'll have a man guarding the perimeter who will change periodically. Plus someone else to deliver you food. The midwife will see you when she is needed but she is to come alone and be searched every time she comes". Your hands rest under your stomach. Breaking eye contact with him as you look down. He stays quiet as you process his answers. Nodding slightly before looking back up at him. "Good. Go pack a bag"

Previous / Next

TAGS

@whorecrux-of-slytherin @kkrenae @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo

[hazbinshusk]

Hey idk if your taking requests, but I was wondering if you could make a oneshot where we work with husk behind the bar and we make him a good drink.

combined with a kiss prompt because it was too cute an idea to pass up :)

prompt #6: a gentle peck

“The hell are you doin’ back there?” Husk asks, torn between amusement and what sounds like the beginnings of concern for his bar. Or at least, for the booze bottles that line the shelves.

“Patience is a virtue,” you sing-song teasingly back, selecting a bottle of rye whiskey from the shelf and measuring out three quarters of an ounce with practised ease. Husk is sitting in your usual seat on the other side of the bar, perched on the stool with his elbow on the wood and his chin in his paw. He’s watching you with idle curiosity as you collect cognac and sweet vermouth from the shelves behind you. You check the label of the latter and wrinkle your nose, swapping it for a different label. Husk’s smile quirks slightly as you do.

“And you’re making…?”

“A Vieux Carré, chérie,” you tell him idly, measuring out equal measures of the two liqueurs into the mixing glass. You pronounce the words with the practiced lilt of a Cajun accent. You hadn’t moved to Louisiana until you were grown, and while the accent you had begun to pick up before your death could still make an appearance with certain words – especially anything French – it hadn’t been part of your vernacular long enough to stick around all these years in Hell.

Husk raises a brow. “An ‘old square’?”

You smile, pausing in your drink-making to pour yourself a shot of bourbon. You throw it back, smile widening as Husk’s expression twitches, undoubtedly close to asking for a shot of his own. The booze burns your throat and you exhale it slowly. “Named for the French Quarter, mon minou.”

“Of course,” he replies, his wings twitching slightly. “And I’ll get to drink it sometime this century?”

You let your jaw drop in mock-offense, pouring a few dashes of two kinds of bitters into the glass. “Keep that attitude up, and I’ll keep it all for myself.”

“God forbid, doll,” he teases, and despite his impatience you can hear a soft purr rumbling from his side of the bar. “And since when exactly are you a bartender?”

“Since eighty-two.” A half-ounce of Benedictine liqueur is pulled from the shelf, and to prove your point you flip the bottle behind your back and catch it with your other hand. Husk huffs a soft breath, impressed, as you pour half an ounce into the glass. “New Orleans barflies always liked a show.”

“And it had nothin’ to do with the pretty little thing makin’ eyes at ‘em from behind the bar?”

“’Course not,” you reply with a grin. “We were a classy establishment. I saved the topless dancing on the bar and body shots for special occasions.”

Husk chuckles, and you stir the liqueurs together for few moments before finally pouring the cocktail into a waiting glass with unnecessary flair. Husk rolls his eyes, but the affection is clear on his face. If you asked, he’d deny just how much the idea of body shots with you was now sticking in his mind. He shifts on his stool slightly, his eyes flickering down over your torso.

“You really should invest in some garnishes you know,” you note, sliding the glass over to him and pretending not to notice the way his attention has drifted. “It just looks sad without one.”

“Noted. Can I drink now?”

You nod, a little nervous for his opinion despite your cavalier attitude. He so often did these little things for you… you wanted to do something for him this time. And it had to be right.

“Fuckin’ finally.” he jokes, eyes holding yours as he lifts the glass to his mouth. He closes his eyes as he takes a sip, humming as the mingled flavours meet his tongue. Your fingers curl around the edge of the bar and you press your lips together as you wait. Husk’s eyes open, a delighted sense of surprise colouring his features. “That’s…”

“Good?”

“Better than,” Husk assures you, studying the glass for a moment before taking another mouthful. “What exactly did ya put in this?”

You grin. “Trade secret, minou.”

Husk raises a brow, smile of his own touching his lips. “Am I not part of the trade?”

“Hmm…” you hum as though thoughtful, leaning on your hands over the bad towards him. “Maybe I just need some convincing, then.”

Husk’s smile widens, and your eyes close as he meets your lips in a soft, brief kiss that still sends butterflies into your chest. You can taste the cocktail on his lips, and his claws ghost briefly over your cheek. When he pulls back again he doesn’t go far, his face only inches from yours. “Qu’en penses-tu, mon amour? Pouvez-vous me le dire maintenant?”

You reach up to run your fingers through the fur on his chest, straightening his bowtie idly. “I might need a little more incentive, cher.”

“That I can do,” he rumbles, bringing his lips back to yours, his cocktail forgotten.

send me a prompt and either husk or blitzø

[swarvey]

paper rings | harvey x f!reader

summary -> Harvey gets drunk with the boys; you have a realization. warnings -> none! wc -> 3818

a/n: calm before the storm <3

ch. 6 | ch. 7 | ch. 8

paper rings masterlist

chapter seven: i think he knows -> "it's like i'm seventeen, nobody understands."

“Done!” 

Triumphantly placing the last piece of the bundle in the box, you watched happily as a blue Junimo picked it up and took it away. As you continuously brought goods to the Community Center in hopes of restoring it — per Mayor Lewis’s request — you noticed this particular Junimo seemed to have taking a liking to you, as it kept following you to random places. Not only was it mainly the one who would take your completed bundles, but once in a while, it would show up at the farm or in the mines, usually looking at you with curious eyes before disappearing. You weren’t complaining, of course. It was harmlessly adorable, and after seeing it a couple of times, you fittingly named it Blueberry. It seemed as determined to bring the building back to its prime as you were.

You could hardly believe anyone in town would shop at the Joja Mart over Pierre’s. Sure, the guy could be a bit stuck-up, but at least his goods weren’t processed to hell like Joja’s. You shivered at the thought of working for the cursed company again, not comprehending how Sam and Shane could tolerate being in that place regularly. 

Well, Sam less so, as he always seemed to figure out how to entertain himself. It seemed like Shane just liked being in a place where no one would bother him, which made you all the more confused as to why he hung around Harvey and, of all people, Elliott, who seemed to be his polar opposite. 

You sighed contently as Blueberry wound around your feet once before walking away with the bundle, proudly looking at the two rooms you had completed so far. Although the effort was taking you a bit longer than you liked, seeing the rooms steadily come together was enough for you. You chose not to question how the Community Center was repairing itself, or where the Junimos came from — you’d learned long ago that many things in the Valley were unexplainable, and you were okay with that. 

You smiled as you waved goodbye to your little blue friend, swearing you saw it wave back.

I wonder what Harvey would think of this little guy.

-

“What in the everloving fuck am I looking at right now.”

For once, Harvey completely agreed with Shane’s words. Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream, but whatever Elliott was holding up on his phone screen was not making an ounce of sense to him.

“It’s a visualization of my novel!” the writer exclaimed, his usually precise tone slurred due to the three empty glasses in front of him. “I decided to expand my creative mind and turn to another output. This will allow me to make full use of my thought process.”

Shane snorted, grabbing the phone out of his hands and squinting at the poorly drawn stick figures. “Dude, I don’t know how to break it to you,” he started, laughter already bubbling in his voice, “but this looks like shit .”

Harvey shook his head and smiled as Shane cackled. Elliott snatched his phone back in retaliation, visibly offended. “It’s a rough draft, it’s not meant to look polished! You agree, don’t you, my good doctor?”

“. . . It kind of looks like shit,” he admitted, his rare use of profanity slipping off his tongue easily. Harvey took a long swig of his drink, avoiding Elliott’s utterly betrayed gaze.

Meanwhile, Shane continued to crack up, holding his stomach as he doubled over. “If this is the rough draft, the real thing might just pass off as a kindergartener’s drawing. Hey, why don’t I ask Jas to give you some tips? She’s not half bad, that kid.”

“I absolutely will not — actually,” Elliott paused, cutting off his own sentence, “that may not be a terrible idea. Then, I could obtain a glimpse of how she views my work, and incorporate it into the final product!”

As Shane groaned, tuning out the rest of the other man’s rambling, Harvey felt his phone buzz, looking down to see a text from you lighting up his screen.

Y/N : hey, you at the saloon?

In the midst of his drunken haze, he allowed a lovestruck smile to stretch his lips. He didn’t even notice Shane and Elliott momentarily pausing their bickering to glance at him, both of them raising their brows. 

Harvey : Am I that predictable?

Y/N : like clockwork. drunk off your ass yet?

Harvey : I never get drunk off my ass, Y/N.

Y/N : really? 

should i send the video?

Harvey : DO NOT!!

I asked you to delete it years ago. :(

Y/N : LOL you’re totally drunk

i’ll ask emily to take some funny photos

i’ve been meaning to update your contact pic anyway

Harvey : You are impossible.

Harvey felt like a teenager again, hiding his grin and tinted cheeks behind his hand. 

Harvey : Are you at home?

Y/N : yeah, i’m beat, probably gonna head to bed

still down for the festival on tuesday?

His posture straightened as he suddenly remembered the invitation he’d given you to the Stardew Valley Fair. After checking the date and seeing that it was Saturday, he realized he had less than a week to mentally prepare himself for the event. 

“Shit,” he swore quietly, once again not noticing the appalled look on Elliott’s face at his swear. Shane snickered, no doubt finding it amusing to see the doctor so intoxicated — it was largely his fault, after all, since he’d been determined to partake in as many rounds as humanely possible.

Harvey : Of course! Why don’t I meet you at the clinic?

I’ll have to close up in the morning, so you can come in and wait for me.

Y/N : wow, inviting me over to your clinic? 

does this mean i get a free check-up? 

A free . . . check-up?

Harvey could only imagine this was what short-circuiting felt like.

Apparently, alcohol caused his thoughts to run even more wild. Images of you propped up on his examination table and smiling at him innocently flashed through his mind, his fingers frozen and unable to type out a response.

“Talking to Y/N, I’m guessing?” Harvey quickly closed his phone at the sound of Gus’s voice, realizing Shane must have ordered yet another round of drinks for everyone. His friends looked away, though he could still make out their amused smirks. “How’s that goin’ for ya?”

Right. After his first dinner with you in town, Harvey had confessed to Gus the situation he was in, his head bowed in guilt as he lectured him about treating you properly. Despite his protectiveness over you, Gus was still supportive of his feelings, giving him as much advice as he could.

“It’s, uh, going well,” Harvey replied, thinking that was the best word to describe your relations with him as of late. “We’re just as close as we were before.”

