#and he’d hate pouring water down the drain when it can be used for something else

[samstree]

any fic that mentions anakin liking the rain is just 👌👌👌

[mostthingskenobi]

CASSIAN'S RECKONING - Chapter 7: The Salt

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Jyn needs a minute to herself. Tarkin is more ruthless than ever. All I can say is poor Cassian.

(I have to laugh at my own mediocre photoshop job on that cover photo LOL!!!!!)

I would say this is probably one of the more brutal chapters…

READ THE FIC ON AO3

THIS IS A WHUMPY FIC W/GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. PLEASE HEED THE TAGS ON AO3.

——————–

CHAPTER 7: THE SALT

Jyn had an hour to kill while the mechanics finished fueling and loading the Patrol Craft into a bulk cruiser. She had checked her gear and then made the rounds with her crew, making sure all the necessary elements were in place. Now the worst of it began, the waiting, the second guessing. Her imagination ran wild with worry as visions of Cassian in pain snuck into her consciousness. She hated that her mind could come up with such awful scenarios, but, ultimately, she knew whatever she imagined was nothing compared to what he actually endured.

She made her way through the base, retracing the steps she and Cassian had walked a few days prior. She wound a course past the barracks, into a dark, narrow passage that led to the higher-ranking officers’ quarters. Privacy on Yavin was scarce; most of the grunts, Jyn included, slept in a giant room filled floor-to-ceiling and end-to-end with bunks. Rogue Squad had a little corner where they all slept near each other, except for Cassian. Due to his rank and position in Rebel Intelligence, he’d been assigned a private room slightly larger than a maintenance closet.

Jyn went there now, pausing at the door and looking around to make sure no one saw her before she punched the access code into the keypad—only she and Cassian knew it. Being inside without his permission felt wrong, like she was violating his privacy, but she needed to feel him, be near his energy to clear the fear from her mind.

Nothing untoward had ever happened in this tiny room; it had simply become a place where they retreated to sip booze or play cards or talk when Scarif nightmares made it impossible to sleep. Rogue One was the family Jyn needed; she loved each member for different reasons, and would lay down her life to protect them. But Cassian’s friendship had become something deeper, something nourishing, comforting, familiar, nonjudgmental, easy, trustworthy. The whole crew had been through a lot together and had seen each other in their darkest moments. But when Cassian wrapped his body around her on Scarif’s beach, whispering that he would hold her until they died, her heart had been pierced. She had never felt so afraid and so safe at the same time.

Jyn and Cassian’s bond was forged in kyber and blood and brutal truth. They shared an unspoken trust that was more meaningful to Jyn than any romantic overture. And though they were both too afraid to confess anything deeper than friendship, too afraid to disturb the private good they shared, she knew she would care about Cassian Andor until she took her last breath.

His brown Corellian-cut field jacket lay tossed across his neatly made bunk. She reached out and clutched it into her hands, her fingers closing over the familiar, sturdy fabric. She traced the transponder sewn into the chest where she knew Cassian concealed a “lullaby” suicide pill. He would never use it, she thought. Though right now he probably wishes he had brought this with him.

The thought made her lightheaded. Jyn felt a chill run up her spine and she quickly sat down on the bed, overwhelmed with the sense that she could feel Cassian through the universe’s ether. The kyber crystal her mother had tied around her neck suddenly felt warm against her skin. A vision flashed through her mind and she saw Cassian’s long eyelashes fluttering as water poured over him, burning cuts on his body.

Her fists tightened around the jacket, squeezing it until the frightening sensations drained away. I’m coming, she thought, willing the message across the galaxy to wherever her friend was suffering. Don’t let go, Cassian.

She looked down at the jacket in her hands, her knuckles white and bloodless from crushing it in her grip. Jyn hesitated for a moment, as though afraid someone might see her, before pressing the jacket to her face, breathing deeply. It smelled like his aftershave and fresh air, flooding her with a hundred tiny memories.

The balm fortified her resolve. Jyn was going to get Cassian back, or die trying.

——————–

When Tarkin, the IT-O droid, and the death troopers returned, they came with an air of bloodthirsty savagery. Cassian knew he’d seen his last shred of mercy.

The troopers circled him and each took hold of his body in a different spot—his feet, his hands, his neck and face. Their gloved fists tightened and Cassian clenched his teeth in anticipation.

“I’ve had a chance to review your interrogation footage,” Tarkin launched in without prelude. “I noticed something quite interesting.”

Cassian refused to take the bait, biting back a retort, determined that fear would not get the better of him.

“You swallow your pain.” Tarkin’s brow arched severely with amusement. “You almost never scream.” He strode forward until he was towering over the rebel. “What kind of man endures relentless torment with nary a sound?” He hooked a finger under Andor’s chin and forced his head up. “We created you, didn’t we? Hung your father in the town square. Sent you to prison as a child. Let your mother die as our suffocating grip tightened around Ferrix. And countless other perceived wrongs not in our official records.”

Cassian burned with rage at the mention of these painful memories and the casualness with which the Grand Moff paraded them out like afterthoughts. His youth had crumbled with each loss, a childhood, a family, stolen by the Empire. Andor began to shake with emotion, with a fire he had never been able to fully stamp out. He couldn’t hold it back any longer.

His father had hung in the Ferrix snow for weeks. Cassian had to walk by the body nearly every day on his way to school.

And his mother, her love as sharp and enduring as her pointed opinions, had died cold and alone, without her son by her side for comfort.

Tarkin’s nostrils flared as he nearly bared his teeth like a predator. “You, the Rebellion,” he said, revulsion dripping from every word, “you’re a by-product, an inevitability. The Empire is creating order out of chaos, and as we contract our hold, collateral damage is certain.” He grasped Andor roughly by the chin, barely containing his own rage. “You think your righteous anger exempts you from stepping into the new order. No more. It’s time for you to learn your place.”

He released Cassian and stepped back, nodding to the death troopers. Their gauntleted hands instantly tightened, twisting into the rebel’s flesh, ripping open all the wounds the IT-O droid had made the day before. They rubbed his face and neck, scraped over his chest and hands, until each thin cut bled afresh, dripping down his skin in rivulets.

Cassian cried out, desperately trying to pull away, curling inward as much as his restraints allowed.

The troopers retreated as Tarkin approached once again. He gripped a fistful of the prisoner’s hair and wrenched his head up. “We will eventually tear a scream from your throat,” he snarled.

The young man glared at the Grand Moff, his body still shaking. Tarkin seemed to have forgotten that Maarva Andor, speaking from beyond the grave, had inspired the insurrection on Ferrix. Her barbed rhetoric lifted a community long exploited by the Empire. And Tarkin obviously didn’t know her son had been there to witness it. Maarva’s words came back to Cassian now as he looked into his oppressor’s eyes. “The Empire is a disease that thrives in darkness.” His voice was strained but he spoke with conviction. “It is never more alive than when we sleep.”

Tarkin’s lip curled. “Flood the reservoir with sea water,” he barked at the droid.

Cassian’s eyes widened, knowing the agony that was coming. He felt the blood dripping from his wounds and imagined rubbing salt into each one. “It's easy for the dead to tell you to fight,” he continued, anger building in his heart.

“Tell me the names of every rebel with you on Scarif,” Tarkin demanded.

“Maybe it's true, maybe fighting is useless.” Cassian refused to look away from the Grand Moff, refused to break eye contact. He felt Maarva’s spirit rushing through his veins, renewing his strength. “Perhaps it's too late. But I'll tell you this...”

“Last chance, Captain Andor.”

“If I could do it again, I'd wake up early and be fighting these bastards from the start. Fight the Empire!”

Tarkin released him and moved far enough away to avoid getting soaked as the IT-O droid activated the water nozzle above the rebel.

When the salty sea water seared across his wounds, Cassian screamed.

——————–

END NOTES

NEXT CHAPTER IS CALLED “THE POWER" - Cassian tries to mentally spar with Tarkin but is nearing his breaking point. Jyn receives special instructions from Draven right as she's about to leave on her rescue mission.

Thank you for reading!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are very welcome!

Much love!

——————–

READ IT ON AO3- Kudos and Comments Welcome :-)

READ CHAPTER 1 “The Razor”

READ CHAPTER 2 “The Scythe”

READ CHAPTER 3 “The Cold”

READ CHAPTER 4 “The Expendable”

READ CHAPTER 5 “The Truth”

READ CHAPTER 6 “The Detritus”

READ CHAPTER 7 "The Salt"

READ CHAPTER 8 “The Power”

READ CHAPTER 9 “The Betrayal”

READ CHAPTER 10 “The Ruse”

READ CHAPTER 11 "The Reprieve"

READ CHAPTER 12 “The Ghosts”

READ CHAPTER 13 “The Redemption”

READ CHAPTER 14 “The Spoils”

READ CHAPTER 15 “The Interrogation”

READ CHAPTER 16 "The Rogues"

READ CHAPTER 17 “The Absolution”

READ CHAPTER 18 “The Reach”

READ CHAPTER 19 “The Hologram”

READ CHAPTER 20 “The Divide”

READ CHAPTER 21 “The Cost”

READ CHAPTER 22 “The Fallout”

READ CHAPTER 23 “The Wounds”

READ CHAPTER 24 “The Hand”

READ CHAPTER 25 “The Heart”

READ CHAPTER 26 “The Beginning”

[mackenzielovee]

heyy! can you do an angsty one where rafe and the reader are “friends,” for a long time, they’ve been in the same friend group and she’s been with love with him for a while now, and he knows and uses that for his advantage. she always does stuff for him, help him whenever he needed and more, and he treats her pretty badly/rudely in return. their friends (top n kelce,) always try to tell him to stop and more and finally she’s had enough she confronts him and show how much he was actually draining her, and he acts like he doesn’t care but he does realize what he was doing, but meanwhile he’s reflecting on his actions, y/n is getting closer to jj? thanks lol the end is up to you. love u and ur fics <3

a/n: hi love! im so sorry it took me so long to write this. I hope you love it!! it took me forever to finish hahaha but i loved writing it!

Warnings: swearing, underage drinking

my writing

pretty damn lucky - rafe cameron

You sigh as you pull Rafe's fresh sheets from the dryer, breathing in the scent of the detergent mixed with the scent of him. He and the boys had way too much to drink last night, which resulted in Rafe getting sick all over his bed when they got home. You had stripped his sheets immediately and put them in the wash, then made a makeshift bed for Rafe on the floor with all of his blankets.

He had grunted at you in return for all your work, collapsing down on the floor and passing out before you could even say goodnight to him.

You had washed the sheets once again this morning when you woke up, then stuck them in the dryer and waited on them.

Topper groans on the couch as you pass him on your way to Rafe's room. You stop and chuckle, watching as he hesitantly opens his eyes.

"Oh, fuck," Topper grumbles as he sits up, clutching his head.

"I think you guys brought the bar home with you."

He glances up, eyes meeting yours, and groans. You laugh and step over to him, taking a seat on the couch beside him.

"Can I get you anything?" you ask him.

"Yeah, a time machine. Don't let me drink so much," he whines, collapsing back down on the couch. You stand, letting out a laugh.

"Water and aspirin. Got it."

You walk up the stairs and stop in front of Rafe's bedroom door, knocking on it lightly before you peak your head in. He's still laying on the floor, but you can't tell if he's awake or not. You stop inside, warm sheets in hand, and close the door behind you. He grunts at the noise, but it's not enough to make him open his eyes.

"Hey," you say to him, "I washed your sheets. How are you feeling?"

Rafe moves on the floor, opening his eyes only enough to see you, then rolls back to his initial spot and closes his eyes again.

"Just put the sheets back on, I want my bed."

You sigh and nod your head, stepping over to his bed to start making it. You watch him as you work, laying on the floor, mouth parted slightly and eyebrows furrowed as he tries to focus on not throwing up again.

"Okay," you whisper once his bed is made, "Come on. I'll help you."

Rafe allows you to wrap your arms around his torso, helping him stand from off the floor. He leans all his weight on you as you two stumble over to his bed, then he collapses onto it. You cover him with his comforter and then fix his hair so it's not sitting in his eyes anymore. He doesn't say anything at your movements.

"I'll get you some water and some medicine. Be back in a minute," you whisper to him. He just nods as best he can.

You hurry back down the stairs, rushing past Topper and into the kitchen. You grab two water bottles out of the fridge and then rifle through the cabinets until you find a bottle of aspirin. As you walk from the kitchen to Topper on the couch, you stop in your tracks.

"Topper," you say, your voice authoritative, "Where is Kelce?"

Topper laughs, which is how you know it's bad. You hadn't noticed that they were one friend light when they stumbled in last night, mostly because you had been too worried about Rafe to be concerned with where Topper and Kelce crashed.

"He fell down outside last night. I'm pretty sure we just left him there."

You sigh loudly, handing him a bottle of water and aspirin as you swear and rush to the front door. As you approach, you can already see him, face up in the Cameron's new flower bed that Rose had worked so hard to make perfect. You open the door and rush to Kelce, annoyed with the boys for not even telling you he was out here.

"Kelce?" you question, stirring him awake, "You alive in there?"

Kelce sits up, as if you'd awakened him from a dream, and glances around. He looks at you and then down to the clothes he's in, and you watch as his eyes widen.

"Those motherfuckers did not leave me out here," he gasps.

"Kelce, I'm so sorry. I had no idea you were out here-"

"I'm going to kill them - ow."

He tries to stand up, but the throbbing of his head makes him fall back down into the dirt again. You grab onto his arm and try to help him up, noting how you do most of the work. When he's finally upright, you brush off the dirt from his back and then lead him inside.

"Shit," he mutters, "My stomach. I'm gonna need to eat."

"I'm on it," you tell him, leading him into the living room and placing him on the couch next to Topper.

"Hey, man," Topper greets, "Rose sure will be happy you observed the flowers so...closely."

"Shut the fuck up, Top," Kelce snaps, reaching over and punching Topper in the chest. He groans at his head and sits back again, making you laugh.

"All right," you declare, picking up the aspirin and water bottle for Rafe, "Eggs? Toast? Bacon? Sound good?"

Kelce nods his head and Topper looks at you, already looking better with the water and medicine in his system.

"Hey, thank you, Y/N. For always taking care of us," Topper smiles at you.

"Yeah," Kelce agrees, "I'd still be lying in a bush outside if it weren't for you. Thank you."

You smile at them and shake your head, "Of course, boys. Back in a minute. Kelce, don't kill Top. Please."

Kelce grunts, telling you he's still debating if he will or not. You laugh and then rush back up the stairs, hoping Rafe is still alive up there. You knock softly on his door when you reach it, not wanting to just bust in on him.

"Rafe?" you say when you walk in, seeing him laying in the exact same position he had been when you left him.

"What took you so long?" he grumbles.

"I'm sorry," you say, sitting down beside him on his bed, "You guys left Kelce outside and-"

"Do you have the aspirin or what?"

You sigh and nod, handing him the pill bottle and a bottle of water. He sits up, hair messy and eyes only half open, and pours three pills into his hand. You stare at him, observing his sharp jaw line and his soft skin, and you can't help but wonder what it would be like to be able to feel him. Touch him. Love on him the way you've been dreaming about since the day you met him.

"Do you want me to make you something to eat?"

Rafe swallows the pills, then brings his eyes up to meet yours, "That breakfast place I love. Why don't you go pick us all up something? Card's in my wallet."

He lays back down, which is his way of excusing you from the room. You just nod your head and grab his card out of his wallet.

"And move the seat back in my truck when you get back. I always hit my head when I get in after you."

"All right," you say quietly, wishing he'd at least say a 'please' or 'thank you'.

You take orders from Topper and Kelce, then hurry out to Rafe's truck. You have to move the seat way up in order to drive the truck, and you make a mental note to move it back when you get back to the house.

You pull up to the restaurant and climb out of the truck, fumbling with the keys and your purse and Rafe's card, too wrapped up in yourself to notice the blonde boy standing about five feet from you.

"Damn, I didn't expect someone as pretty as you to hop out of that truck," JJ smirks at you, watching your eyes shoot up to him.

You smile, "Hi, JJ."

"How are you?" he asks, cheeky look on his face.

You set your hands on your hips, keys and card tucked between your fingers, as you observe what you're wearing for the first time. You'd snuck one of Rafe's Kildare Island shirts from his dresser last night and had on jean shorts underneath.

"Y'know," you shrug, "You like this place, too?"

"Ah, little pretentious, but the food's acceptable," he teases, "You eating alone?"

"No. Just picking up food for Rafe and his friends."

"What, are you his assistant or something? Tell Cameron to pick up his own food," JJ huffs.

He'd never tell you, not wanting to upset you, but he's hated watching you run around the island as Rafe's bitch since you met him. JJ's been dying to hang out with you, even asked you a few times, but you always say no because you're on some sort of mission for Rafe.

"It's just a breakfast order," you reply, starting to inch toward the restaurant.

"Just a breakfast order," he shrugs, "Just getting him a beer every time he asks, just following him around like a lost puppy, just-"

"Okay," you stop him, "I'm a big girl, JJ. I can take care of myself."

You turn and start to walk away from him, trying to brush off his 'lost puppy' remark. He groans loudly, which is enough to earn your attention back.

"Prove it," he yells out, making you turn, "Tonight. There's a thing down at the beach. Meet me."

You start to shake your head, but he steps toward you and stops you. He runs a hand through his blonde hair, messing it up even more than it already is.

"JJ-"

"Come on, Y/N. Take the Kook chains off for one night. Please. Rafe can do his own dishes and get his own drinks."

You sigh, glancing down at your feet before back up to him, "Maybe."

"Ah- you know what? That's better than a no. I'll take it."

You nod at him, trying your best not to smile too wide, then point to the building. You start to back off, but you keep your eyes fixed on the blonde boy.

"What time? You know, if I decide to come."

JJ smiles wider than he had the entire conversation, "Seven."

You smile back at him, then turn and walk away before you can get even more wrapped up in this boy.

"What the hell took you so long?" Rafe questions as you walk through the door with several bags filled with food.

"Sorry," you sigh at him, "Got caught up."

Kelce and Topper stand up and step to you, taking the bags from you. You thank them quietly, watching as Rafe rolls his eyes and stands from his place on the couch.

"Yeah, never mind the fact that I'm starving to death," he mutters.

"Rafe, come on, man," Topper smacks Rafe on the chest, trying to get him to chill out.

"Yeah, quit being a dick," Kelce tells him.

Topper starts to unload the food from the bags while Kelce leans down and gives you a friendly kiss on the cheek. You smile gently, glancing up to see Rafe watching with his jaw clenched. You try to put distance in between you, but Rafe doesn't seem to care about your efforts.

"Thanks for running to get it, Y/N," Topper smiles to you.

"You're welcome."

"Did you put my seat back, at least?" Rafe asks you, swiping his car keys from the counter where you set them.

"Yes, of course," you reply.

"Of course," he mutters, "You never do."

"Rafe," Kelce says authoritatively, holding his hands out to his sides as if to ask what the hell he's doing.

"I'll fix you a plate," you tell Rafe, setting a hand on Kelce's arm as if to thank him.

Rafe exhales loudly, then steps away and back into the living room. Kelce rolls his eyes at Rafe, giving you a pat on the shoulder. You make Rafe a plate, a little bit of everything, then follow Topper into the living room to take it to him.

"Quit being an asshole to her, man," Topper mumbles to Rafe, slapping him on the back of his head.

"Don't fucking hit me," Rafe growls at Topper.

"Here you go," you hand Rafe a plate. He takes it from you without a word or a glance, inspecting the food you've given him.

"Where's your plate, love?" Topper asks you as Kelce sits down beside him, "I'll make you one. Sit down."

"No," you say quickly, earning the attention of all three boys, "I'm not staying. I gotta get home, I kinda have plans later,"

"What plans?" Rafe asks, judgment present in his voice.

The boys watch the look on your face and Topper and Kelce immediately erupt into fits of laughs and hollers.

"Boy plans, huh?" Kelce smiles at you before he shoves bacon into his mouth.

Your face flushes as you stand in front of them, glancing at Rafe to see his reaction. His jaw is clenched tightly and he's stopping eating all together.

"Who's the lucky guy, Y/N?" Topper snickers.

"It's not a big deal, you guys."

"Why am I jealous right now?" Kelce teases you. You look over at him and roll your eyes, hiding your smile from him.

"What plans?" Rafe repeats himself, raising his voice. Your eyes shoot over to him, watching his expression.

"Um, I'm going down to this thing at the beach," you say, looking down at the floor. Rafe sets his plate down on the coffee table in front of him, not wanting his food anymore.

"Are we invited?" Rafe asks, already knowing the answer. He just wants to make you say it.

"I- it's not my thing," you stutter, "I'm just meeting some people."

"Who?" Topper asks through his food.

"Uh, JJ Maybank and his friends-"

Rafe scoffs, interrupting you, "You're ditching us to hang out with Pogues?"

"I'm not ditching you, Rafe," you frown.

"Funny, that's the way it looks."

"It's just a few drinks on the beach, why are you getting so bent out of shape?" you question, watching as Topper and Kelce squirm, growing more uncomfortable.

"Bent out of shape? " he repeats, voice as if he doesn't believe you just said that, "You're the one driving across the island for shitty ass beer-"

"It's not like I was asking your opinion on my plans-"

"No, no, you were just informing us that you have plans to fuck JJ Maybank, understood."

"Rafe-" you start, but stop when Kelce sits up straight in his chair and speaks.

"What the fuck, Rafe?" Kelce stares at his best friend, "Why are you so mean to Y/N all the time? She doesn't have to hang out with us every day, and honestly, I wouldn't if you treated me the way you treat her."

"Oh, fuck off, Kelce, you don't know shit," Rafe waves him off.

Topper glances at you, then over to Rafe and speaks up as well, "He's right, Rafe. You're an asshole to her. And not just today, but a lot lately."

Rafe sits back on the couch and crosses his arms in front of his chest, rolling his eyes.

"You two don't know anything," he huffs, "Y/N and I are fine."

"Actually," you say, earning Rafe's complete attention, "I don't think we are."

He stands up now, stepping over to you and grabbing onto your wrist, "Let's discuss this in private."

You glance at the boys, trying to offer them a silent 'thank you for trying', then allow Rafe to pull you into the guest room down the hall. He slams the door once you two are inside, then runs his hand through his hair before he speaks.

"What the fuck are you doing, embarrassing me in front of the two of them?" he scoffs.

Your mouth falls open at how that is his main concern after you just told him you have doubts that the two of you are okay. Your heart sinks, watching as he paces the room. You watch the way his jaw is clenched and how his eyes are frantic as he tries to figure out how to fix things with the boys.

"I'm sorry," you say quietly.

Rafe seems to not hear you, "Jesus, now the two of them are gonna be up my ass about you for the rest of the day."

"Rafe-"

"And what the hell is up with you partying with JJ Maybank? Do you not realize how that could look, you hanging out with him?"

"Oh, my God!" you yell, not being able to take any more of his bullshit, "I don't give a shit, Rafe! I mean, seriously. I spent my entire night last night and my entire morning taking care of your ass. Because I care about you. And now, I say I want to do something for myself, and you act like I'm being selfish? Are you kidding me?"

"Oh, please," Rafe shakes his head, "You're always taking care of us, don't act like you're all noble."

"I'm not trying to be noble. I'm trying to tell you how I feel-"

"Well, I didn't fucking ask, all right?" he yells.