The older man nodded, grabbing the empty glasses to stow them away. “Well, you better take care of her, son. It’s not every day people have a connection like the two of you do, and I’d hate to see either of ya get hurt.” With that, Gus worked his way over to the next table, leaving Harvey to sit with his words.

“He’s right,” Shane said, pushing over another glass to him. “You two are somethin’ else for sure. Kinda makes me sick.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Elliott countered. Upon seeing half his new drink was already gone, Harvey questioned how his speech was still comprehensible. “As I have been insisting since our dear Harvey first brought up the farmer, these two are a clear example of fate .”

“Oh, enough with that bullshit. Fate this, fate that — if fate’s real, why can’t it get me a new fuckin’ job, huh? That place makes me feel like I’m losing whatever brain cells I have left.”

Buzz!

“What does she want, anyway?” Shane asked, attempting to read Harvey’s screen. He quickly picked up his phone, looking away sheepishly as he hid your conversation. His friend huffed an unamused laugh, shrugging. “This is some damn middle school shit,” he grumbled, and Elliott laughed into his glass as he sipped his drink.

Y/N : relax harvs, i can practically see you having a heart attack through the screen

it was a joke btw, i’ll make sure to properly pay and schedule an appointment whenever i need one :salute:

Great. Now you thought he was being stingy. 

Harvey : Sorry, I got distracted. You know you can come in whenever you’d like.

Y/N : i know, thanks dr. harvey 

anyways, have fun, i’m off to bed

goodnight!

Harvey : Goodnight, Y/N.

When Harvey awoke the next morning, blinking past the dull ache in his head, he saw an unread text from you sent an hour before. His eyes widened as he opened it, realizing Emily must have listened to your request and snuck a picture of him when he wasn’t paying attention.

Of course, she had caught him while he was texting you, his face and ears burning red and his hidden smile completely up for show in the photo. He groaned in embarrassment, certain you would notice his expression and question him for it.

Instead, your text focused on a completely different aspect of the image.

Y/N : what the hell are those two idiots doing??

Confused, Harvey looked back at the picture and zoomed in, stifling a laugh at the sight of his two friends in the middle of a heated argument. Shane’s lips were pulled back in an aggressive snark while Elliott raised his phone to his face, his eyes lit with an honest passion.

Harvey : Lovers’ quarrel. Happens every day.

-

Memories hit you like a truck as you and your horse slowly headed towards town. You could practically smell the buttered popcorn and hear the ringing sound of festival games already filling the air. The Stardew Valley festival used to be the perfect way to end your summers as a kid, especially when your grandfather would tag along with you. He would always take your hand and smile at you warmly, sometimes even giving you a pouch of coins to spend on your own. You smiled to yourself at the thought. Although he wasn’t walking beside you anymore, you swore you could still feel his familiar energy around you.

Or maybe Emily’s starting to get to me. 

Either way, your excitement only grew at the sight of the booths and games coming together, making sure to stop by your stand and drop off the goods you brought to show off. You were sure each of the items was of top quality and glanced at the other displays to see your competition, though you already knew who you had to beat. You glared at Pierre’s abundant stand, scoffing as you made your way toward Harvey’s clinic. Surely, you would win against the overconfident store owner — you were growing your own crops, after all. 

You poked your head into the clinic, eyes brightening at the sight of your childhood friend. Harvey, too consumed in tidying up, didn’t notice you right away, continuing to rearrange some items in the cabinet and humming to himself. You were suddenly reminded of the image Emily sent you the night before, recalling how, for a split second, you’d thought Harvey looked a bit cute with his flushed cheeks and ears. He’d always gotten a bit pink when he drank, but something about that particular angle of him caught your eye. Maybe it was the fact that he was looking at his phone, no doubt in the middle of texting you? Or maybe it was the dumb smile on his face?

Not that you would ever mention any of that, though. Why would you? They were simply quick thoughts you were having, nothing more.

No, you opted to instead highlight the incredibly stupid looks on his friends’ faces, laughing when he called them lovers. Although you didn’t nearly talk to the other two men as much as he did, you could tell they were all good friends. You were glad Harvey had a circle of support around him — knowing him, he constantly had something to stress over, and you knew you couldn’t always be there for him.

You walked up behind Harvey, giving him an exasperated look when he still didn’t turn around. Half-smiling, you extended your hands toward him, slowly inching closer before poking his sides.

“ Boo! ”

“ Huh —?”

Harvey jumped as he yelped in surprise, dropping several rolls of bandages onto the floor. He bent forward and rested his hands on his knees to catch his breath, all while you died of laughter beside him.

“You know I scare easily!” he complained, standing straight to adjust his glasses. 

“Of course I know,” you replied, wiping a fake tear off your cheek. “That’s why I did it.”

“You will never stop tormenting me, will you?”

“Nope. Not ‘til I drop dead.”

“Great,” he deadpanned, shaking his head. “Were you able to finish all your farmwork this morning?”

You nodded, lips still stretched into a lingering smile. “Pet bowls filled, animals fed, and crops watered — all done.” You glanced around the room, noticing he was alone. “Where’s Maru?”

That’s an innocent question, right? Of course it was. She worked under him, after all, it only made sense to ask why she wasn’t there to help. One thought led to another in your head, and suddenly, you were thinking about the Flower Dance; about how pink Maru’s face had been while talking to Harvey; about the soft shyness covering his face, an expression you didn’t know how to read and would bet your farmland it was because he reserved it for her and her only—

“Oh, I told her to sleep in,” he replied easily, putting the bandages in their proper place. “There wasn’t much to do, so I figured I would just get it out of the way.”

Of course. Of course, he told her to sleep in, because Harvey was and always would be thoughtful, more than you’d ever understand.

“Not much to do, huh?” you repeated, and he nodded.

Without warning, you grabbed Harvey’s arm and began to drag him out of the clinic, ignoring his protests about his unfinished work. 

“You can finish when you get back, Harvey, the clinic isn’t going anywhere,” you said, anticipation filling you as Lewis had just finished looking at all the displays. “Mayor Lewis, hey!” You waved him down, and he greeted both of you with a big smile.

“It’s good to see you two.” He sighed, a wistful look taking over him. “I can’t believe how much you’ve grown up. Ah, before I forget,” he started, reaching into his pocket. “Y/N, congratulations! You won first place with a rating of a hundred.” You whooped, nearly knocking Harvey over with your excitement as you happily accepted the small bag Lewis gave you. “Here, your prize is a thousand star tokens — use them wisely!”

“A thousand? ” Harvey questioned, peering into the bag. “We used to spend the entire day getting this many tokens.”

“And now, we have a head start,” you said, an old sense of competitiveness creeping its way back into your senses. “Let’s go win some prizes!”

As the plaza began to fill with more and more people, you and Harvey fell back onto your old rhythm — while you took care of all the games requiring strength and technique, he took care of the trickier, mind-twisting ones. Your jaw remained dropped as he stared at the wheel for the seventh time in a row, a finger touching his lips as he thought.

“Green,” Harvey said, to which the man running the game scowled. 

“You sure, bud? You seem awful confident, but your luck might just run out,” he reasoned, though you could tell he was trying to trick him.

Harvey narrowed his eyes. “I’m sure.” 

You laughed giddily as the two of you walked away from the wheel with a heavy sack of tokens, Harvey flaunting a proud look on his face.

“I still don’t get it — how do you do that?” you asked, in awe at his winning streak that had remained unbroken since you first played with him. “You make us tons more compared to that slingshot game!”

He shrugged, putting his hands in his coat pockets. “I mean, after stopping by every year, I started to recognize the pattern. I suppose it’s more statistics, since there’s a much higher chance that—”

“Look who it is!” 

You felt a light punch land on your shoulder as Alex and Haley approached you, watching amusedly as Haley scolded him for hitting you.

“Geez, it wasn’t even that hard,” he mumbled, but lightened up at the sight of your pouch. “You guys won those already?”

“Honestly, it was mostly Harvey,” you admitted, nudging his arm. “Ever since we were kids, he’s always been scarily good at that wheel game. What were you saying, Harvs? Something about statistics, or something?”

No response. 

You looked at him, noticing he was suddenly spacing out and staring at the space in between the two in front of you.

“Harvey? You okay?”

“What?” he questioned, blinking. “Yes, uh, it’s just some simple math, that’s all. Nothing much to it.”

Haley huffed. “Well, can you teach this guy how to do it? ‘Cause whenever I play with him, we never seem to win anything.” Alex opened his mouth to respond, but she paid no mind, opting to walk toward the game Leah was playing instead.

“Wait up!” Just as he was about to turn, Alex looked back at you, grinning. “I’ll see you around, Y/N! Hey, if I have any leftover tokens, I’ll get you something from the prize booth, okay?”

“Deal!” 

After he ran to catch up with the blonde, you turned back to Harvey, cocking your head at the serious look that had hooded over his eyes.

“Um, you sure you’re okay?” you asked, but before you could question him further, he took your arm and led you to the prize booth, gently taking the tokens from your hand. You had never seen him look so determined before, as if he was trying to prove something.

“Here you go, ma’am,” he said, sliding them over to the lady behind the counter. “I believe this should be enough for one of everything you have.”

“One of—? Harvey, what are you doing?!”

That’s how the two of you ended up leaving the Stardew Valley Festival early, Harvey helping you carry home the copious amount of prizes you received.

“You’re sure you don’t want any of this? Come on, Harvs, you practically won all of this yourself,” you said, opening the door to your house. 

Harvey shook his head, smiling as he placed everything in a neat pile at the foot of your bed. You had never seen so many stuffed animals in your life.

“Please, I have no space for any of this in my apartment, anyway.” He looked fondly at the matching bear they’d given the two of you — although yours was obviously more worn down, the design on the new one was the exact same as its counterpart.

You shook your head, pressing the bear back into his arms. “I’ve already got mine, this one can be yours. I can’t have two of the same thing.” You definitely could. Part of you just liked the idea of matching with him.

“If you insist.” He smiled at the stuffed animal in his arms, though it quickly wiped from his face as he turned to leave. “Is that . . .?” You followed his gaze, stomach dropping at what had caught his eye.

He was staring directly at the bouquet you’d hung by your bedside the first morning you had moved in.

Fuck, fuck. He can’t know, I had no idea what those stupid flowers meant back then! You wanted to punch your past self in the jaw for her stupidity. After the Spring season had past, you’d learned the true meaning behind the bouquets Pierre sold, cursing him for not telling you back then. There was no way Harvey could know you bought it with him in mind, not when neither of you saw each other in that way.

Not when he had Maru in mind, supposedly the girl he felt he was constantly gravitating towards.