You frown and step back from him as if his words struck you across the face. He reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying his best to control his frustration.

"Rafe," you choke out, feeling your emotions as they rise up, "I care about you so much. But, I can't keep walking on eggshells around you. I have done everything you've asked me to do, I've been a good friend to you and I-"

"You what?" he growls at you, stepping forward and grabbing your shoulders.

"I love you, you asshole," you whisper, watching the way his eyes soften at your words, "I love you. But I'm drained. I'm exhausted. And I'm sick of being treated like some bitch who just follows you around and hopes you'll throw her a bone."

Rafe stares at you for a moment, and for the first time in a long time, you genuinely cannot tell what he's thinking. After a few seconds, he releases your shoulders and lightly shoves you away from him.

"You should leave," he says, staring at the floor.

"Really?"

"Yeah, you gotta get ready for your big date night, right?"

You laugh sarcastically at his comment, feeling stupid to have expected him to say anything different than that. He sets his hands on his hips and sighs, not bothering to look up at you. You lick your lips and take a deep breath, debating whether or not to stay and fight with him. For him.

"Fuck you, Rafe," you say.

His shoulders fall but he doesn't look up, so you turn and walk out of the room. Topper and Kelce are standing right outside the door, shocked when you suddenly emerge. You roll your eyes at them, not surprised they had been listening. They don't bother trying to stop you, because honestly, they'd leave Rafe, too.

You rush out of the house and slam the door behind you. Topper usually drives you home, but you don't bother to go back inside and ask. You can walk, it's not far.

As much as you love Rafe, as much as you'd kill to be with him, you can't condone the way he's been treating you. You know that you deserve better, just as Topper and Kelce have been reminding him. Better is exactly what you plan to have.

The beach isn't terribly busy when you arrive. You know by the time the sun sets completely, it will be packed. You spot JJ's blonde hair towering above almost everyone on the beach, watching as he laughs with his friends and tips a red cup against his lips. You walk over to him before allowing yourself to hesitate and think about leaving again.

Your fight with Rafe had completely drained your energy, and if you didn't feel like getting completely drunk to forget about it, you'd leave. JJ spies you as you approach and grins widely, starting over to you.

"No fucking way," he smiles, "Can't believe you showed, Mrs. Cameron!"

"Ha ha," you grumble, shaking your head and trying to hide a smile.

"How'd you escape from the prison that is Kook land?"

You roll your eyes, reaching up and taking the cup from his hand. You gulp it down before he can even object, and when you look up at him again, he's staring at you with his mouth wide open.

"Okay. Got it. Drinking, no talking," he reaches down and takes your hand, leading you over to the keg.

"Lots of drinking," you mutter, watching as JJ pretends he didn't hear you.

JJ grabs two beers from the guy handing them out and hands one to you, returning his hand to yours. You start to walk back over to JJ's friends, but he pulls on your hand to keep you where he wants you.

"What are you doing? Don't you want to hang out with your friends?" you ask him.

He shakes his head, "No, I'd rather figure out what's going on with you."

You sigh and take another long sip of your beer, avoiding his eyes on purpose. Although you and JJ hadn't hung out a lot, he still seems to be able to tell that you're bothered.

"It's not a big deal," you say.

"If it's bothering you, it is," JJ insists. His eyes are wide as he looks at you, and you can't help but notice how he hasn't taken one sip of his beer.

"JJ-"

"It's Rafe, I can tell. Did he hurt you?"

"No," you furrow your eyebrows, unsure of why he would even ask that. JJ just nods his head, tightening his grip around your hand.

"All right, then what?"

You give him a small smile, grateful that he's pushing so hard to try and figure out what's bothering you. You've never really had anyone do that before.

"We just got into an argument. But, it's fine-"

"Y/N-"

"I came here to have fun with you. Please don't make me spend the whole night talking about Rafe."

His eyes soften as he stares down at you. You watch as he takes a deep breath, then licks his lips and nods his head. You give him a small smile, watching as he shamelessly return it.

"You're right," he speaks after a minute, "Who needs that asshole, anyway?"

You nod, although you're hesitant to talk shit about Rafe like that, even after everything. JJ squeezes your hand once again, then tugs you toward his friends.

"Come on, let's party."

JJ pumps you full of beers, at your request, and laughs every time you attempt to get him to dance with you. His friends all watch as JJ finally gives into you, standing up as you tug on his hand and allowing you to lead him upright.

You can feel the alcohol rushing through your body as JJ spins you around in the sand, laughing at how much you're loving it. His friends cheer the two of you on, and by the time the song ends, you're completely exhausted. You collapse into JJ's chest and he wraps a strong arm around you, holding you up.

"I didn't realize I'd had so much," you tell him, slurring your words a bit against his chest.

"That's all right," he laughs lightly, "I'll take care of you."

JJ leads you back over to the log the two of you had been sitting on and helps you sit down, smiling when you lean your head down on his shoulder.

"You're nice to me," you tell him.

JJ laughs at your drunken state, pressing his cup to his lips once more. Say what you will about JJ Maybank, but never call him a lightweight.

"You deserve to be treated nicely," he fires back.

"You really believe that?" you ask him, not noticing your eyes fluttering closed against him.

"Of course, Y/N," he whispers, moving his face so his lips graze against the top of your head, "You know, there's a lot more out there than just Rafe Cameron."

"You don't know him like I do," you say quietly.

"You're right," he scoffs, "Nobody else would defend him."

"I'm serious, JJ. He's sweet and caring and protective-"

"And rude, and unkind-"

"JJ," you sigh, "I mean it. Underneath all the bullshit, he's a really great guy."

JJ's silent for a second, then you feel his body tense slightly under you. His friends are all in their own little world, to notice, but JJ isn't.

"Well, that really great guy just showed up to the party."

Your eyes shoot open and your head comes off of JJ's chest as you glance around, trying to steady your vision as you look around to see what he's talking about. When your eyes meet Rafe's, he looks upset. He's watching you and JJ like the thought of you two together actually, physically breaks his heart in half.

Topper and Kelce stand behind him, pushing Rafe forward to you. You stand up, with the help of JJ's hand steadying you, which you immediately let go of when you stand up straight. You tears your eyes away from Rafe long enough to glance back at JJ, asking him silently if it's okay if you go to him.

"Go on," he gives you a sad smile, "Tonight was fun. But, you know, I'm not the type of guy to chase after some other guy's girl."

"JJ-"

"Go, Y/N. You love him. I can tell."

You start to object, but close your mouth when you realize you have no defense. He's right, you know he is. You give JJ a little smile, then turn back to Rafe. The asshole, your asshole, who looks ready to put your heart back together again.

He starts to you and you to him, but he covers way more ground than you given that he's stone cold sober. He can tell you're having trouble standing, so he reaches out and offers his arm as soon as he's within range.

"Hey," he says quietly.

You wrap your cold hands around his arm, steadying yourself and absorbing his warmth. You take a deep breath, inhaling his familiar, heart wrenching scent and letting it fill your lungs.

"What are you doing here?" you question him.

"I- uh, I need to talk to you."

"Why? So you can yell at me and then tell me to leave again?" you spit before you can even think about it.

Rafe clenches his jaw and moves his eyes from yours, glancing around the beach as he considers what the best thing to say is in response.

"I'm sorry," you mumble.

"It's fine," he shakes his head, speaking too fast to actually mean it, "I deserve it. I was an asshole. I came here to apologize."

You nod your head, doing your best to keep your eyes on his and not trailing all down his body. He's wearing the snapback you love on him, and he has on the shirt the two of you bought together at the mall on a trip.

"You may," you tease him, giving him a small smile and hoping to get one in return. You get it, thankfully.

"I'm really sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean to ever make you feel second rate. You have been so good to me and I know I don't deserve it-"

"It's okay," you stop him, reaching one hand up to stroke his cheek. His skin, his soft skin under yours feels like heaven to touch. You know the alcohol is the only reason you're not putting up a larger fight.

"I wasn't finished," he smiles widely.

"Well, what can I say? I'm a sucker for that hat," you tease.

His grin only widens as he stares down at you, pulling you into a hug before he can even think of it. His arms wrapped tightly around you make your heart rate speed up to a dangerous level.

"You promise we're okay? Maybe we should talk again when you're sobered up-"

"I'm fine," you lie.

Rafe reaches up and cups your face in his hands, staring down at you intently. You stare back, unable to break away from his gorgeous blue eyes.

"Good, because I've got something to tell you."

Rafe watches as your lips part, wanting to question him but unable to find the right words. He smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before he continues.

"I love you, too," he whispers.

You blink rapidly at him, trying to figure out if he really just said those words to you. You shake your head and squirm out of his grasp, taking a deep breath as you look at him.

"You mean that?" you ask him.

"Yeah," he nods, swallowing nervously, "It took me half the day to realize it, but the thought of you down here with JJ literally made me want to kill him. And I'm sorry that I haven't realized it sooner. I was just scared of my feelings, I guess, and I just thought if I pushed you away-"

"You don't have to explain," you stop him, "I just can't believe you feel the same way about me."

"Who wouldn't? Topper informed me today that I happen to be the luckiest guy to walk the face of the earth because I'm loved by you. And I guess, I don't know, it made me recognize my feelings."

You smile, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him. He hugs you back without thinking twice, pulling you close and breathing you in. After a second, you pull away, and feel him tilt your chin up to meet his eyes.

"I don't know, I'm feeling pretty damn lucky right now," you whisper.

Before either of you know it, he places his lips gently on yours. His hands move themselves to your cheeks once again, pulling you closer to him. You both can hear Topper and Kelce hooting and hollering from yards away, which makes you laugh against Rafe's lips.

"I regret bringing them," he says against your lips, laughing along with you.

"You should," you agree, standing on your tip-toes and kissing him one more time.

"Can I take you home, now? Please?" he asks, voice impatient.

You bite your lip and nod, allowing him to give you one last kiss before he brings a hand down to yours, wrapping his fingers through it. He turns you toward the boys, the oh-so happy boys, and leads you away.

Away from the beer. Away from JJ. Toward your future, together.

Tags: @hollandsour @flowerkidlxrry @kookkyra @pogueslandia @sarahwasfound @fuzzyhumanpersontrash @rafecameronn @rafeswh0ree @outerbankies @morganwilliams

*if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist at any time, please send me an ask!

[pastelwitchling]

Michael got kissed while undercover, and tells Alex.

***

Michael didn’t know why he was worried. Alex would understand, it wasn’t like Michael had wanted it to happen, and he’d pulled away immediately. Alex had known the risks, had known the job, and would forgive him.

There wouldn’t even be anything to forgive. He was fine, they were fine, everything was fine. Michael was exhausted and drained and the weight on his chest had turned suffocating in the last few weeks and he wanted nothing more than to hug Alex tight and kiss every inch of him, but everything was fine.

Michael considered opening the door with his mind, but something about using the key Alex had given him felt safer this time, more comforting, and he pulled it out of where he hid it in his back pocket. He stepped into the living room to find Alex on his computer. He wished he could stop and take a picture of him, keep it in his pocket to look at when he felt like his head was going to explode.

He didn’t get many chances to sneak away back to Alex, back home, and this felt like a moment Michael should’ve been filling with kisses and laughter and moments that made Alex think of Michael even when he was spending all day working alongside Kyle.

You can’t, a voice taunted. You have bad news to give him.

“Hey,” Alex said without looking up from his screen.

In response, Michael leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, inhaling as much of him as possible in those few seconds. A few seconds too long.

Alex blinked and looked up, his lips instinctively tugging up into a smile. Until he saw the look on Michael’s face. “You okay?”

Michael tried to laugh it off, to pretend like nothing was bothering him, like what he was about to tell Alex wasn’t a big deal, but he managed a smile for only a second before it fell again. He sat down on the coffee table, his heart pounding in his throat. “Can we talk?”

Without taking his eyes off Michael, Alex shut his computer, whatever work he was doing, though undoubtedly important, forgotten. “What’s going on?”

Michael swallowed the lump in his throat, took Alex’s hands in his own, and kissed his fingers. “I can’t . . . stay long, I – I have to get back to the base before –”

“Guerin,” Alex squeezed his fingers, love and reassurance and protection already pouring out. Whatever was bothering Michael, Alex intended to hunt it down and burn it. Michael’s breathing was coming in faster now at the thought of that look changing when he told Alex what had happened. Alex cupped his jaw, concern furrowing his brows. “Michael –”

“Bonnie kissed me,” he said, and he felt Alex’s hand freeze against him, his confusion and wariness gone and replaced with something Michael couldn’t decipher. He hated that. He hated not being able to read Alex.

“I –” Alex shut his eyes, shaking his head. “Okay.”

Michael waited, but Alex didn’t say anything else. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Alex murmured, resignation coloring his voice as his hands slid out of Michael’s and he stood. “Okay, Guerin.”

He left and Michael followed him into the kitchen. “Alex, I – I’m undercover, you know that, I –”

“I know, Guerin,” Alex said, thoroughly exhausted, hands on the counter. “I just can’t exactly shrug off the idea of someone else kissing my boyfriend.”

Michael opened and closed his mouth, then tried weakly, “I pushed her away.”

Alex only nodded. Michael watched him drink some water, all the while his back turned to him.

“Can you at least look at me?”

Alex sighed, deflating. He turned to face him and Michael was shocked to see his eyes filled with tears that he was trying very hard not to let fall.

“Alex,” he breathed, taking Alex’s face in his hands. “I – I pushed her away!”

“I’m fine,” Alex said wearily. “It’s okay, okay?”

               “No, it’s not okay!” Michael demanded as Alex tried to leave again. He held him tighter. “Alex, this – this is what we wanted, right? It’s our plan!”

               “I asked you not to do this,” Alex croaked, and Michael stilled. “I told you I was worried, I told you it would hurt, but you needed something else more. There’s always something more important than me.” He exhaled shakily, wiping a hand across his face. “Michael . . . I’m just sick of being at the bottom of everyone’s list. Even yours.”

               “A-Alex . . .”

               Alex shut his eyes and huffed, taking Michael’s wrists. Michael worried he would push him away, but Alex only kissed his palms gently and let him go. Michael’s heart hurt as Alex wiped the tears away before they could even fall, as if unwilling to let himself be sad in front of anyone. In front of Michael.

“I’m fine,” he said wearily. “Really, I just . . . want to be alone for a minute.”

               He kissed Michael’s cheek, patted his arm, and went to his room for the night.

                 Michael paced outside Alex’s room, wringing his hands together. He should’ve gone back by now, Alex would be expecting him to go back, but he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t, not when Alex thought that there was anything more important to Michael than him.

               The worst part was that he wished he could disagree, he wished he could say that Alex had agreed to this plan, but he’d been vehemently against it. Michael was only able to convince him because he’d held him close and promised him he’d be safe and asked for it. And he’d known Alex would cave the second he asked. It was what he did. Anything he wanted always came second to whatever Michael wanted.

               Finally, unable to take it anymore, Michael opened the door and found Alex curled up in bed with open, red-rimmed eyes.

               Michael came up to the bed, only knowing that he wanted to hold Alex more than he wanted anything. Lying down, facing him, Michael wrapped an arm around Alex’s waist and pulled him in against him.

               “I was wondering how long you’d stay outside my door,” Alex said hoarsely. Michael brushed a thumb against his eye, and it came off wet. “Stop,” he murmured, turning his face into the pillow. “I don’t need you wiping away my tears.”

               “No one else better,” Michael said, and Alex huffed a weak chuckle despite himself.

               He looked up, meeting Michael’s gaze briefly before his eyes fell to his lips. Alex’s laughter turned to another cry that broke Michael’s heart and had him instinctively tightening his grip on his waist.

               “Is it pathetic that I’m jealous?” Alex whispered.

               “No, it’s not,” Michael said fiercely. “I’d kill anyone who touched you.” He gripped Alex’s chin tightly with his fingers, forcing his gaze up again. “And I hate that you don’t know how important you are to me, Private. You’re all that’s important to me.”

               “It’s okay, Guerin,” Alex shut his eyes. “I know other things have to come first –”

               “You come first,” he swore. “Everything, all the dumb mistakes I made, they were all to get closer to you. It was always you, Alex, always. You know what?” he sat up, starting to leave, when Alex grabbed his arm, alarmed.

               “What’re you doing?”

               “I’m going to bust into that damn base and tell them the truth,” Michael said angrily. “Then I’m going to blow up their stuff ‘til one of ‘em talks.”

               “What – wait, Guerin, no!” Alex sat up, clinging to Michael’s arm with both hands. “You can’t do that, you’re already too deep in.”

               “I can’t take it anymore, Alex!” he said. “I hate this whole stupid thing, I hate every part of it. I hate being away from you all day, I hate not knowing if you’re getting any sleep or – or eating, I hate that freaking Valenti gets to see you more than I do – I hate it!”

               “Okay, okay,” Alex shushed him softly, pulling Michael in against him and hugging him tightly, a hand in his curls. “It’s okay. Shhh, everything’s okay.”

               Michael’s eyes burned. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Alex. I don’t want to be away from you. We’re finally together and now all I do is worry that other aliens are going to take this away from us and I can’t breathe –”

               “Hey,” Alex pulled back, taking Michael’s face in his hands. “Nothing and no one could take us away from each other. I won’t let them.” He sighed. “I hate this plan,” he confessed. “I hate it so much. But if this is what it’ll take to finally find out more about your planet, then . . . I’ll deal with it. Just . . .” he groaned under his breath. “No more anyone else kissing you, okay? Ever again.”

               Michael nodded as he leaned in, and pressed their brows together. “You know, you should probably get rid of any trace of her. Before I head back.”

               Alex scoffed, grinning, and without a word, he pulled Michael in and kissed him firmly on the lips. He pulled away and Michael groaned.

               “What if they undress me with their eyes?” he murmured, already moving to unbutton his own shirt. “Does that count as a trace?”

               Alex laughed, his cheeks red, and the sound had Michael tearing the rest of his shirt off before reaching for Alex’s. Alex wrapped his arms around Michael’s shoulders as Michael laid him down on the bed.

               “Absolutely.”

[liaromancewriter]

Perfectly Imperfect

Premise: Sienna teaches Max the fine art of making a grilled cheese sandwich.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Sienna Trinh x Max Valentine (M!OC) Rating/Category: General. Fluff. Words: 905

A/N: Requested by @trappedinfanfiction for Maxenna from @creativepromptsforwriting food prompts list (“How did you go through life so far without knowing how to make a grilled sandwich?” “I don’t know, but thank God, I have you now.”). I changed the prompt slightly, just fyi. Submitting for reblog to @creativepromptfills​. 

Submission for @choicesmonthlychallenge May day 31 prompt ‘smile’.

Max Valentine waited for the water to finish boiling before pouring it over an herbal tisane he’d prepared for Sienna. She had caught a head cold earlier in the week and wasn’t feeling quite herself.

It was funny, he thought absently, how much one learnt about another person when they were sick. He’d found her to be unsurprisingly self-sufficient despite his desire to take care of her.

But she had also been downright stubborn, relegating him to the guest bedroom because she felt gross and didn’t want him to catch her cold. Clearly she’d forgotten that marriage was about being there for each other in sickness and in health.

Well, he’d played along when it suited him to do so and ignored her edicts otherwise.

He’d banished her from the kitchen after he caught her trying to make soup as she hacked a lung away. Figuring he couldn’t trust her to know that rest was the best thing for her, he decided to work from home and keep an eagle eye on one Sienna Grace Valentine.

The tisane had steeped enough by his measure and he put a tray together to take into the bedroom when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” he asked when Sienna shuffled towards him

“Better today,” she replied, taking a seat on the bar stool at the kitchen island. “Still have that annoying lingering cough.”

She lifted an arm to cover her mouth as said cough escaped, but he noticed that her color was improved and her face had lost the pinched look. She must have showered as her hair was wet and she’d exchanged her robe for a loose dress with a cardigan.  

“Here,” he handed her the tisane, “this should help.”

She made a face in distaste but took the cup anyway. “I hate herbal tea. I want coffee.”

“I know, but you know this is better for you,” he said unsympathetically, pouring a second cup for himself.

“Which of us is the doctor?” she whined, but he just ignored her. He might not be a doctor, but he owed his health to natural remedies and herbal concoctions.

They finished their tisanes in silence. He was secretly amused at Sienna pouting the whole time while she forced herself to finish the hot drink. At one point she eyed the kitchen sink and he laughed inwardly at the thought of her likely pouring it down the drain if he hadn’t been there.

“Since you’re feeling well enough to complain,” he began, taking the empty cups to place them in the dishwasher, “why don’t I make you something to eat. What’s your favorite sick day indulgence?”

“Grilled cheese sandwich,” she said, her voice perking with interest.

“What’s your second favorite sick day indulgence?” he asked.

“Why?” she said suspiciously as he continued to watch her neutrally. “Max, do you not know how to make a grilled cheese sandwich?

“Of course, I do,” he said, offended, folding his arms across his chest and then he unfolded them as his shoulders deflated. “Okay, no I don’t. Nine times out of ten I will burn the darn thing or the cheese doesn’t melt and it tastes like plastic.”

“But you’re a gourmet cook!” she sputtered in shock. “How did you go through life so far without knowing how to make a grilled sandwich?”

“I don’t know, but now you know the truth,” he told her defensively. “I’m a phony.”

She watched with amusement marveling how he always managed to surprise her when she least expected it. Her perfectly imperfect husband.

“I can teach you,” she said magnanimously. “It really is quite simple.”

He gazed her at warily and then unbent enough to nod. “Teach me.”

She walked him through the process, showing him the right cheese to use for the ideal melt, elevating the simple sandwich with red pepper jam and pickled onions. And the pièce de resistance, a combination of mayonnaise and butter to slather on the bread.

“Mayo has a higher smoke point,” she explained as he followed her instructions. “This way you don’t have to worry as much about the cooking temperature. But I like the taste and fragrance of butter, so this approach is the best of two worlds.”

She kept an eye on the sizzling skillet, covering his hand with hers when it looked like he might turn it too soon.

“Patience,” was all she said, nodding a few minutes later to give him the go ahead to flip the sandwich.

Delicious smells filled the kitchen and her nose twitched in appreciation. He wrapped an arm around her waist, one hand resting on the side of her hip while he held a spatula with the other. She smiled up at him and he smiled back.

Soon the sandwiches were ready and he removed them from the skillet, cutting them into triangles and plating them with a flourish. She took an appreciative whiff of the perfectly toasted sandwich in front of her before biting into the crunchy bread, savoring the combination of gooey melted cheese, sharp red peppers and sweet caramelized onions.

“Marrying you was the best decision I ever made,” he said with gusto, finishing off one sandwich and reaching for a second.

She laughed uproariously at that and leaned forward to kiss his jaw.

“Always happy to educate you on the error of your ways, my love.”

Perma-tags: @jamespotterthefirst  @genevievemd  @forallthatitsworth  @queencarb  @potionsprefect  @quixoticdreamer16  @schnitzelbutterfingers   @bex-la-get @headoverheelsforramsey @dorisz @custaroonie @takemyopenheart @jerzwriter @a-crepusculo @rosebudde @lucy-268 @crazy-loca-blog @writer-ish @wanderingamongthewildflowers @rookiemartin @anonymousrookie @natureblooms24 @coffeeheartaddict2 @mysticalgalaxysstuff @lady-calypso @sincerelyscarring @beezybean

Max & Sienna only: @gryffindordaughterofathena @utterlyinevitable

@choicesficwriterscreations​ @openheartfanfics

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 15

Hannibal gives y/n an idea and y/n negotiates.