“Oh, that?” you laughed awkwardly, a cold sweat brewing on your neck. “I bought it for myself!”

He blinked, and for a second, you thought you saw relief flash in his eyes. “Ah, for . . . yourself?”

“Hey, don’t judge,” you responded, crossing your arms. “I just thought they looked nice, so I decided to dry the whole thing to make it last. That’s all.”

“But you do know what a bouquet symbolizes, correct?”

“I do, in fact, know what they mean, Dr. Judgey,” you shot back, feigning offense. “What happened to being a supportive friend?”

“Alright, enough with the dramatism,” he laughed lightly, adjusting his hold on the bear. “I had fun today, Y/N. Um . . . thank you, for spending time with me.”

The tension left your shoulders as you smiled at him. “It’s the least I can do, especially after you got me all this stuff.” You held the door open for him as he left. “Same time next year?” you asked playfully. He managed to salute in agreement with one of his hands, peeking around the stuffed animal’s body to make sure he wasn’t running into anything. 

You spent the rest of the night staring at the flowers on the wall, wondering why your heart clenched whenever you thought back to Harvey seeing them. There was no way he could figure it out, right? As smart as he was, you highly doubted he would think the bouquet was meant for him. You used to visibly gag in front of him whenever people mentioned the idea of you dating him.

So, why were you now having the same reaction at the thought of him dating someone else?

You groaned in frustration into your pillow, lifting your head to look at the pestering flowers once more. You knew it wasn’t fair — it wasn’t fair you were just starting to like him when you’d quite literally had years to do so, and it especially wasn’t fair that he was, in fact, in love with someone else. You couldn’t blame him, though, of course you couldn’t. Maru was smart, pretty, and kind; she lined up with Harvey perfectly.

And yet, there was a part of you screaming there was no one more fitting for him than you. It didn’t matter, though. None of your thoughts mattered if Harvey didn’t see you in that light, if all he saw when he looked at you was his childhood friend who he was able to reconnect with.

You closed your eyes.

It never hurt to pretend, though.

[ressonancee]

i think we married in vegas - teaser

✷ You and Jeonghan have always been friends, and friends go on a trip together, right? And somehow friends always end up marrying in Las Vegas right? And somehow friends become roommates as well right? That all seems very normal when Yoon Jeonghan has a weird addiction to doing the dumbest things ever just for shock value.

✷ genre: comedy (?), angst (?), smut, a weird amount of pining (!)

✷ word count teaser: 499

✷ word count fic: more than 13k - projection: around 20k?/25k?

✷ Thea note: hi y'all, as you guys may know I'm doing nanowimo, and somehow, I got addicted to this story and I'm making it bigger day by day. I still have a very big chunk to go (around 6/7 scenes but it can be more who knows not me since I don't plan when I am writting!). Anyhow I am pretty sure it gonna take a while till the whole thing sees the light of day but I wanted to share a tiny bit with you because I am actually super hyped about and I suck at keeping secrets <3 Hope you guys like it, and get as excited as me (or at least half, actually I can take a third!! or even an ounce!!). I do not do the whole tag list thing but if anyone wants to get tagged just let me know somehow <3

You turn your hand and it finally hits you.

It is a ring.

With a big rock.

In your ring finger.

A big damn rock on your ring finger.

“Yoon Jeonghan” you scream in horror.

On the other side of that door, Jeonghan just hears you scream. He picks himself up in record time and room towards the bathroom, oh shit did you just fall and hit your head? Did you break the glass of the fancy hotel shower? Are you dying? So without thinking much Jeonghan opens the bathroom door and he just finds you - completely naked and seemly okay, just staring at your own hand.

“What happened?” He asks trying to catch his breath, maybe he does need to start working out man, he didn’t feel this horrible when he was hitting the gym after shifts, but also he didn’t feel that great either the whole gym rat thing was not his ordeal.

“What did we do?” You ask still in complete horror, not even thinking about how this is the first time Yoon Jeonghan, your friend is seeing you completely naked. 10/10 would not recommend this experience. Not even to Laurel, your own Satan-spit roommate.

“What? Are you going crazy? I thought you fell and opened your skull or something,”

You just look at Jeonghan, dead in his eyes, like the reality is worse than falling in the bathroom, opening your skull, and calling the paramedics naked. You just turn your hand to him - like it is enough to make him understand what a dire situation it is. And you swear to god you can almost see the little flakes of light on the bathroom floor, the rock is big enough to shine across the room.

“Did you call me to show me your ring? Couldn’t you wait until you put your clothes on?” Jeonghan asks leaning into the doorway.

“Jeonghan did we-” you say but you feel your own throat closing around itself, it can’t be, right?

“Hm?” he asks without a blink of an eye.

“Oh we did, we totally did”

“No, you are not that crazy,” he claimed. What that was supposed to mean? He was crazy enough for it but you the two goody shoes wasn’t?

“Jeonghan check your bank receipt,” you demanded, trying to connect the dots in a way, trying to have proof, maybe you just bought a way too expensive ring for yourself, or maybe it was just impulse buying.

Before you can move Jeonghan almost runs towards the room, you try your best to keep up with him but you are a little behind because, for the first time, you actually are aware of how naked you are. You pick up the fluffy bathroom robe - yeah the fancy hotel had its perks.“Oh fuck” you can hear Jeonghan before you can see him, his phone it’s on his lap, his head is on his head - he is a man defeated. Oh no. You guys actually did it.

[shinjisdone]

To Soften a Warrior’s Heart (Vinland Saga; Thorfinn; Part 6)

In which you have joined Askeladd’s band…and grow closer to the Son of Thors. Though it is more difficult than anyone can could ever imagine…

[Headcanons of how it would be like to meet and crawl your way into Thorfinn’s heart (based on season 1; both platonic and romantic)]

Part 1 is here - meeting Thorfinn at the age of 14 and how he is at that age

Part 2 is here - meeting Thorfinn at the age of 16/17 + headcanons of growing closer (slightly following s1 story)

Part 3 is here - blooming friendship with Thorfinn (slightly following s1 story)

Part 4 is here - Thorfinn unwittingly opening his heart as he realizes he does not want you to die

Part 5.1 is here - sweet things Thorfinn would do for you (headcanons)

Part 5.2 is here - other seet things Thorfinn would do for you (headcanons)

Part 7 is here - Canute grieving over Ragnar and Thorkell catching up; Thorfinn leaves you alone for revenge

Part 8 is here - Thorfinn wins against Thorkell; Questioning your bond with Thorfinn

Part 9 is here - Meeting Leif and Thorfinn dueling Askeladd; Losing while Askeladd told him the truth of his constant losses

Part 10 is here - Thorfinn and you bound by heart; Promises of Vinland broken and abandoned

[Mentions of murder, death, war, slave trade, harrasment against women and whatever awful things happened in the viking era. Only mentioned and used as examples. Mostly gender-neutral examples but female-leaning ones are there, too.]

[This part will specifically mention: Overprotective Thorfinn, shy Canute, you saving Canute and him getting a crush uwu, weirded out Thorfinn, jealousy, Thorfinn threatening Canute, Thorfinn wanting to SPIT IN HIS FACE, harmless shenanigans, not exactly 100% following chronoligal order of story because wholesome things first...soul-crushing second]

Carry on the oath until my last scene...

The band waddled out of the water and now continues on land...

Neither are a bother to Thorfinn. Yet it's clear that he isn't very pleased. He hasn't been for the past few days.

Well, he is not pleased when he is not right by your side. Which, now having to march on, is seldom as the viking is close to you whenever possible.

He side-eyes you often, gaze falling down to the injury you had to bear. It's unknown if the wound was caused by accident or not, though that does not matter to Thorfinn. He is absolutely convinced that Askeladd is the perpatrator and cause of your wound - which is a scar by now.

It angers him though he tries to hold it down. Whenever he thinks back to it however, he looks like a closed but whistling kettle.

In fact, Thorfinn will make sure you two are NOT seperated at all. No matter what circumstance you are thrown into...

Staying close is a necessity and nothing will get in the way of it. So far so that the crew itself started mumbling about it during the march...

Well, it makes sense. Out of everyone you prefered each other from the very beginning, holding a bond that may started off as rather businesswise but both of you held values that made it slowly form into something genuine. Certainly even the tardiest fool got it how genuine your connection is by Thorfinn's outburst a week ago - yet if that was not obvious enough, the way Thorfinn insisted to stay by your side surely made it now.

You both check on each other multiple times throughout the day even as you do nothing but march. Winter is as good as here, so the constant concern and questions are not out of the ordinary but there is a certain...stoic warmth to it?

Thorfinn does not show an ounce of emotion when talking to you, checking on you, sharing food, offering help or even handling you. He treats you gently, like glass even when it comes to your fresh scar as if he was your mother or guardian - while doing all of this with the biggest scowl on his face.

His lack of facial expressions may fool the men but not his actions. Actions speak louder than words, after all!

Out of everyone, Askeladd is the most aware...

So one can imagine their gossip and talks. Well, they are just marching, protecting a prince. What better way to kill the time than this?

About Thorfinn having gone mad or being an overly sensitive lad who gets emotional over anything and everything that Askeladd does...or, how maybe you have bewitched him, how you two so suddenly became much closer or at least, had the courage to openly show it now.

Some may laugh and call you two peas in a pod, twins seperated from birth who found each other in a viking band again. Fools seldom differ, and all.

Others are convinced there has to be more. Infatuation and little sweet nothings exchanged? Is that why you two keep close to only each other and keep a distance to anything and anyone else, huh? Was Thorfinn's lovebird a bit hurt? Oh, woe is you!

The blonde is understandably pissed off but surprisingly does not reply in any way, shape or form to the mockery and gossip. Even though your wound healed, Thorfinn is more focused on staying by your side. He is too tired to give them the time of the day anyway...seems like they forgot he was the one who rescued the oh so important hostage prince in the first place.

So everything goes on with Thorfinn just being closer than ever. It seems like after that ordeal, he has let go of the many questions surrounding you and how he feels about you, too tired to ponder about them anymore.

He decided to follow his gut.

Besides, it's not like caring for you is a nuisance...not at all as it turns out. The young man finds it even...pleasant. It's...nice.

After all, he doesn't want you to die. And as you admitted to him with that smile on your face, you apparently want him to live, too.

Well, not apparently. You said so. And it was nice that you did say that.

Even now you were being pleasant. Showing your unadultered concern, gratitude, help and smile. It made this entire march, the boiling anger at Askeladd bearable. In fact, those are the only times where he gives small, faint smiles as responses to yours. Only when you can see them.

Yet speak of the devil. The 'leader' wants to speak to you.