@viviace @deadman-inc-bikeshop @dovahdokren

Trigger warnings: graphic descriptions of violence

Aftercare was Hannibal's favorite part of the evening. He loved to spend long, indulgent hours pampering his darlings. But usually, there was only one. And that was Will. And Hannibal's clawfoot bathtub, although beautiful, was not big enough for both of you at the same time. Meaning, you had to take turns.

You and Will argued back and forth about who was in more desperate need of aftercare; each advocating for the other, of course. That was Hannibal's fault, really. He should have known better than to ask you to make a decision.

Hannibal emerged from the bathroom, sleeves rolled up and arms soaked to the elbow. "Who is first?"

Before you could speak, Will shoved you forward. "She is."

Hannibal knew better than to let the argument go on, and so did you. You followed him into the bathroom, the smell of lavender bath salts filling the air.

He removed your fluffy robe and watched you step into the warm bath. The water was just hot enough to soothe the aches in your muscles. Hannibal took his seat at the end of the tub where you rested your head. You leaned back and submerged your whole body. 

“You have such soft hair.” Hannibal said, pouring a bit of expensive-smelling shampoo in his palm. 

“Thanks, I use fabric softener and tumble dry it on low heat.” You answered. 

“You have a hard time accepting compliments, don’t you?” He probed, beginning to lather the shampoo into your hair. “Between that and the self-deprecation, I’d say you suffer from low self-esteem.” 

You felt yourself melting into him. The hypnotic motions of his hands chipped away at your defenses. “Is that really that surprising?” 

“For such an intelligent, sophisticated young beauty?” Hannibal chuckled. “I am surprised you don’t understand your worth.” 

“If it makes you feel any better,” You offered. “The fact that a psychotic cokehead fundamentalist Christian cult leader wants me dead tells me I’m doing something right.” 

“You are a force of nature, my indulgence.” Hannibal assured you, still massaging your head. “But you don’t need me to tell you that. You already know your power.” 

That got you thinking. Would it be so bad to just find a hunting rifle and blow Chase Mulvaney’s head off? What was stopping you? It certainly wasn’t your conscious. All your remaining moral fiber had been ripped to shreds over the course of the last month. 

“Tell me something about yourself, Hannibal.” You said, leaning back.

“What would you like to know?” He asked, retracting his hands. He cupped his hands in the water and poured some over your hair. 

“Do you ever think about morality?” You said, bluntly. 

The question pleasantly surprised him. “Quite a bit, actually. I like to think of myself as a student of philosophy, which deals heavily with the subject of ethics, human behavior, and yes, morality.” 

“Do you believe morality is subjective?” you tilted your head. 

“There’s not a doubt in my mind about it.” Hannibal smiled. “Those who think otherwise usually exemplify some of the best arguments for subjective morality.” 

“Religious nuts like Chase Mulvaney.” You said. “He and millions of others believe in objective morality, but can’t even keep it consistent among themselves.” 

“Darling,” Hannibal whispered. “You don’t have to wait for aftercare to talk philosophy with me. I would be happy to do so anytime.” 

You spent a half hour in the bath, Hannibal stroking, kissing and cuddling you. As much as you wanted to enjoy the affection, your mind was elsewhere. Perhaps it was just a hyperfixation, or post-multiple-orgasm clarity, but the only thought in your head was that Chase Mulvaney had to die. 

Your train of thought was chugging along smoothly until it was derailed by the violent buzzing of your phone against the tile floor. You leaned over the side of the tub, trying to make out the contact name from across the room. 

Hannibal dried his hands on a nearby towel and picked the phone up from the ground. 

“Who is it?” You asked. 

“This number is logged into your phone as just a picture of a...red demon?” Hannibal answered. 

“Oh, yeah.” You dropped your head. “I’ll call her back, just let it ring out.” 

“Who’s the demon?” Hannibal chuckled. 

You stepped out of the bathtub and reached for a towel. “Just somebody I know from work. Probably calling about covering a shift or something.” 

“Would that be the same person who believed I was the devil?” Hannibal raised an eyebrow, watching you wrap the towel around yourself.

You were about to say yes, but caught yourself. “No. Just some lady I work with who always refused to share her tips with the buses. Super entitled, total pain in the ass. I’ve been looking for an excuse to tell her off.” 

“Well, we can’t keep you from that, now can we.” Hannibal cupped your cheek in his hand and looked at your face admiringly. “There should be a clean nightgown for you on the bed. Please tell Will I’ll be ready for him in a couple minutes.” 

“Wow, you really did think of everything.” You rocked back on your heels and swung to your tip toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll let him know.” 

He kissed you back. “Thank you, my indulgence.” 

“Just one more thing.” You stopped in the threshold. “Could I please use your computer?” 

“I don’t see why not.” Hannibal looked up from the quickly draining tub. “By all means, what’s mine is yours.” 

You smiled and blew him a kiss before absconding into the bedroom. 

The nightgown he’d laid out for you had far more ruffles and lace than you’d consider appropriate for sleepwear, but it was comfortable and fit you well. 

You passed the message along to Will, but hurriedly. You were in a rush to be alone. You had some business to attend to.

You sat at Hannibal's desk, turned on his lamp and logged into your google drive on his computer. While you waited for the content to fully load, you scrolled through your contacts. When you found the demon, you pressed the green dial button.

It didn't take her long to pick up. "[F/N]! Finally, I've been trying to call you all night."

"Yeah, I know." You rolled your eyes. "Some of us have lives to live. Not that you'd know anything about that."

"No need to be snippy." She scolded. "I have an offer for you."

"If it doesn't involve a portion of ad revenue, I'm not interested." You shook your head. "I'm not settling for a flat fee while you make the real money off my experience. My goddamn trauma."

"Sounds like we woke up and chose bitchy today." She teased. "You're not even going to hear me out?"

"Freddie," you began, pulling up a document on the computer. "I happen to have a four-page, comprehensive statement of what happened that night right here. Half of it was cut out for the FBI report."

You could practically hear Freddie drooling already. "And?"

"I won't accept anything under $1200 for it." You finished. "Or 30% of all ad revenue on this article."

"That's not fair." She protested. "Best I can do is $750."

"You made ten times that off my first article." You leaned back in the chair. "Don't try to lowball me, Lounds, I can do this all night."

"Since when were you the assertive type?" She asked, deflecting the conversation.

"Remember when you told me my fifteen minutes of fame was running out and you were my only option to get my story out there?" You recalled.

"At the time, I was right." Freddie contested.

"That was before Chase went from a cokehead to a domestic terrorist." You said. "Now I actually can take it to a more reputable outlet."

"But here you are anyway." She said. "Extorting a small, woman-owned independent news site just for the hell of it. I've got bills to pay, y'know."

"With gaslighting like that, I'm sure they're astronomical." You rolled your eyes. Sighing, you propped your knees against the desk. "Look, I don't hate you, Freddie."

"I don't hate you either." She agreed. "I thought trashing each other was just our mutual love language."

"The only reason I'm considering TattleCrime at all is you." You admitted. "You're loud and unapologetic and it makes people listen to you. I need someone who can take the heat."

"Because you know that mainstream news outlets are going to cut your writing down to maintain the status quo." Freddie finished your thought.

You pursed your lips. "Exactly. You're the only one who's got the cajones to run the whole story."

"I'm flattered." She said, then paused. "If I move some things around, I can probably get you $1000."

You opened a new tab and typed some words into the search bar. You scrolled through the results, leaving Freddie without an answer.

"Hello?" She said. "[F/N]? Did I lose you?"

"How soon can you pay?" You asked.

Your phone buzzed. You had a notification from paypal. A thousand dollars from Fredrica Lounds.

"Right fucking now." She answered.

"You've got yourself a deal." You said, firmly. You typed out Freddie's email address and pushed send. "It's all yours."

[ficsnroses]

𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 - 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜

Johnny Silverhand x female! V. 

summary : johnny holds V when she feels overwhelmed, leading to a realization. 

warnings : all fluff, some angst. very minor anxiety, nothing big! 1.7k words.

notes : felt like writing some soft johnny content after the smut fest from last week, hope you enjoy! comments and feedback appreciated. 

       Morning will come, they say; It has to.

It’s all wrong.

She’d sensed it in the air, tasted it on her tongue; known it through the uneven beat of her weary heart.

She wasn’t supposed to wind up here. It wasn’t supposed to get this fucked. A tightness stills in her chest, a dark loom, frayed grey clouds thud inside. Fear gnawed at her heart, boiled in each vein; gnawed and gnawed and gnawed. Within the deep folds of her apartment, she stands at the kitchen counter; an untouched pour of crystal water cold at her fingertip.

As if a drink would subdue, sate the tremble inside.

A grey cloud persists as she tries to blink, little by little, desperately trying to rid the blades that cut, the ones that sink into her skin with each breath.

“You know,” He begins, voice buttery, cynical. “Standing isn’t gonna do anything.” He appears often, this holographic parasite chained to her wrist. The ruins of a man who once ruled the world, now, just a speech in her ear. Someone to assure her she was still real. Still alive; or so she’d hoped-

that dagger cut the most; she wasn’t even sure she really existed. If he even did, if anything after the black really unfolded.

She wonders how she got here. How things got this way; how she let them snowball this way. Above all, above most, an epiphany rung true, a realization simmers in her veins.  

Somewhere along the way, his voice had begun to feel warm.

Began to feel like home. Somewhere through blurred lines and sour regrets, a companion he’d become. Someone to feel un-alone.

“People who want something go out and grab it.” The tone of his voice holds a deep ring, something hoarse, thick. “Get it done”. The words, syllables, vowels merely reach her fraught ears, the sounds dying as they brew in her head.

     A deep breath in, she exhales.

     A tense of hands, they fall to her sides.

     A gulp, heavy swallow in her sore throat, fingers nipping over the tense lump.

She crumbles. A mountain of a woman crumbles, feared for what would be to come.

Something churns inside her stomach, and he notices. He can feel it too, her dread, the heft in her lungs. Just the same, he hadn’t planned on being bound. Her memories blend with his, her vulnerabilities mirror. Somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten which feelings were his own. Two damned souls, filled with anger. Somewhere within the muddle, he felt it too. There was hatred, part of him thought she’d hate him forever. She’d want him gone, out of her head.

First impressions are always hard to undo. Memories don’t come and go so easily.

Yet within the muddle, he felt it too.

Companionship. The world forgot him, but she remembers. She hears, she sees. She feels the shell of a man that once was, hears him through all his rage, his hurt, his fury.

There’s good in her, he knows. He feels it in his bones.

And maybe in another lifetime, this could be something more. They could be, something more.

       Maybe in another lifetime, they’ll fit together.

His silver gaze glints, monochrome eyes shone as he takes a step forward, a noticeable ease in his gait as he moves to her leisurely, hesitantly. “V?” Slow, cautious, he watches her from a distance. He’d never seen her this way before, devastated. “Hey,” Closer and closer, his footsteps thud. They near, yet she doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. A weight sears inside, a burn in each inhale. A deep baritone flows softer as he nears, vigilant. His stare falls threaded, scanning each inch of her worn limbs. Blankly, her eyes fix the floor, empty, stoic. “V.” He offers again, this time, a statement more. Guarded, he gazes the irregularity of her breath, the way a gentle chest flows uneven with shallow, fortified inhales.

The ground beneath her is fading away, he knows. He feels her in his bones. “V?” An inquire again, dust eyes seem almost opal through the dew, she finds it difficult to move. Move, whispers her head. Move. Move. Move. “V!” There had been an almost forceful shift beside her, Johnny growing increasingly alarmed; and she’d felt an primitive fear spear her heart, squeezing her lungs for a moment too long.

It had been the type of fear that couldn’t be stopped. An irrational purge of something a worn mind couldn’t explain, couldn’t comprehend.

The rich of his voice halts in her ears, the call of her name a seemingly helpless plea and consolation, all at once. “V, listen to my voice.” He speaks, assured, calmed. The vibrations flow steady through her body, the wave of his tone a special solace she’d never thought she’d find. Her eyes find his at last, lip quivering ever so slight. The gaze settles, piercing into his in plea, and the look haunts him.

Haunts him, before it’s had time to sink into his fretful realization.

She was breaking before him. “Hey, kid,” he allows, voice softer than ever before; a beautiful velvet of concern rich on his tongue. “You’ll be okay.” His cocoa kissed hair falters in hues under warm apartment lights, and he inches closer, heavy hand reaching, for her. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t flinch.

She holds back a frown; she clenches her heart inside her chest. She bids to feel numb. The pain had become achingly familiar.

Slow, gentle; his hand finds her back, supporting a fragile frame; his spare moving to hold hers. For the first time, his larger fingers thread with hers, they lace. He holds her fragile hand in his, he holds it with care. Pained eyes stare at her, expression unfolding, and she still seems lost. Lost within the jumble around.

He hadn’t been used to this; this phenomenon of touch. Affection.

But maybe, just maybe, surely, he gave a fuck about her. His eyes soften, a faint smile curling his lips just for her. A hope to offer relief. To show her someone; even if merely an apparition, was there.

Someone has her. Gently, cautiously, he grips her tight, secure, leading her drained frame to a hoary couch. He holds her hand with sincerity, he leads her with regard. He could get used to this; touch.

Smoothly, he guides her, urging to sit, finding place adjacent right beside her; and in the tenderness of the moment, his arm finds itself traveling, finding refuge wrapped to her back, his other finding form around. Within the softness of the moment, he cautiously, carefully, envelopes her, and she crumbles into him.

She nestles into his chest, eyes closing as she slowly leans heavily into him for support, her own tattered arms wrapping tightly around him in return. Wet cheeks press to his bare collarbone, and his ghastly heart aches. Beats painfully, for her.

Fingers soft, gentle, he runs them against her skin, breathing deeply at the way she curls into him further, a mellow weep escaping the depths of her throat. “I…” She begins, breath uneven still. “I had this feeling, so peculiar…” The firmness of his jaw tightens as he holds her, offering gentle strokes to her skin. “I know.” He speaks quietly, guarded. “I know, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. The first wave of contentment simmers in her veins.

His hold on her body seemed to fill the void.

The moments pass, punctuated by soft sighs, the rise and fall of his broad chest under her form. Warm, his skin feels right against hers; his heart quietly fumbles in his chest. It had been far too long since he’d held someone this way, since he’d been held in return.

To be held; something so simple, yet so direly powerful. Heavy arms wrap around her waist like irons, strong, unbending, drawing her secure back against a warm chest.

She hadn’t known Johnny was warm.

She hadn’t known something kind resides within him.

Gazing up, she meets his stare; his eye gleam with something that makes her sigh softly. Something that makes that ache inside her chest feel, that maybe, just maybe,

       in his arms right now, there was no place she’d rather be.

       no other blues in the world would do.

The hand that holds her waist loosens, opting to swiftly, gently caress hers in his, fingers intertwining as he lays it to his gear glad chest. “You’ll be okay, kid.” He breathes against the shell of her ear, a shiver, a shudder vying down her spine at the low baritone. “I’ve got you.” he holds her small, brittle fingers. The same brittle fingers that reached, reached feebly for him. They reach, they reach, they reach all at once, nestling closer, his skin pulling her in further than she’d already been.

and to a hum softly off her colour stained lips, the twitch of her mouth quivers apparent as she rests her cheek against his chest, feeling him plant a small, lingering, genuine kiss to the crown of her distraught head; lost in the sea of her hair.

A kiss to her hair. An ode to what could have been.

Perhaps, he’d been imprudently hoping to mend the cracks in her soul. Perhaps, his heart remembers what they took from him once.

    Perhaps, perhaps.

Perhaps with her, he can simply…be. The firmness of his jaw loosens, and his arms only hold her tighter.

In this moment, she seems surreal. This smaller, vulnerable, force of a women curled into him seems surreal. The words he feels bubble inside, the delicateness of his realization feels far too heavy; and her shoulders seem far too frail.

       he loves her, he knows. He battles, coils, toils within, but he knows.

And to her, in his arms;

yellow, the world seemed.

golden, yellow.

Sleep comes slowly, slowly, all then all at once.

She’d fallen asleep in his arms, somewhere along the reveries passed.

His realization had come; all at once. With her in his arms, his realization had come; an ode to sleep he whispers.

He felt himself smile faintly into her hair. In his arms tonight, she hurts, withers, wilts. And he feels himself bleed,

    for her.

yellow,

yellow,

red,

black. He feels them all, 

he bleeds them all.

   But morning will come; it has to.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

hope ya liked it! I have a permanent taglist I use for all stories, which are mainly for John Wick. if you would like to be tagged in just future Silverhand fics, lemme know and I can add you to that! 

[harrin-king]

prompt: pre-Harringrove. Steve inadvertently sees how Neil treats Billy after a bb game or dropping off Max or something. Billy thinks Steve is going to use info against him. Steve gains his trust somehow.

Warnings for parental abuse of minors and for homophobic language (specifically the f-slur). 

It’s the first game Steve’s been cleared to play in since that night and he’s fucking exhausted. He’s out of shape from the practices he’s missed, and he still can’t breathe quite right, like his nose healed wrong or something. 

It was obvious to anyone watching, too. He played like shit and Billy didn’t pick up the slack like Steve thought he would. No. He just kept shooting grimaces at Steve, nervous glances at the stands, a feral narrowing of his eyes at anyone who came near him, teammates and opposition alike. 

Destroying Steve’s face and Hawkin’s chances to go to the championships, all in a few weeks. Billy was something, alright. 

Steve rested his beat-up, tired frame against the brick outside the gym, tucked into the same alleyway where he stood when Nancy made clear, for the second time in 24 hours, that she didn’t love him. 

He tries to catch his breath, pours the remnants of his water bottle over his face, swipes his hands over his eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. 

There’s footsteps outside of Steve’s alcove, voices too. The rest of the team must be done in the locker room. It doesn’t matter- whoever is walking by will breeze right past him in the dark. 

But it’s not the rest of the team, there’s only one voice, only two sets of feet walking by. 

“You really are pathetic, you know that?” Steve can see the speaker, a mustached man, but not much else. Whoever is on the receiving end of this comment doesn’t respond, making it impossible for Steve to guess which of his teammates is getting chewed out. 

“Honestly. You were shit at baseball, now you’re shit at basketball. Your sister can play basketball. Gary’s kid from back home could play basketball and his kid was a fucking faggot. You think that reflects well on me? On our family?”

The second voice speaks up. “Not my sister.” 

Billy. 

There’s the sickening sound of a mass of a body hitting brick, the impact of a skull soon after. 

“That’s what you’re choosing to correct me on? Don’t tell me my son is a faggot too.” 

Steve’s entire body may still hurt from Billy’s fists, but it’s taking every ounce of his will to not put a stop to what he’s overhearing, to not shove this man away from his son. 

“No, sir.” Billy’s voice is so quiet, so- so broken, that Steve feels stunned. There’s no bravado, no confidence. There’s just fear, numbness to what’s occurring, an indication that this has happened before and it will happen again. 

“So I raised a faggot and a liar.” There’s one more blow, a kick maybe. 

“You can walk home. I’m driving Susan and Maxine now.” A pause. “And the door will be locked by the time you get back.” 

Billy’s father walks away. After a few moments of sickening silence, there’s a gasp of breath that morphs into a sob.

It occurs to Steve that he should do something. Leave so that Billy can save face. Run to Billy to comfort him. 

Call Hopper so that this never happens again. 

But before Steve can make the choice, Billy’s body drags itself into Steve’s alley. 

With his head down, tucked to his chest, Billy takes a few more gasping breaths. It dawns on Steve that Billy’s crying. 

“Um,” Steve clears his throat.

Billy’s head whips up, causing him to wince in pain, and then his face drains of blood. He rushes to stand. 

“Harrington. What the fuck are you doing here?”

Hiding in an alley to catch my breath because I think you’ve permanently destroyed my nose. 

“Just. Decompressing?” 

Fury overtakes Billy’s face, then fear. It looks so foreign on him, so unlike Billy Hargrove, that Steve wants to throw up. “Don’t you dare tell anyone, Harrington. Don’t you fucking dare.” 

Steve’s taken aback. “Wha-”

“I swear, Harrington.” Billy’s closer now, getting in Steve’s face. “You tell anyone what just happened, what you saw, what you-” he grimaces. “-heard. I’ll make breaking a plate over your head feel like a picnic.” 

Steve just blinks at him. He doesn’t feel threatened, just concerned. Just desperate to help, to fix this. “Why would I tell anyone?” 

Billy laughs, even though Steve can tell it’s hurting his head to do so. “Don’t play dumb. You have every reason to hate me. Whatever petty revenge plot is going through your head, just forget about it.” 

Steve must look unconvinced because the cruel laugh slips from Billy’s face, something resembling desperation replacing it. “Please, Steve.”

This use of his name jolts him from his silence. “I’m not going to. I- I know what that’s like, shitty fathers. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t do that.” 

Billy still looks wary. 

“Last year. Jonathan Byers beat the shit out of me. When my dad saw, he… he was really upset. With me, though, not with Jonathan. Called me a pussy, a… a fag for getting beat by someone like Byers. He didn’t give a fuck that I was hurt.”

Billy raises an eyebrow, though Steve can’t decipher it’s meaning, so he presses on. “So, there. Now you know some shitty thing that my dad did to me. And that I got the shit beat out of me by Jonathan of all people. Now I can’t tell anyone about what just happened to you, cause you can double back, yeah?” 

Finally, Billy looks up at him, making eye contact for the first time since they’ve been talking. He gives a sad smile. “Sure, pretty boy. But at least when your dad said it, it wasn’t true.” 

Confusion runs through Steve, then realization. Billy is-

Oh. 

Steve thinks about the way Billy spoke to him in the showers, the antagonistic way he’d goad on him in basketball. Am I dreaming, or is that you Harrington? 

He thinks about sleepovers with Tommy, limbs tangling a little too close, fingers and thighs brushing when they shouldn’t. 

He thinks about Billy’s eyes, so blue, like an ocean he’s never seen. He thinks about how seeing pain in those eyes made him hurt too. Yeah, it’s me. Don’t cream your pants. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Hargrove.” 

Billy looks up at him, bewildered. 

“Come on, I’ll drive you home. We can stop for a burger, if you want. That game was fuckin’ brutal.” 

Billy laughs and Steve thinks he sees Billy’s real smile for the first time. “Yeah. Fuckin’ brutal.”

[acciowests]

19 with elorcan?

i had so much fun with this, two-year-old cal has my whole heart, he's so adorable

Bubbles and Baked Goods

WORD COUNT: 1707

PROMPT: Little one needing an emergency bath.

"There he goes again," chuckled Elide, her hand cupped over Lorcan's where it rested on her very pregnant stomach.

They'd just put Cal down for his nap, the toddler tucked up in his bedroom whilst he and Elide had some alone time downstairs. Nowadays, alone time just meant being in each other's company without their two-year-old climbing all over them. Lorcan had put on the new episode of their favourite show, letting his wife curl against him. With her bulging stomach, she could hardly get comfortable, but in his lap with her head on his shoulder, she was finally able to settle. Now, his hands were rested on her stomach, feeling the seven-month-old babe kicking and squirming inside her.

"He's moving so much more than Cal ever did," Lorcan commented, hand circling Elide's tummy.