The older man calls you two - and even if he didn't, neither of you would leave the other alone - and soon you see him talking to the retainer of the prince and his highness himself.

The latter hid behind the man, however.

The retainer was a rather short, round man with a pointy, bald front head with his brown side hair reaching his beard. The prince just reached his shoulders with blue eyes, blonde lashes as light and blonde as his silky, neatly cut and long hair.

No wonder everyone calls him 'Princess'.

And if lady luck would have it, the both of you are assigned to be the guards of the prince with the retainer Ragnar being rather unsure about the decision. Askeladd, acting as if nothing happened the week before, simply asks him for his trust.

Again, Thorfinn is not pleased.

Now he has to spent his time looking out for this scaredy cat? He'd rather march on and on with you by his side.

You can't form an opinion of it just yet. Obviously everyone is going to look out for the prince, the hostage, the entire reason the band fought Thorkell and the reason why you got hurt. Since he is the prince of King Sven, a lot of people would like to kidnap him. The high demand for this royal coward is annoying to an degree, you cannot deny that.

Well, at least you and Thorfinn can sit on a wagon instead of having to walk all the time.

Ragnar is like a mother hen.

Canute is a yellow-belly, silent as a mouse.

And you and Thorfinn are stuck with them.

The blonde barely greeted the royal and instead glared at him with his usual pout. You could tell he wasn't happy and this introduction intimidated Canute, making him hide behind Ragnar. Askeladd is quick to criticize him for the behaviour.

"Thorfinn," You say with a crooked smile. While you don't particularly care about their opinions, there is no need to have the potential crown prince of Denmark (and perhaps England lets see where this war goes) dislike you. Taking Thorfinn by the hand, you pull him away and try to give the prince and retainer your most reassuring smile. "No need to worry, Prince. Thorfinn and I will be sure to keep you safe until we reach the king. Thorfinn is a grumbler, don't mind him. You are in safe hands."

At least your attempt at being nice made the prince peek from his hiding spot.

He couldn't help but gaze down at your two hands - and how the meany, grumpy blonde reciprocated your gesture by holding it back.

The wagon is comfortable, you sitting next to Thorfinn who still hand't spoken a word - only exchanging necessities with you.

Ragnar was not convinced of your capabilites, 'such young chicks', he said which only made Askeladd laugh. "They're the same age as his highness, I am sure they'll get along!"

Well, Canute is sitting in a ball further away.

With his stature and garments it was only a matter of time before others realize how important he is. Days pass and a group of overconfident bandits barge from each side, kicking over the wagon until it was heavily damaged with you, Thorfinn and Canute astray somewhere in a dense forest below your orignal path.

Cowering in place the prince snapped up his gaze with a yelp as he saw you towering above him. Blood was dripping from you and your weapon, quickly shushing him for his idiotic behaviour.

It unfortunately only made him hide himself from you more.

You sigh and kneel down. Eyeing the shaking form...it's odd to think that he is supposed to be at your age yet he is nothing like you or Thorfinn.

He is quiet, deadly silent even. He refuses to speak a single vowel and hides behind Ragnar as if he was his rock and he the worm.

Well, as your bond with the young viking proved, you were still able to show a bit of kindness.

Perhaps you used to be like that form your past, try to maintain a quality a loved one begged you to keep, or maybe you have always been that way...

Either way, the prince is scared. Terrified. You have known feelings like this, maybe still feel this occasionally to this day. The brutality and lack of love of a viking is not what the prince needed right now.

You don't believe anyone needs nor wants that. Not even vikings themselves...

You wipe the blood off your hands. Seathing your weapon you carefully and gently lay your hand on his trembling shoulder. He does not react, so you attempt to soothe him to look at you by rubbing his shoulder with your thumb.

The sensation is familiar, as Ragnar often does it, and Canute looks up at you with teary, widened eyes. "Prince," You try your utmost to sound like a soft mother, "We'd best leave. You're the safest with us, even if it doesn't seem like it. If anything, I'll keep you safe, alright?"

It felt odd to talk to royalty as if he were a child but it seemed to work as the confusion on his face slowly softened. There was reluctance so your hand traveled down from his shoulder to his own, holding both of them as if you'd propose to him. "We have to get up and go. I know you can do that." Gingerly you encouraged him to get up with you, your hold on his hands steady but gentle. You were so focused on making him feel better that everything else seemed to cease to matter.

At last you were standing. Canute gasped as you swiftly turned around with your weapon in one hand and your other still holding his, your assuring smile exchanged for a scowl.

You lead the way but he is still hesitant. Your stomps seem like that of an fearless elephant while he is tapping after you like a mouse.

Displeased at the pace, you turned back to him with a smile and Canute felt a strange mixture of awe and confusion. You...are a viking. Going hand-in-hand with that scary, moody, omg pls keep him away from me Thorfinn guy while glaring daggers to your actual leader. There's blood on you, you killed just recently to get here and yet you are smiling at him as if he were an old loved one. How?

"Prince, I know it's frightening", Canute does not like to admit it but you are right. Still, he does not speak. "But I will lead you out of this forest and back to the wagon and Ragnar." The mention of his father-like figure eases him, "All you have to do is hold onto my hand and not let go, alright? I'll take care of the rest. I know you can follow me easily." Giving his hand a squeeze, your smile widened before you turned away and began rushing out of the woods. Canute tried his bet to keep up with the smallest of yelps.

And how fast you ran. You were like the wind, not easily conquered or intimidated by the dense trees, stopping often to check on him - it stunned as he almost collided into you each time.

There was your smile again even as you spoke sternly: "Prince, I need you to tell me when there is something wrong. Whatever reason you have for not talking is, I can't read your mind. You have to speak to me."

Oh how easy that sounds. But how gently you are handling him, how awe-struck and daring your entire escapade was, how you were oh so soft compared to anyone else he has met the past few days (even weeks, he has been on a journey for a long time!) it makes it more difficult to even let out a whimper. You are making it difficult to speak. Canute is downright speechless.

Your hold on his hand did not falter, nor did your kindness and bravery. He feels like such a little bunny compared to you.

Soon, light shone through and you were able to find back to your original path. The bandits were defeated, the wagon brought back on its wheels, the horses caught back. You casually passed by the corpses as Canute tried to avoid stepping on them and their pools of blood. The sight of the battlefield was gruesome but he was nevertheless glad to be back to 'safety'.

Ragnar was quick to run over to the prince and you let go of him, with Canute feeling visibly disappointed. Still, he sighed in relieve as the older man took him into his arms.

It was over so quick. The little moment you had there with Canute seemed like a dream as you parted from his side and looked everywhere for Thorfinn, refusing to move on without him. Quickly you found each other, gladly so and the sight is odd to Canute. One one hand, as a general rule both guards of his should be looking after him first and not each other. Neither of you spared him a glance (Thorfinn did quickly but paid his attention back to you) and on the other hand, after you made his heart beat so fast it was dejecting to see you act so familiar with a brute such as him.

Well, the journey continued on with a bit of a different atmosphere now.

You still sat next to Thorfinn who watched the prince with raised brows and so did Ragnar. His highness was still hunched by the older man's side but kept on glancing to you, trying to peek to the person behind Thorfinn with a flushed face. He looked like a shy little girl.

This of course perplexed Thorfinn. And pissed him off.

Anything and everything seems to piss him off.

The blonde leaned further into you, making his body broad with his arms as to shield you from Canute's vision with a glare. You stare at him confused and the prince quickly understood the vikings intentions and snapped his gaze away, embarrassed. Thorfinn only scoffed.

When the prince needed a break, he'd glimpse at you as you got off the wagon. Thorfinn would step in front of you and cross his arms.

When food was offered and you'd hand it to the prince, there was the urge to have your hand touch his again. He'd bent his to at least graze your finger, only to have Thorfinn shove the food into his hand and tell him to eat already (Ragnar is shocked at the rudeness).

And everytime Thorfinn made sure to sit right next to you as he almost squeezed you to the corner of the wagon, your side pressed against the wooden edge. You'd tell him off that he is suffocating you but the young man does not listen and instead watches Canute's reaction.

This guy is so weird.

What's with him? Why is his little highness suddenly acting so off? And out of all people why does it have to be around you, the one and only person Thorfinn cares about? Can't he be odd around someone else that doesn't matter?

"Watch out that you won't get any pop eyes, princess." Thorfinn lets out as he leans on his hand while resting his other elbow close to you on the edge of the wagon. He'd often nudge you to get your attention (and in turn you might push him away, saying he broadens himself like he is king (to which he chuckles) and he better makes some space. You shove him and he laughs and does as you asks) - but this time, he doesn't want you to pay any attention to him. The prince.

In turn the latter jumped and looked at him questionably but fearfully. As if reading his thoughts, Thorfinn continues, "You might get blind." As he utters these words his brown eyes narrow and Canute whimpers. You peek at the two apprehensively with Canute catching your gaze and immediately flushing as red as a cherry. He wants to keep looking at you...but he can't as he turns his face away.

"If you've got anything to say," Thorfinn continues with his threatening undertone, "Then say it, princess. I'm all ears."

The tips of his ears tinged even redder, the prince finally jumps up and points at the blonde. His eyes are glaring but his face is sweaty and flushed. "H-How dare you...!" He blurts out, "I...I cannot simply just...state how I feel...!"

Both Ragnar and you watch with widened eyes. Did he just speak?

The old man watched with his mouth agape and you with the corner of your lips twitching up. The exchange between the two was almost comical despite Thorfinn's nonchalance (and threatful undertone) and Canute's plea to be taken seriously. You snort and as all eyes went to you, tried to hold your laughter with your hand clasped to your mouth.

The royal went still and stumped at your muffled laughter, hunched down and your shoulders bopping up and down. No! He...he doesn't want you to laugh at him!

He doesn't want anyone to laugh at him but not especially you!

Not after...you acted like such a knight for him...

It doesn't help that he sees Thorfinn smile at your attempt. In fact, he only sees him smile at you, around you, with you. Everyone else only deserves a scowl.

Kings and Gods, change the odds...

The days turn into weeks.

Canute spies as Thorfinn and you seem so comfortable in the others' presence, like you were made for each other. It's bizarre how you seemed like the complete oppsite to him when you two were alone in the forest. In general you were less moody than Thorfinn.

Even as time goes by, the schtick is the same.

Canute doesn't have the courage to speak to you even after he stood his ground against Thorfinn. The latter doesn't seem to mind that you are not talking, in fact, rather prefers it.

Canute can be the personification of benelovence and he still wouldn't trust him anywhere near you.

The prince notices that which deflates him even more...Ragnar is worried over the sudden shift of behaviour and interest of his prince.

He can barely get the chance to even...do anything. He has to play the part of the well-behaved prince and not go out of his way to win your favor. With what anyway? A few flowers, thanks or promises? He couldn't do that in front of the band anyway...let alone under the piercing gaze of Thorfinn.

The latter doesn't even...notice what exactly the prince is feeling for you. He just thinks he is an oddball. Are all royals like that?

Ragnar quietly observes. He'd find a quiet place to talk to him about it later.

However, if you are female both men would get the idea a bit, just a tad biiit quicker.

Ragnar is indignant, very much so, too! His highness can't go and catch feelings for some viking! You certainly must have seduced him, you minx! No, no, no! This won't do. He'd find some time to talk Canute out of this little fantasy of his. As exciting as it must seem to fall in love, he is sure Canute is aware and will understand that a royal cannot be with, let alone fall in love, with a raiding, pillaging killer!

Thorfinn on the other hand would take muuuuch longer to catch on, even if you're female. But once he does, he scoffs and glares. Bro, seriously? Is the little princess going to fall and make eyes for the only woman in this band? Pathetic. His highness probably has never seen or interacted with a woman before and the moment he sees one he thinks he can act all enamoured with her? Bleh. Ugh. Dude, gross, pathetic behaviour, smh for real.

The moment Thorfinn realizes that what Canute is feeling for you is love, then he'd turn from his guard to yours. Call it betrayal, he was never his servant in the first place and the only one he would ever consider being faithful to is you, if anything.

He'd be overprotective in general but especially, aggressively so if you are a woman. Through the years he has always tried to protect you from all kinds of men and he is not going to make any exceptions for a prince.

Oh, he probably thinks he has a chance because he is a prince, eh? Silly goose. Idiot. Actual fool. Thorfinn can hardly contain his laughter.

No, bro. Just no. Don't even think about it.

The young man hardly has an opinion of Canute, mostly because he clams up out of fear and when he does say something, it doesn't hold any meaning to him.

Aside from these two things, Canute just glances at you. Sometimes even watches you without knowing it. Judging from these three things that he does Thorfinn sees him as an hopeless coward. Too soft-hearted to have any kind of presence and to immediately fancy you (and if you are a woman, Thorfinn believes the only reason for him to fall in love is because you are a woman. Just love at first sight because the prince is just a easily-swayed boy).

In fact...it just makes him demean him.

First he has to protect some guy and now that very same guy has eyes for you? A prince with no guts?

It pisses him off, not as much as other things usually, however. Canute could have your best interests in mind and at heart but...Thorfinn just doesn't want him anywhere near you - hell, he doesn't even want him to have these kinds of feelings for you!

It can be either jealousy or worry, that's for you to decide. Thorfinn sure as hell won't tell you.

It's just an eyesore, a waste of time for him. The blonde is so, so convinced and just knows that the royal has no chance whatsoever with you. You and Canute...that just wouldn't work. At all.

The thought of royalty not being able to marry a commoner, let alone a viking doesn't come to his mind. It's not about Canute being a prince and you being a mercenary...it's about a coward thinking he can win the heart of someone like you.

You...who has always been by Thorfinn's side. Nothing and no one seemed to interest you in any way the past years, things have always been like this.

You and Thorfinn. Even as the beginnings were rough, the fact that it was always you two still stands. It couldn't be any other way.

Besides, you deserve better than a scaredy cat, no matter if prince or not.

No matter if he could offer you a better and safer life. You deserve better.

Well, Thorfinn believes that wholeheartedly but would, of course, never admit it.

It doesn't help that when encountered by the people of Wales, the prince cannot even say who he is. He cannot state his status and what he wants. Instead he cowers behind Ragnar for the hundreth time.

"How embarrassing. And you are supposed to be as old as me?"

Thorfinn is as calm as a river as he glares down at the latter.

What a 'prince'. Cannot even speak and still demands on stealing glances at you. Coward.

It is only after Askeladd saved everyone's skin is where Canute is more aware of his lack of...anything. He cannot speak, he cannot fight...it is embarrassing, just as Thorfinn said.

He can't do anything.

While he does not care for the thoughts and opinions of the band it still hurt to have them demean him so much. And even worse, you were right there, too. You are his guard as well, after all and just witnessed right then and there how the guy that fancies you is an complete failure.

As humiliating as it was...you somehow did not despise him.

Yes, he is a coward and yes, he is fragile and fear-laden and flimsy but you weren't outwardly showing any dislike to him as you and Thorfinn were invited into the hut by Ragnar.

Neither of you stuck by Canute and Ragnar unless it was necessary...so seeing you walk in with two hares was quite the surprise...and so was it to see the prince in casual clothing, an apron and bound hair.

"Oh...hello." He felt a bit nervous around your presence but also felt so much in his element that he ended up cooking all four of you a meal that stuck to your rips - much better than grilled hare alone.

You couldn't help but compliment the chef, which only made him blush.

It seemed you did not hate him after all...perhaps you were just a kind, empathetic person or rather saw the prince as a meek child than a successor to the throne or simply understood that what is a normalcy to you is not for him. Someone who was not born into wars and fights.

You eat and talk...

And both Ragnar and Thorfinn finally realize why Canute feels for you the way he does.

Soft-hearted fool.

Ragnar would definitely pull him aside tell him that...this cannot go. It's best if he were to let go in the first place since nothing can grow from this anway. He is the prince and you a mercenary, temporarily his guard.

It hurts him to see the young man he sees as his son drop his shoulders like that, nodding in understanding. "But Ragnar..." he quietly begins before becoming louder and clearer. Certain. "The way they saved me...like the wind. They aren't a savage viking, they were like a true knight! And, and, their eyes and smile, you saw the way they looked at me, it's..."

Canute avoids his gaze with a flushed and shy gaze, gushing about the encounter and this meal you had as if it were a dream. Ragnar only shakes his head. Oh, even he is still a lad. A foolish lad.

Thorfinn is less understanding.

There is this urge to straight up approach Canute and tell him to stay the hell away, just as he does to other people who bother you or he finds troublesome (not like Canute can actively stay away - you both are his guards). Obviously the guy cannot take the hints Thorfinn has been throwing his way with his glares as dark as thunder, keeping you by his side and straight up telling him to stop gawking at you or else he might go blind.

That'd be a shame, princess.

For real, he doesn't understand, does he? Does he have to spell it out? Thorfinn does n o t c a r e about him nor who he is. He does

n o t c a r e that he was assigned guard by Askeladd, he does not care about him nor about Canute's well-being. Nothing would be lost if he were to die.

All he cares about is you (though he won't admit it but Ragnar and Canute could tell from day 1).

So Thorfinn has no qualms to threaten a prince to have stop having mushy feelings for you.

Also, its real embarrassing bro smh.

However, even Thorfinn knows that isn't the smartest action so he keeps on throwing his silent, threatening messages.

Yet, there is also a chance of him telling you what is obviously going on (chance of telling you: 35%). After all, you must have noticed it as well, haven't you? The way he looks at you, blushes like a maiden and keeps on trying to (meekly) approach you in any way? Like. c'mon.

If he does tell you, you ask him what you should do about it. It's not your intention to woo a prince and it isn't your fault either the both of you got paired up to protect him. Better than have a potential succesor to the throne hate you.

If you are not aware (how stupid are you) and ask him what he means, Thorfinn is genuinely...baffled? Are you kidding him you cannot be that naive.

You are a killing, battling viking for who-knows-how-long, hardened by wars and you cannot tell this little gosling is hopelessly enarmored with you???? Huh????

You brush him off and tell him that's ridiiiiiculous. There's no way.

Bro what do you mean there is no way? You blind?

The blonde may not know how it happened but he knows it's love, or at least infatuation. Why should he not fall in love with you? You...are you.

Out of everyone he knows, it makes the most sense for someone to fall for you.

He might even tell you so if he is frustrated enough. You are...tolerable and probaby did something nice for him. And as easily swayed as he seems, there is a high chance Canute just fell for you right then and there.

Thorfinn has a really hard time directly and verbally telling you the potential reasons why someone might like you. He is not lying in the slightest but...he just can't say it outright.

And if you are female then, uh, yeah, Thorfinn is very much baffled by your lack of conviction. This sounds very mean but Thorfinn believes the fact that you are female is the reason Canute fancies you in the first place. He probably never interacted with one before, let alone one as nice as you. He sees it more as a flaw and quip at Canute than you.

Well, you are...a woman. So of course the prince found something alluring about you.

"Don't be so stupid. You are...hm, nice." He looks away with his pout and struggles to really explain himself. "Watch out or the princess will fall head over heels for you entirely."

If he does not tell you (chance 65%) then...well, he is still moody and grumpy though you cannot comprehend why this time. He just wordlessly drags you anywhere he wants to.

Maybe he'd tell you to stop being so unnecessarily nice to a prince but does not elobrate.

He keeps his hand on your wrist most of the time, sometimes your own hand. Keeps you close as he glares at Canute, has you sit next to him, side by side, cloak pressed against cloak as it seems like he is protecting you rather than protecting the prince.

When accomodating food, he shares it with you. When nighttime falls (good thing you both are on a wagon) he lets you sleep on his shoulder, on the other side where Canute is sitting so he can't see your slumbering self.

Whatever may come even though you two are Canute's guards, Thorfinn is doing his best to keep you away from him. Even as the prince would not be able to let out a single whimper around you or to you, the mere fact tha Canute has feelings for you is bothering enough for him. He better stop.

It's even worse for him when Thorfinn ends up showing affection to you from time to time. From jokingly shoving you away to gentle touches and you doing the same for him. You two smile at each other like only you two exist...Thorfinn is not doing any of this out of spite or to make Canute jealous - it just happens. The blonde is tired of having to pay attention on how he will be perceived in the open and just follows his gut. Canute just ends up feeling a bit...envious of it all.

You brush each other's hair, tend to the other's wound, share your blankets and cloaks in the cold winter while sitting so close to each other...while Canute is right there. When you aren't needed you two act like the entire band does not exist.

Well, you are still being nice to him...when you pay attention to the shy prince.

But other than that...it honestly feels like Thorfinn's only intention was to protect you and only you. No matter what would have been decided, the young viking would have always chosen you.

It's strange to see him like this. How he let himself fall into your arms.

[This became much shorter and much more harmless than I thought...? Well, nothing much happens and we gotta get used to princess canute over here so...¯_(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_/¯

Thorfinn tired of having to think all the time...its not his forte if u get what i mean

after all that happened...it just feels right to stick with you. it feels better than going back and feeling alone.]