She nodded in agreement, shuffling a little so her back was to his chest, "I'd be happy about that except his most active time is night-time… No wonder I'm so tired."

He let out a laugh, pressing a kiss to her hair, "I know, I'm sorry baby. Not long until he's here though... but we won't be getting much sleep then either."

She hummed, shifting forward until she was off him completely, going to stand and stretching awkwardly on her feet, "Speaking of, that son of yours is being eerily quiet. It's been an hour so he should have woken up like fifteen minutes ago."

He reached out, grabbing her hand and pulling her back toward him, "Five more minutes, babe. C'mon, I'll even give you a foot massage, you did say your ankle's been playing up again."

"As tempting as that sounds," she sighed, pulling from his grip and making her way to the stairs, "I'd rather go collect Cal than wait for him to start crying for us. You know how much he hates being stuck in his cot once he wakes up."

He watched her go, one hand on the stair railing and the other cupping her back. He'd definitely have to give her a massage later once Cal had gone to bed, maybe if they were lucky they could have some actual alone time too. Reaching for the control, he skipped through the channels, knowing that Cal would probably want Paw Patrol on but putting on the sports channel just in case. He was somewhat immersed in the ice hockey game when Elide's voice came, echoing down the stairs.

"Lorcan!" she called, "Lor, quick!"

He had never moved so quickly, taking two stairs at a time as he rushed toward his son's room. When he entered, pushing open the door, he first noticed Elide. She was sat on the floor, away from Cal's crib and was looking down at something. A giggle erupted from the corner and he followed the sound, finding Cal where he sat happily before Elide. Only, it was clear she hadn't put him there, hadn't even collected him from his cot. His little two-year-old baby boy had managed to climb down from his crib and emptied the art cabinet. Now, he had covered himself in the paints they had been playing with before his nap, yellow pigment spread across his cheeks, his hands smothered in red and blue that appeared in prints across his arms, legs, and clothes. Luckily, the cream carpet had been rescued, Cal sitting on his blue rug and not having ventured yet to painting the walls.

He clapped, paint splattering like freckles over him, "Dada, look, paint!"

Letting out a sigh, he collapsed down next to Elide, "Right, yeah, I see that, buddy."

Cal giggled again and Elide pressed her head to Lorcan's shoulder in defeat as their son only made more mess. He picked up a paintbrush before decisively dipping it into the yellow paint that, luckily, was beginning to dry up. "Mama," he started, waving the brush toward her, "Paint Mama's belly yellow like the sun!"

She could only laugh, smiling at her little boy and making Lorcan's heart leap, "That sounds like a great idea, bud. But, could we do that tomorrow? Mommy would really like to clean you up in the bath right now."

Cal frowned, his little lip pouting and Lorcan swept in, knowing that while he would love to play with their son, painting in the bedroom wasn't quite the best idea, "We can play with bubbles and Mr Quackers, and you can even have some cookies when you get out."

He perked up at that, "Cookies and milk?"

Lorcan nodded, unable to hide his grin, "Cookies and milk, promise. Now, why don't you let mommy undress you while I go fill the tub, is that okay?"

Cal nodded, dropping his paintbrush and moving over to Elide, lifting his hands so she could remove his shirt. She chuckled, shaking her head at them both as Lorcan pressed a kiss to her head and disappeared down the hall, telling her to shout if she needed anything. He prepared the bath, warm but not too warm, filling it with all of Cal's toys and adding in the bubbles. It still felt like yesterday when they were giving him his first bath as a newborn. He didn't know where all the time had gone.

He turned to look over his shoulder as the door creaked open, Elide stood with Cal on her hip, all ready for his bath. "There are my three favourite people," he beamed, jaw aching with the weight of his smile as Cal put his hand on his mother's bump, leaning into her affectionately.

Elide waddled over, setting Cal down on the edge of the bath so he could dip his chubby hand in, "Is the temperature okay, bud? Warm enough?"

Cal nodded, swinging his legs around and gripping Lorcan's arm as he stepped into the bath. While Lorcan remained leaning over the side, ready to lift Cal if he slipped or assist him when he was soaked and ready to be cleaned, Elide sat atop of the toilet, seat down as she lent back, hands on her tummy as she watched her boys. Cal splashed happily, toys in hand as he sat at the bottom of the tub, the soapy water coming up to the middle of his chest. Lorcan moved forward, taking the jug from the side of the bath and filling it with the warm water.

"Daddy's just going to pour this over your arms okay?" he explained, smiling at his son as Cal held his arms out, Lorcan using one hand to pour and the other to rub gently.

"Look, Dada!" he squealed, flapping his arms in the water as the paint slowly washed off, "A rainbow in the water!"

Where the paint had merged, there was indeed a questionable mix of colour in the bubbles. Lorcan just smiled, continuing to pour and using a cloth to rub the last of the paint that had completely dried against his arms, "I know, super cool, right? Let me just get the rest off, bubs, then you can play."

With his other hand, he was already putting his rubber duck in the paint infested waters. Kicking out his feet and splashing Lorcan in the process. When it came to bathing, it was very rare that he or Elide didn't get wet, so he just sighed, continuing until his arms were clean and allowing him a minute to play. "Don't forget his face," commented Elide from where she sat across the room, "and rinse his hair, just in case."

He nodded, already refilling the jug with fresh water, away from the mess that Cal was currently sitting in. They'd have to rinse him quickly in the shower afterwards. As he leant over, rinsing the cloth and maneuvering Cal so he was sat facing him rather than to the side, he began rubbing it gently over his cheeks, not wanting it to be rough and irritate the sensitive skin.

"Is that okay, buddy? The cloth isn't too rough is it?" asked Elide, trying to shuffle closer while still sitting and wanting to assist in any way she could. Lorcan knew if it weren't for her swollen stomach and aching back, she would be down here, kneeling and leaning and playing with their adorably messy toddler.

"It's okay, Mama," he replied, eyes shut as Lorcan went over the paint that had somehow gotten in his eyebrows. Lorcan couldn't help but chuckle, rinsing the cloth one more time and brushing it over his skin just to make sure everything was gone.

"Okay bud, you can open your eyes. I'm just gonna wash your hair quickly and then we can rinse you off and you can have your cookies and milk." Lorcan passed Cal's towel to Elide, her standing and getting ready as Lorcan switched on the shower, using the head to wash Cal's hair and then getting him to stand as the bathwater drained, washing down any remnants of the paint and bubbles from his body until he was stood all fresh and clean.

"Alrighty," Elide beamed, coming in and sweeping up Cal, wrapping the towel around him and pressing kisses to his cheek, "My handsome baby."

Cal giggled, pressing his head into Elide's neck and allowing her to rub his back and run her hands through his hair. She swayed on the spot, rubbing the towel gently over Cal's skin and drying him off as she waited for Lorcan. He hung the cloths on the side of the bath, letting them dry off, putting all of Cal's toys in their basket and rinsing the bath quickly with the showerhead, making sure all the paint had gone down the drain with the rest of the water. When he was ready, he turned back, slipping his arm around Elide's waist and pressing a kiss to Cal's temple, winking at his son as he turned with a smile to his father, reaching his arms out. Lorcan took Cal, resting him on his hip and wrapping the towel tightly around him, making sure he didn't get cold. Taking Elide's hand, the three—technically four—of them made their way back to Cal's bedroom, ready to dress him, clean up what was left of the paints, and collect his much-deserved cookies and milk.

* * *

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[iamanartichoke]

Fic prompt: If you feel like doing another hurt/comfort with Mobius, I would love a version of that end scene where Loki's freaking out but it actually is our Mobius. So Mobius listens to everything Loki has to say, and then they just kind of...take a breath, I suppose, before whatever they're going to do to fight Kang - perhaps Loki gets some tea, and/or an actual meal, a little sleep maybe (has he eaten since that cake on the train or slept since that brief nap in ep 2??), or whatever comfort-y stuff you want - I just need that sweet fic healing lmao.

@scintillatingshortgirl19 Thank you for the prompt and I hope you like it! <3

Summary: Takes place at the end of episode 6, where instead of saying "Who are you?" Mobius knows Loki and they pick up from where they left off in the void. Word Count: 1956 Author’s notes: I'm not feeling super confident with these prompts, so please don't judge me bear with me as I dust off my little writer-brain gears and try to find my footing with these new characters and characterizations.

Completed prompts.

*

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mobius is saying, holding his hands up, but Loki can’t stop talking. The words are spilling from him; he’s tripping over them, and from the look on Mobius’s face Loki knows he’s not making sense, but still, he can’t stop.

“He’s set on war,” Loki babbles. “We need to prepare, Mobius.”

“Hang on.” When Loki pauses to take a breath, Mobius reaches out and places his hands on Loki’s shoulders. It’s almost comical, the way he needs to reach, as Loki towers over him. Yet Loki feels very small, too, and doesn’t protest the contact. “You’re speaking faster than my brain can process words. Breathe, okay? Start at the beginning.”

Loki doesn’t know when the beginning was. It could have been the moment he’d leapt up and grabbed Sylvie’s arm before she could land a fatal blow to their enemy; it could have been all those days (or months, or hours, Loki has no idea; time, for him, has completely ceased to exist) ago that he’d landed in a Midgardian desert and the TVA immediately swarmed upon him.

“You’re not understanding me.” Frustration colors Loki’s tone. “There’s no time to stop; he’s - they’re - coming.”

“You’re right, I’m not understanding you.” Mobius lets go of Loki’s shoulders and rubs the back of his neck. “I want to, but you gotta slow down and fill me in, okay?”

“Maybe we should take him somewhere,” says B-15. Loki had barely noticed her but now he steps back, his gaze flicking from her to Mobius, taking in the confusion on both of their faces.

“You don’t look so good,” B-15 adds, taking in Loki’s appearance. He must be a sight, he realizes; his hair is matted and tangled and he feels grimy, his skin caked with so much dirt and blood from injuries he doesn’t remember getting.

But, what difference does it make? Loki turns back to Mobius, desperate. “Mobius, listen to me. Sylvie and I -”

“Come on.” Mobius cuts him off. He moves in, taking one of Loki’s arms. “You can tell me everything, okay, Loki? I just need you to calm down and to come with me, preferably before you pass out. Hauling around a five hundred pound demigod wasn’t on my to-do list today.”

Loki bites back a sharp retort. He’s vaguely aware of B-15 taking his other arm, and it’s only once Loki’s shoulders slump and he allows himself to be led away from the shelves that the exhaustion hits him. He’s been running high on adrenaline for hours, and now that he’s moving slowly, supported on either side, all of that energy seems to drain from him at once. His knees buckle.

“Careful,” Mobius says. Were it not for him and B-15 holding him up, Loki is certain he would have collapsed. He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on placing one foot in front of the other, not caring where they’re going. The archives, the time theater, one place is the same as another.

They move through halls that are bustling with activity, minutemen running and disembodied voices crackling over speakers. They don’t know it’s pointless, no amount of hunters in the field will matter or make a difference.

He thinks he says so, or perhaps he just imagines he does. Neither Mobius nor B-15 acknowledge him, at any rate; they only keep moving and after awhile, they arrive at the dormitories, where Loki has not been since the first day Mobius brought him here as an official TVA employee.

“Why are we here?” Loki asks, confused.

“So you can get a shower and a change of clothes,” Mobius says simply, “and then we can have some coffee and you can tell me what happened after the void.”

Loki sighs, and then nods, resisting the urge to insist that everything else could wait (until when?), because Mobius isn’t understanding the precariousness of the situation, but he knows it won’t do any good.

“Fine,” he says instead, giving up. The sooner he does what Mobius asks, the sooner Mobius will listen.

He’d not realized just how badly he needed that shower and change of clothes until he’s scrubbed the dirt and blood from his skin and allowed the hot water to beat over his sore muscles and rapidly-forming bruises. For lack of anything else to wear, he puts on a clean suit, fastening the cuffs firmly around his wrists and buttoning the collar up to his neck.