[reality-detective]

"Marines Were Freed from a Secret Jail That Were Brutally Tortured by Feds"

The six U.S. Marines freed from a secret federal jail said their captors—a mix of FBI agents and private security—tortured them relentlessly, deprived them of food and water, and forced them to defecate in 5-gallon buckets that got emptied only once a week.

As reported previously, U.S. Special Forces on March 8 liberated six Marines the federal government held without trial at a clandestine warehouse-turned-prison in suburban Long Island, New York. The feds had arrested the six for protesting peacefully outside the Capitol on January 6, 2021. Once freed, they were taken to Womack Army Medical Center, Fort Bragg, and treated for maladies and injuries sustained in captivity. This included dehydration, lacerations, puncture wounds, and burns. Alas, one Marine’s wounds were so severe that he went into septic shock and had a leg amputated below the knee.

When debriefed at the hospital, he said their jailors kept them on permanent lockdown in separate cells spaced far enough apart so they couldn’t communicate with one another. He recounted the harrowing ordeal of his arrest. Feds, he said, arrested him off-post near Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, then handcuffed and blindfolded him before driving him to a nearby airport or airstrip. He knew this because the feds put him aboard a small turboprop aircraft. During his debrief, he said he could hear propellers spin up minutes before the plane took off. His abductors shackled his ankles and fastened him to a seat. He was punched in the face several times and called a “traitor” during what he guessed was a two-hour flight. When the plane landed, he was struck a few more times, then, still blindfolded, put in a vehicle and driven to an unknown destination. He tasted blood in his mouth from being pummeled so hard and often and eventually lost consciousness.

He awoke in a decrepit cell that smelled like shit, its only furnishings a urine-stained cot and a 5-gallon bucket in the center of the cell. The guards, he said, beat the living daylights out of him every day—sometimes more than once a day—coming at him three at a time so he couldn’t adequately defend himself. One Morning four guards burst into the cell and tied his arms and legs to the cot, spread eagle, and they took turns stabbing him in the right leg with rusty pieces of metal, then cauterizing the wounds with an iron to prevent exsanguination. He guessed he’d been stabbed 20 or 30 times while the guards taunted him, saying other Marines in custody would share his fate. He said one guard urinated on his open wounds prior to them being cauterized.

The other five Marines told comparable stories, though their wounds were far less severe. They said they were fed only twice a week—stale bread, a few ounces of water, or a red liquid that looked like Kool-Aid but with bugs floating in it. One said the guard tried to feed him mashed potatoes with congealed gravy and tiny glass shards.

“These Marines survived the unsurvivable,” our source said. “There are more service members still in federal custody, not to mention the hundreds of civilians who could be dealing with the same torture. This is how the Biden regime treats combat veterans, as criminals, as domestic terrorists. We are working to free more of them.”

I'm sure we will hear about other experiences like this as the turmoil continues to unravel in our country. These sick fμcks think they are untouchable. I got news for you the deplorables will get the last say.🤔 I did not get any information about the perpetrators involved in these horrendous acts. My gut feeling is, they were executed on the spot.

[deceptive-daydreams]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Six - Sugar

W/C: 4.5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

A crybaby and the town grump walk into a bar...

A/N: idk why but this chapter was giving me so much trouble and i've been really doubting my writing and second guessing. It's more of a filler chapter but still important to the story. I'm super excited for what's to come tho!!

Masterlist

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Three Weeks Later

“Bambi, go home already.  Your shift ended–”  Eddie pauses to check his watch.  “-jesus, like an hour ago.  Why are you still here?” 

The floors were pristine, mopped to perfection, chairs stacked on top of the tables, and rags started in the washer.  Every glass found home on their corresponding shelves, all dried and perfectly polished for the following shift, not one imperfection among the twinkling surfaces.  The place was spotless and there you were, standing on top of the bar in order to reach the top of the light fixtures which, judging by the amount of dust on them, went neglected for some time now.  Your apron was long discarded on one of the barstools and sweat dripped from your brow, the epitome of hard work if he’d ever seen it.  The Bourbon hadn’t been this clean in years.

“I’m almost done, I swear.”  You reply quietly, clearly far more engaged in your cleaning frenzy than any conversation he was trying to coax you into.

“No, you’re done.”  Eddie marches around the bar, revealing himself just in your peripheral.  “Get outta here.”  There wasn’t an ounce of venom behind his words, however, he was without a doubt becoming increasingly annoyed.

You chance a glance down at him only to find his standard scowl etched onto his face.  Except, it wasn’t as mean spirited as you were used to and it hadn’t been for quite some time.  It was cute; the way his lip would slightly jut out and how his smile lines were so prominent, eyes drooping in irritation.  Endearing irritation that you grew accustomed to.

“I will.”  You state, feather duster swiping through a satisfying amount of dust.  “When I finish.”

“No, get down.”

Your first instinct is to obey without question.  Listen to authority.  But in the previous weeks, you’d found it easier to let loose.  Sure, Eddie was always somewhat crabby but it never intimidated you and whenever he found himself particularly pissed off, he’d banish himself to the back office which aided in releasing any tension you’d built up throughout the week.  So, it wasn’t that difficult to at least attempt some friendly banter.  Especially if you could get him to crack a smile.  It was a win in your books when he tried so hard to withhold it from you or even better, turned around completely to shield his broken composure from you.

“Don’t you have–what did you call it– ‘a shit ton of paperwork’ to do?”  You joke. 

“Ha.  Ha.  I’m serious, get down.”  He mocks, glaring up at you, a stupid little tug pulling at the corners of his mouth.  Barely noticeable, but you take note of it.

“‘M not gonna fall, if that’s what you're worried about.”  You mumble, shaking your head.

“Judging by how many times you nearly eat shit throughout the week, I’m pretty worried.”  

Pretty worried.   

Saliva caught in the back of your throat, you try to play it off like dust that had gotten trapped in your airways, clearing your throat.  Only, your body had just reacted far too quickly to his words, resulting in the failure of a simple bodily function.

“I do not…”  You crouch down, poking the end of the feather duster at his chest.  “...fall that often.”  You pout.

“Yeah?”  A tiny smile pulls at his lips.  There it is.  “That’s why I said ‘nearly’.”

If you could bottle up the look he was giving you, you would selfishly keep it all for yourself to stare at on bad days.  Such mischief and amusement lingered in his gaze.  Sparks lighting up the dark and cloudy haze he usually exhibited.  Like fireworks against a colorless sky, beautiful hues popping left and right but after all, everything is always temporary.

“I don’t ‘nearly’ fall that often either.”  You whine.

“Just get off my bar and go home.”  Eddie demands, voice warm and buttery despite his intent to kick you out.  

Staring at him expectantly, he relays the same expression to you with raised brows.  In response, you cock your head to the side, luring the word out of him.  He doesn’t quite catch on, eyes narrowing while you wait.  A smirk appears on your lips as you remain perched on top of the bar, feather duster forgotten next to you.  His eyes grow a few sizes as if to urge you to speak up.  And then he gets it.

“Please.”  It drips from his tongue like warm caramel.

His eyes relax, creases between his brows ceasing and lids becoming heavy.  Another look you would mentally take a snapshot of just to hang it on the walls of your cluttered brain.  You’d be sure to clear a spot just for it.  

“Gladly.”  You offer the same smooth tone, hopping off the bar only to lose your balance along the way.

And before you can face plant into the hard wood planks, two large hands stabilize you, holding your waist firmly until he is sure you aren't going to collapse, but not yet letting go.  If you were to set aside your cowardly tendencies, you would look up and feel his breath against your face.  And you’re sure you could probably count the faint freckles on his nose that you’d only seen briefly when almost colliding into him during a rush.  You only remain glued to the floor, both your eyes and feet.  

“Careful, Bambi.”  He scolds softly. 

“‘M sorry.”  You murmur.

“No need to be sorry.”  You timidly glance up at him.  “Just–just be more careful.”  He pleads.

You were good and ready for him to yell at you, fully prepared to recoil as he raises his voice but it never comes.  And it hadn’t since that one time with the plates but you were like a skittish animal and long before you had even known him, any conflict had you in a corner every time, eyes full of tears and lip trembling.  You could only hope you didn’t look as pathetic right now.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.”  He begins to soothe, a certain nervousness in his voice.  Obviously you did look just as pathetic if not more.

His hands had left your waist to graze over your shoulders hesitantly, concern evident in his tone while he consoled you.  He shouldn’t have to console you for fuck’s sake.  Why were you on the verge of tears over your clumsiness?

“Sorry, sorry.  ‘M fine, I swear.”  You attempt to suck back the tears, head tilted toward the ceiling, lip tucked in between your teeth anxiously.  “J-just go do your paperwork.  I’ll be gone in a minute.”  

Just when you think–no hope that he walks away, those large hands are gently grabbing at your wrists as you use your fingers to push the tears back into the corners of your eyes.  A soft touch that for some reason, only made you want to cry more.  

“Stop apologizing.”  Eddie says, attempting to catch your gaze, finding it difficult as you begin to stare at the floor, hiding huge watery globs under your eyelashes.

“Just–let me get my things–”  You begin to voice shakily, vision blurred with tears that you resented.

“Sit down.”  He demands calmly, concern carved into his features from what you can make out through blurred vision.

“No, no, it’s okay–”

“Right here, sit.”  

Eddie directs you to a barstool, the distorted world around you becoming progressively more overwhelming by the second.  And all because you almost fell in front of your boss and he had to catch you.  It wasn’t your intention, appearing as the stupid girl who happened to be a gigantic cry baby, emotions too sensitive to the horrors of the real world.  Though, that was the reality, wasn’t it?

“Sorry.”  You whisper, a few rogue tears escaping after the good fight you put up.

At this, he releases a heavy sigh.  You can’t help but feel childish and small, your confidence devastatingly lower than before as you try to regulate your shaky breathing and wobbly lip.  You just needed a minute, one minute to ride out the wave of anxiety.  Eddie lets your umpteenth apology slide, slowly slipping into the stool next to you.

“I’m–uh–I’m gonna go home.”  Your voice is an octave too high for his liking.

“Not like this you’re not.”

You remain on the stool, embarrassed, your cheeks feeling hot with stained tears.  This was hell if anyone ever asked you.  Slowly but surely revealing just how big of a wimp you were.  Sure, you’d shed a few tears when he screamed at you over the plates but he hadn’t even done anything this time.  You reacted purely on instinct and it was humbling.

“Let’s uh, let’s try this…”  Eddie starts, running a ringed hand through his bangs.  He slides a napkin in front of you before reaching for your apron on the back of his stool, stealing a pen and setting it on the napkin.  “W-write down, uh, write down your feelings?”  He says, so unsure even he couldn’t take himself seriously.

With a sniffle, you try to hide your confusion as you stare at the bland brown napkin.  Eddie groans and for a moment you think it’s because you’re not playing along but quickly dismisses the thought when he reaches for another napkin and steals a second pen from your apron.

“Um, it sounds–it sounds stupid.  It kinda is stupid.  But, um, you just write what you’re feeling?  A-and it’s supposed to…shit I dunno.  It’s supposed to help clear your head I guess?”  He explains.

You wait for him to laugh, wait for him to mock your tear stained face and absolute lack of emotional control.  You wait for the ‘why are you crying’ in the most condescending tone and the lecture as to why you had no reason to cry.  It never comes.  Instead, as you sneak a glimpse at him from the corner of your teary eye, and he starts writing. 

“So, right now, um…”  He clears his throat.  “Right now I’m feeling, uh, concerned?” 

You can tell he’s having trouble coming up with words and that this was difficult for him…feelings were difficult for him.  Something you could heavily relate to.

“Or, uh, you c-can just write…whatever…”  He trails off, clicking the pen against the counter repeatedly. 

Rather than answering, you clumsily pick up the blue pen, dropping it once with a trembling hand before fully grasping it.  Then you begin writing as he instructed.  If he made fun of you for what you were writing down, so be it.  You’d already embarrassed yourself enough.

You expected him to chime in by now, scoffing at what you had written down.  But when you glanced over, he was doodling on his napkin, something that appeared to be a dragon.  Minding his own business.  Awkwardly, you set the pen back on the counter, causing him to peek over at you.

“It helped.”  You mumble.  “A little.”

“Good.”  He replies, tapping his pen against the counter.  “So, uh my therapist usually has me share once I write everything down–or at least share the main points.  You don’t–you don’t have to but that’s just…that’s what we do.”  

Eddie expects you to crumple up the napkin and throw it out.  Then you would leave and think to yourself how ridiculous he is.  He didn’t know how to help people–hell, he didn’t even know how to help himself most of the time.  What he doesn’t expect is for you to shyly slide the napkin in front of him.  Averting his eyes, he’s unsure if he actually has permission to read but when you nod your head ever so slightly, he still has trouble looking down at what you had scribbled out.  It felt like he was peeking into your brain, something he felt he wasn’t worthy of.

Humiliated

Stupid

Exhausted

Anxious

Small

Burden

Crybaby

Lonely

So many words for such a small increment of time that you had been scrawling away on that napkin.  So many words that held such heaviness.

“Wow.”  Is all that he says upon his first glance over.

Anxiously, you suck in a breath, attempting to snatch the napkin back in regret only to fail as Eddie slides it out of your reach.  

“It’s stupid, I-I’m gonna go…”  You begin, hopping off of your stool.

“It’s not stupid–”

Then you were gone, a gust of wind practically slapping him in the face.  He couldn’t find it in himself to complain, only troubled by the inner workings of your mind.  It was all too familiar and he was beginning to feel as if he wasn’t the only one cursed with a diseased mind.  Selfishly, he found comfort in that.  

–

There’s only one thing worse than a shitty car.  Two shitty cars.  Specifically a shitty car and a shitty truck.  Both unreliable, both sputtering every time Eddie put the key in the ignition.  Grandpa Roy’s ‘Ol Reliable four-door sedan wasn’t living up to its name and was on the decline by the looks of it.  It had been for some time, though he was alway able to find a temporary fix and keep it running.  Today he had no such luck.

The truck, Sugar, was arguably in much better shape.  She was well-loved, red paint chipping after years of use and a cracked rear window.  The engine had its moments but she was still better off than ‘Ol Reliable.  

“C’mon, Sugar.  Don’t be like that.”  Eddie mutters, turning the key in the ignition a few times more, only to be met with failure.  “Fuck.”  He whispers, hopping out from the driver’s side to prop the hood open, large hands splayed out along the sides as he prepares for battle.

With a sigh, he ties his hair back and discards his leather jacket on the ground in exasperation, even going as far as to give it a small kick away from his work space.  A wooden work bench was strategically placed on the porch under the awning, leaving no issue for when winter came around so that he had easy access to his tools even in the most dreadful of snows.  Snow hadn’t kissed the ground quite yet but the further into October it got, the more crisp the air became, a subtle announcement for what was to come.

A deep, resentful groan leaves Eddie’s chest as he trudged up the steps to the porch, lips all perfectly pouted while he reluctantly pulls each of his large rings off only to drop them in a cup he’d taken from a diner years ago when he made the move to Knife’s Edge.  An already greased up rag was snatched from the worktop and tucked snugly into his back pocket.

One, two, three.  One, two, three.  One, two, three.

He counts to himself under his breath as he collects the necessary tools.  It wasn’t like he had to be at the bar yet, though he would’ve liked to stop by the store to stock up on cigarettes and see if he could find any of those cocktail cherries on sale.  He wanted to save where he could.  Every cent mattered.  Then he was more than likely going to sulk in self pity while trying to figure out how to summon money from the sky.  Maybe indulge in a beer in his office.  He couldn’t afford to comp beers for himself like that but he could dream.  After that maybe he’d have a good cry before the chaos ensued again.  

Those plans went out the window when Sugar decided to test his patience.  Perhaps he should be grateful to his unfaithful truck for attempting to lure him out of the isolation he planned to encase himself in.  It was one thing to isolate yourself at home, it was another to trap yourself at your place of work hours before it actually opened and beat yourself up over every little thing and question where it all went wrong.  

“Dammit, dammit, dammit.”  He reiterates to himself, tossing a wrench in his hand as he makes his way back to Sugar.  “Go easy on me.”  He begs.

The pumpkins you had been angling perfectly on your porch were suddenly so miserably uninteresting; how could they not be when such an erotic site was placed right in front of your prying eyes?  Regretfully, your wet dream came to life.  Except, you played no part in it and Eddie paid no mind to you.  Not that he ever would.  And even if he did, you’d made it clear that you were a nutcase.  

You still couldn’t tear your eyes away from the way his arms flexed under his short sleeves and how he grunted while tugging at something under the hood of his truck.  Drool could have been dripping from your chin and you wouldn’t notice, too hypnotized by his every movement.  He had opted to wear some black converse today rather than his standard black combat boots.  It was cute, you couldn’t lie, the small change made you giddy.  And the way his shirt was riding up as he stretched himself over the engine felt like a tease.  A peek at what you had once gotten a glance of while wasted but didn’t get to fully appreciate as your sober self.  

God, you could recall the blurry image of him momentarily pulling his puke stained shirt off cautiously, revealing his lean figure.  It was practically pixelated in your mind.  As you reminisce on what your drunk self had taken for granted, reality feels just as distorted when Eddie’s eyes land on yours.  Huge doe eyes, almost cartoon-like catching your attention as if a moth to a flame.  You want to look away, you beg of yourself to look away but your inner voice is muffled; almost as though you were under an enchantment.

And like a siren call, his voice reaches you.  You fear that you may be all too willing to drown just to hear it again.

“Will you hold this for me?”  He shouts, almost desperately.  Almost.

Your eyes widen, hands still resting atop a perfectly orange pumpkin while you sit pretty on your porch step.  An Autumn dream.  Suddenly, Eddie wishes he would’ve kept to himself rather than requesting your assistance.  Had he thought it through, he would’ve opted to magically grow another hand.  Instead, he stands with ruddy cheeks and syrupy eyes, glazed with adoration that he was frantically attempting to wipe from his vision, shoving the feelings that were oozing out of him back into his stupid sweaty skin.

“Um…”  You reply in surprise, already crossing the border between properties, a shy stutter to your walk.  “Well I don’t really know how to…”  You trail off, suspecting that he could figure out the rest of your thoughts on his own.

Oh, how he regrets calling you over.  His clammy hand clutches the wrench, providing no aid in his attempt to calm his nerves.  

“You don’t…you don’t have to, uh…”  He appears as if he’s battling his own thoughts, gaze casted toward the ground as his eyes dart left and right.  “Can you just hold this?”  He finally gets out, pointing to a part of the engine.  “Sugar won’t start and I swear I can have her running again but it’d be a hell lot easier if you could just hold this real quick.”

“Sugar?”

“Sugar.”  He confirms.  “Oh!”  Realization hits him.  “Yeah, Sugar.  My truck.”  

“Okay…”  You whisper, unsure.

You could almost forget the mortifying incident from the early hours of 3:00 AM as you took in his wet chocolate coated eyes, the light Fall breeze seeming to affect him.  His lashes clumped together like art and his nose was tinted the perfect shade of rose, those faint freckles dotted along the bridge like little constellations.

“Just, right here.”  He instructs, turning his attention back to Sugar.  

Following his lead, you adjust your hand where it's needed, an uncomfortable, greasy residue coating your fingers as he works.  From this angle, the afternoon sun casts a golden glow over his profile, flyaway curls highlighted in the light like a halo and nose endearingly round at the tip with lips tucked into his teeth as he concentrates.  And then, his tongue pokes out, an adoring sight that only makes you yearn to reach out and graze your fingertips over the stubble threatening to emerge from his cheek.

“Thought you’d name it something more…tough.”  

Your meek voice earns a glance over his shoulder, brows furrowed in that cute way that everyone always recognized as harsh and cold-hearted.

“What?”  The way his eyes crinkle at the corners paired with his confused expression only give you more reason to let your stare linger a little bit longer, a bold move on your part.

“Um, Sugar–”

“Oh, Sugar.”  

Simultaneously, you refer to his truck, interrupting each other while his elbow grazes your arm as he tightens a bolt.

“Uh, well…she’s, uh, the only girl in my life.”  He jokes, quietly chuckling.  “And, she’s not exactly brand new so I’ve gotta treat ‘er nice.”

“And…she can hear you?”  You question, attempting to hide your oncoming grin.

This time, he only glares at you over his shoulder.  There’s a comfort in the way his eyes seem to swallow you whole.  

“Okay, okay, ha, ha.  I know, she’s a truck–”

“And you keep calling it a ‘she’.”

Eddie pulls back, stepping away from the engine, prompting you to do the same as you stare up at him, a smidge afraid that you might have actually offended him.  A few rebellious curls frame his face, creating the vision of a princely man who in reality, was nothing of the sort.  Not in the sense that he wasn’t gentlemanly, only in the sense that he didn’t care what others thought.

“What?  You never heard of people calling their car a ‘she’ before?”  He asks, offense barely evident in his tone.  More than anything, he appears to be amused by your observation.

“No, I have.  Just didn’t think you seemed like one of them.”  You remark.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Again his eyebrows crinkle in the cutest fashion, lip curling ever so slightly as he brings a hand to his hip.  You begin to think that no one has ever looked so good covered in grease and you’d never been attracted to the smell of oil but you could make an exception if it meant you’d get to see his features this close.  Eddie was a pretty guy.  And the more his colors showed, the more entranced you became.

“I dunno, nevermind.”  You attempt to divert the conversation.

“No, no, you have to tell me.  Please enlighten me.”  He crosses his arms, a smug smirk pulling at his lips.  

“No, forget it!.”  You giggle.

Eddie can feel his shoulders relaxing at the sound.  Can feel his tension release even if just the slightest.  His eyes relax, a lazy gaze focused on you.  Everything suddenly feels so…calm.  As if his life wasn’t falling apart.  You were like some kind of drug that made him forget how shitty things were and if it only lasted a few seconds at a time, he would gladly invest in as much as he could until he overdosed.  Which to be fair, he didn’t think was possible.  

“No, what do you mean?  Say it with your chest, I dare you.”  He nods at you, eyes showcasing that same spark you’d notice every now and then.  The spark only seemed to get bigger and bigger.  One day you’d hoped to see a fire ignite, a full explosion of his personality.

Biting your lip, you look at him sheepishly, doubting yourself.  But something about his gaze eggs you on.

“You just…you’re all…big and bad.”  You mumble, eyes finding themselves glued to the ground.

“Big and bad?”  Eddie repeats.

It’s enough to have you backtracking, pathetically trying to erase your words.  Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly, like a goldfish.

“See, it was stupid!  I was being stupid.  Just forget–”

“Why do you keep doing that?”  He asks, genuine curiosity blended in his tone along with a dash of concern.

“Doing what?”

Your puzzled expression only makes his chest ache.  Leaves crunch under your feet as you fidget, visually nervous.  He hates that he always ends up making you uncomfortable, never able to get a grip though maybe he can blame his highschool-self.  He never talked to girls and maybe if he had, he’d be having better luck right now.  Who’s he kidding, maybe if he just wasn’t even himself he’d be making a lot more progress.

“Calling yourself stupid.”  He mentions quietly.

No one has ever confronted your self-deprecating commentary, only ever remained silent as if to agree with you or they’d simply shift the topic.  Never has someone questioned your reasoning.    

“Oh…well I uh, I didn’t think I did it that often.”  You begin to stutter, clearly taken back.  He wishes he could rewind back to when you were bantering back and forth about his truck.  He probably would’ve found another way to fuck up the conversation, even if he could go back and give himself another chance.  

“But if this is because last night I wrote–”  You start again, only for him to keep running his big mouth.

“A bunch of bullshit?”  He states.  Like it's a fact.

Your wide eyes aren’t a good sign.

“What?”

“Yeah.  Bullshit.”  He sounds so sure of himself.

“Oh.”  

You physically seem as if you're deflating, your body closing in on itself, shoulders slumping while you take a step back.  It was the opposite of what he wanted.  But he could always count on himself to ruin a good thing.

“No, no!  I didn’t mean it like–I didn’t mean–fuckin’ christ.”  Eddie runs his clean hand down his face.  “I didn’t mean it was bullshit.  I meant that…I guess I meant that you shouldn’t feel like that?”

It’s quiet.  Eddie knows he deserves a slap across the face, if anything.  But you just continue staring at the ground, lost in thought.  Moments pass and he’s starting to feel he should dismiss himself and hide forever.  Forget fixing Sugar and just become a hermit.

“Why?”  You whisper.

He doesn’t offer an answer, only shrugs slowly.  He just kept putting nails in his own coffin.

“Don’t you…don’t you think I’m those things?  Like…like there’s something wrong with me?”

Eddie steps closer, not enough to push your boundaries but still enough for you to notice.  He tugs his lip in between his teeth, pulling at it anxiously while he thinks.  And with his arms still crossed, one finger taps at his elbow in threes.  You follow the action.

One, two, three.  One, two, three.  One, two, three.

“No.”  He says simply, to which your head snaps up.

Cola colored irises are awaiting you, welcoming you in a way.  A softer expression falls over his face, his cherub-like features becoming enhanced.

“I don’t think you’re those things.”  Eddie says confidently.  “I think you’re just right.”

~end~

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[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 14A: Where Do We Go Now?

Soundtrack: “Sweet Child O' Mine,” Guns N' Roses, 1987 [click here to listen]

She's got eyes of the bluest skies As if they thought of rain I'd hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place Where as a child I'd hide And pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by...

Philadelphia || June 1988

Claire pushed her chair back a bit from the desk. Raised her arms. Stretched. Breathed deeply.

Reading for the eighth time the words she’d finally tapped out on the Selectric this morning, after days of rolling them around in her head.

Chief Physician

Boston Medical Center

To Whom It May Concern,

As you may be aware, I am a trauma surgeon at BMC. Twelve months ago I was placed on administrative leave by the BMC, and my medical license was suspended, pending the resolution of BMC’s internal investigation into my conduct. The investigation started by looking into a near-fatal error I committed during a surgery, and then quickly discovered that I had not only been forging prescriptions and stealing painkillers for quite some time, but also developed a severe addition to those painkillers.

As you may also be aware, I did not contest the actions taken by BMC. Subsequently I enrolled in an intensive drug rehabilitation program in North Carolina. I am happy to share that I am almost twelve months clean, having completed the program last December and successfully maintained my sobriety since then.

I have previously communicated to the Board, on several occasions, my sincere regret for what I did and my remorse for the incredible lapse of professional judgment and ethical standards I demonstrated. I repeat those regrets to you now.

Which is, in part, why I am writing you today. I wish to understand what else is required of me to return to work, in any capacity, at BMC.

Making amends for wrongs was something that Claire and Geillis had talked about a lot, during her time at The Ridge. Yes, doing that was a formal part of any 12 Step program.

But it was more than just saying sorry – it required the addict to recognize the wrongs.

To own them. To understand why they had happened, and the impact they had had on others.

Because nothing sounded more inadequate in the English language than the two words, I’m sorry.

But words matter. And this attitude shift was a crucial step on any addict’s road to recovery.

Making amends was something that Claire and Jamie had talked a lot about, too. She had seen him make amends many times, in their short time together – and quite often during their last few weeks on the road, as they traveled city to city for Print’s acoustic tour and Jamie came into contact with many people who had last seen him drunk/rude/high/demanding/hung over/acting like a total asshole during the last (disastrous) tour in ’86.

He made it a point to really talk to each person, to apologize for specific things he remembered doing. No matter if it was the venue manager, or the catering guy, or the lighting guy, or the security guard. I was a dick when I was drunk. I said terrible things. I hurt you. I’m sorry.

Two weeks ago in Chicago, he couldn’t sleep after a fucking incredible show at the old Chicago Theater. The adrenaline buzz after the show so much better than any pills or bourbon or groupie could have given him. He had tossed and turned for hours, until finally, quietly slipping out of their bed and perching in the easy chair in their suite at the Palmer House, watching Claire shift restlessly under the covers without him.

But of course, she knew when something was wrong. She woke, and turned to face him, easing up on one elbow. Watching him back. Giving him space.

When he finally spoke, it was just above a raspy whisper.

“How can you be here, Claire, when all you do is hear me talk about how awful I was to so many people?”

Her heart did break a little bit. “Because I never knew that version of you, Jamie. What I care about is who you are now.”

He sighed, breath ragged. “This shit is so fucking hard.”

“I know, baby.” Somehow she was standing beside him, and blindly he buried his face into the warm skin of her belly. She threaded her fingers in his hair, held him close as his pulse spiked.

“Deep breaths, Jamie. Focus on me. I’m here.”

He had had several panic attacks during the tour. Which could be chalked up to anything – the stress of changing hotels every day, the crush of fans and press that clustered around their tour bus when they arrived in a new city, the women who pulled down their tops in the front row at every concert, the Jack Daniels bottles and little baggies of powder left in his dressing room before the show in Wilkes-Barre.

But instead of smashing to pieces all alone, she sheltered him. He knew when to ask for help. And always found her just in time to crash against her, shaking and crying in bathroom stalls and green rooms and even once on the deserted tour bus. And each time she was so grateful for the psych rotation she’d done in med school that prepared her to help him.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

“Breathe in, Jamie. Think about how much I love you.”

He drew in a deep, sobbing breath.

“That’s right. Now exhale. I’m never going to leave you.”

He exhaled, shoulders shuddering.

“And inhale, Jamie. We can get hamburgers for breakfast again, if you want.”

He inhaled, and she felt a faint smile against her belly.

“That’s right. And out. Think about how amazing our wedding night will be.”

He exhaled. Gently bit the soft, soft skin above her bellybutton. She shivered, and smiled.

“Good. Center on me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She counted along with him – twenty four more deep breaths. Caressing his forehead, and kissing his hair, and loving him and loving him and loving him.

Finally when he had calmed down, she crawled back into bed, and he held her so close against him. Kissing her forehead. Whispering endless words of love.

“If I ever fuck up with you, Claire, know I’ll always own it.”

She kissed his eyebrows. “The same for me, Jamie. I’d rather be mad at you than not have you.”

He had said the same words to her this morning. A promise he never tired of repeating. Murmured against her hair when he bent over to kiss her in the bed, body thrumming with energy.

Colum had booked a studio here in Philadelphia for the day, so that the band could lay down recordings of the acoustic tracks they’d played to dozens of sold-out crowds during the tour. With the incredible press from the tour – thanks in no small part to Geordie Ash’s profile in Rolling Stone – and bootlegs in wide circulation, it was time. And for once, the band agreed with the label.

She would join him later, of course. But today she needed the time to herself, to finally write and then mail the letter to Boston.

All because of Jamie.

“You can’t stay in a state of limbo forever, Claire,” he had said one night, meeting her eyes in the bathroom mirror as he gently brushed her shower-wet hair. “And I know we still don’t know where we’ll live when we’re married. But you have the right to know.”

She had sighed, jamming her hands in the deep pockets of the hotel bathrobe. “I don’t want to go back to that life.”

He had set down the hairbrush they shared, slipping his hands into the pockets, pulling her close against him. “I know. But you can’t have that door hanging open, Claire. Whether you open it or close it, you know I support you. But you’re not doing yourself any favors by not knowing.”

She had nodded, and pursed her lips. Smiling just a little as he kissed the shell of her ear.

She blinked, and turned back to the typewriter.

I have been traveling for the past few weeks, and won’t be back to Boston for at least the next month. Although I may not be immediately reachable by mail or telephone, I’m enclosing the contact information for someone who can get any letter or other message to me.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Dr. Claire Beauchamp

She gently pulled the paper from the typewriter roll. Signed her name. Took a deep breath. Began to address the envelope.