He’s sick of this outfit; he never wants to see it again but, without his magic, he has no other choice.

In the dormitory kitchen, Mobius is brewing a pot of coffee. He looks up when Loki walks in, and his mouth quirks in a half smile. “Better,” he says, “but you could still probably use some sleep and a meal.”

“Stop fussing,” Loki snaps, irritated with Mobius’s sudden desire to hover over him like a governess hovering over a petulant child who won’t eat his peas. “I hate coffee, by the way.”

“You’ve never had my coffee,” Mobius retorts, sounding unbothered. “Just sit down, okay? You still look like hell, is my point. When’s the last time anyone fussed over you, anyway?”

Loki makes a scoffing noise as he drops down into a chair at one of the small kitchen tables. “I’m sure my mother did at some point, I don’t remember.” Actually, he remembers very well that it was always his mother who looked after him when he was sick or tired or lonely, until he’d grown too old to allow himself to seek her out for comfort.

But he doesn’t want to think of his mother, who is lost to him and perhaps lost to the real Loki as well, the sacred timeline’s Loki, if enough time has progressed and Malekith has indeed run her through with a sword and left her bleeding out on the palace floor.

Loki shudders as he thinks of it, remembering the sight of his mother’s lifeless body projected onto a screen. He’d been helpless to stop it, utterly powerless, just as ultimately he’d been powerless to stop Sylvie.

His mother, dead. Sylvie, lost to him. The timeline destroyed - the end of everything. The weight of it all crashes over him; had he not already been sitting, the sheer despair of it would have brought him to his knees.

Loki drops his head into his hands instead, thinking back to Mobius’s words that first day: you were born to cause pain and suffering and death.

In retrospect, Loki knows that Mobius was merely fighting dirty, using whatever words necessary to break Loki down - the ends justify the means, and all that - but he wasn’t goddamn wrong.

How could Loki have ever believed, even for a second, that he could possibly change?

We write our own destinies now, he’d told that creepy little clock hologram, and she’d smirked, seen right through the words because they were rubbish and they both knew it.

Good luck with that.

Loki doesn’t realize he’s crying until Mobius sets down a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. He lifts his head and rubs tiredly at his tear-stained cheeks, unable to meet Mobius’s gaze as Mobius sits down across from him with his own mug.

“Here,” Mobius adds, reaching into his inside blazer pocket. He pulls out a slim, red candy stick wrapped in plastic and hands that to Loki as well.

Loki stares at it. “What is this?”

“Something better than grapes or nuts,” Mobius says dryly. “It’s a Twizzler. Popular Earth candy. I’d say don’t tell anyone I’ve stashed a bunch, but …” He trails off and shrugs, glancing around at the kitchen with forced amusement. “Doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?”

He pulls out a second Twizzler and unwraps the plastic, then bites into the candy. Loki watches him for a moment, and then imitates him. “Gross,” he says, after he’s taken a bite. It’s a very bland candy, with texture not unlike rubber. “Think I prefer grapes.”

“Well, maybe Twizzlers are an acquired taste,” says Mobius.

Loki finishes the Twizzler anyway, and then takes a sip of coffee. He does usually dislike coffee, but either he’s hungrier than he’d realized or Mobius has a gift, because this cup is actually quite good.

“Okay, now let’s go back to the beginning,” Mobius prompts, after a silence. He drums his fingertips against the table. “What happened? I’m assuming you were able to enchant the murder cloud?”

All of the words that had been spilling from Loki’s lips before, so desperate to be released, now get stuck somewhere in his throat. He wraps his hands around his mug and takes another sip of coffee, wondering idly how long it had been since he’d actually had something warm to drink. Or eat, for that matter. The train on Lamentis, perhaps. A moment ago, a lifetime ago.

“We did,” he finally says. Despite the coffee, a chill breaks out over his skin and he sets the mug down, choosing to fold his arms as if to fold into himself for warmth. “We made it past Alioth and found him - the one who’s responsible for all of this.”

Just like that, the words are no longer stuck. Loki pours out the entire story, starting from when he and Sylvie had crossed the threshold into the citadel and ending with his own tumble back through the tempad’s portal into the TVA.

But he omits the kiss, only mentioning that Sylvie had distracted him to get the upper hand. He’ll never speak of it - either that Sylvie had used his feelings for her in order to betray him, or that he’d fallen for it (of course he’d fallen for it; for a few seconds there, he’d let himself believe - but, it doesn’t matter, it wasn’t real, and there are bigger problems now).

“She closed the portal before I could get back through it,” Loki says. He notices that he’s twisting his fingers together so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. He forces himself to stop. “I can only imagine she finished the job after that because, well.” He barks a laugh that sounds, even to his own ears, broken and pathetic. He used to be so good at maintaining a cool, calm facade but it, like so many other things, had been steadily breaking apart, piece by piece. There is very little left to guard the scared little ice runt who trembles at the core.

“Look at the timeline,” he adds; he laughs again and rubs his eyes against a fresh wave of tears.

For a long time, neither of them say anything. Loki finishes his coffee and Mobius eats two more Twizzlers before another word is spoken.

“So we lost.” Mobius’s voice is hollow. “We lost before we could begin to fight.”

“I’m sorry.”

Mobius shrugs. He runs a hand over his short, gray hair before letting out a laugh of his own. “He Who Remains,” he repeats, more to himself than to Loki.

Loki allows a beat to pass. “We have to try to fix it, Mobius.” The only way to ease the weight of his guilt, Loki knows, is if he goes back and tries to make it right - or to die trying.

“How are we supposed to do that?” It’s Mobius’s turn to rub his eyes. His shoulders slump and for a moment, he looks very tired. Older. Loki studies him and wonders, fleetingly, if the real Mobius is someone’s father. “I don’t even know where to begin, Loki.”

“I might.” Loki straightens. Deep down, beneath the anguish, a seed of determination has taken hold and he focuses on that; a lifeline. “But you’ll need to trust me.”

[forever-rogue]

Afterglow - Part 6

A/N: Honey Bee finally made the smartest decision of her life in the last chapter and now...time to deal with the fallout. Thank you guys for supporting and loving this story too! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx 💕

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: None

AFTERGLOW MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Spitting out the toothpaste into the sink, you groaned slightly when you realized that you had left your mouthwash back on your desk. Tilting your head under the tap, you got a mouthful of water and swished it around in your mouth, trying to get the last bits of toothpaste out.

When you were satisfied with the lackluster brushing, you quickly splashed some cold water onto your face to wake yourself up. But it was no use - you still looked as tired and dragged out as you felt. There were dark circles under your eyes, your lips were chapped and cracked, and the joy you normally held in your eyes was all but gone. You had been going through the motions for the last three, feeling more like an empty shell than anything else. 

But you felt liberated - free. More so than you had in a long time. That in itself made your current struggle worth it.

Grabbing your toothpaste, toothbrush, and hairbrush, you stalked out of the bathroom, ready to slink back to your office before anyone else arrived. 

Looking furtively around the hall, you walked the short distance to your own office, almost making it to safety when you heard your name being called softly. Groaning inwardly, you cleared your throat and turned around, plastering on the best smile you could.

"Ally," you said softly, "y-you're here early!"

"I was just thinking the same thing," she joked, and while you could tell she meant no harm, it still caused you to panic slightly. She was well aware of you calling off your engagement, hell the whole world seemed to know, but she never seemed to pity you for it. Her eyes flicked to the items in your hands as a warmth crept into your chest and blossomed over your whole face, "I'm meeting a client early this morning because it was the only thing that fit into his schedule. Are you..."

You remained silent for a moment, hanging your head before letting out a long sigh, "look, I've just been staying here since things ended with Chad. I'm trying to find my own place, but its been a bit of a difficult go. Turns that a lot of people don't want to rent to you if you happen to have supposedly wronged Chad Williams. It seems like everyone knows him."

She reached out and gave your shoulder a soft, reassuring squeeze. Meeting her eyes, you found a small smile on her face, luckily not one of pity, "I'm sorry he's making things miserable still. I'm guessing your parents are out of the question?"

"Absolutely not an option," you admitted with a stiff laugh, "my mom seemed okay at first but she and my father quickly came to the conclusion that I was in the wrong and making a horrible mistake. They insisted I was just going through a phase because of nerves. When I told them I was sure about my decision and wasn’t going back, they all but...disowned me. Imagine the shame I’ve brought upon them in their minds...they’re so old fashioned. Maybe they’ll come around one day.”

"Yikes," she said as you nodded, "can I be honest with you?"

"Of course."

"I never liked him," she admitted softly, causing you to almost give yourself whiplash as you looked over at her, "there was just something about him that was off. I think - I know, you can do so much better."

"Thank you," you said as you laughed lightly, trying to hold the tears that threatened to well up at bay, "I hope so too."

"I mean it," she insisted, "you're kind, smart, pretty, and you've got a good heart. What more could anyone ask for?"

"Apparently a dutiful, quiet little wife..."

"Very funny," she teased, "why don't you come and stay with us? While you get your own place? We've got an extra bedroom that's not being used, and it's much better than staying here. Have you been sleeping on your hard old couch?”

"Yes..."

"Absolutely not," she shook her head, "come over when you're done for the day. We'll get the room ready for you. Anna will be happy to see you again too. And you know what, it's not an option, its a demand. Just come over tonight and we'll get you settled. I'll have Anna pick up some wine for dinner and everything."

"Ally, you're much too kind..." you said as her phone stared to ring. She looked at the screen and a big smile spread across her visage as her wife's name popped up on the screen.

"Speak of the devil," she laughed lightly, "tonight! No if, ands, or buts!"

You could only nod as she walked away, chattering excitedly as she went to her own office. Before stepping in and closing the door, she gave you a grin and wave that was enough to cause a single tear to roll down your cheek. It had been weeks since anyone had even shown you an ounce of kindness; most people had decided to scorn you instead, blaming you for everything that had happened. Wiping the warm drop away, you stepped foot into your own office, stashing your toiletries away for what you hoped would be the last time. Hopefully that everything you'd finally be able to have a proper, long, hot shower and sleep in a bed, two luxuries that you had been greatly missing. 

Pulling out a dress from the small wardrobe, you slipped it on, vowing to stop your little pity party. Sure, things weren't ideal right now, but you were still so much better off than others. That was something you did not take for granted.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Men really can be the worst,” Anna laughed, almost snorting into her wine as you held up your glass in a mock salute, “can you imagine being that pathetic and trying to sabotage someone you supposedly loved? I think it speaks volumes to his character.”

“The longer we were together, the more I realized that it was never about love, even if that’s how it started out. It was always about appearances and trying to please everyone else. It was getting so tiring.”

“I can only imagine,” Ally gave her your leg a small pat as you downed the rest of your glass, “but at least you’re free now. It’s easy to fall  into routine and not realize how unhappy we’ve become. We get used to just staying on one path. Usually it takes something big to make us realize what we’re doing isn’t what we wanted in the first place.”

“Okay Dr. Ally,” Anna teased her wife, “we’re not at the office. But I agree...I am curious, and happy, as to what caused you to realize that you deserve more.”

You felt the blood draining from your face almost immediately as you swallowed nervously, mouth dry. You weren’t about to delve into the memories and dreams that had been plaguing you over the weeks, becoming increasingly more frequent the closer your former wedding date had approached. Frankly, you hadn’t even admitted that to yourself yet, not out loud anyway. 

How were you supposed to tell yourself, let anyone else, that the reason you realized you deserved was better because you’d been dreaming of your high school boyfriend again? It had been twenty years, twenty long years without him - there was no reason you should have even given him a second thought. Yet...here you were. Still hung up on Frankie Morales, the boy that had earned your heart...and then brought it into a million pieces. You knew, you would be the first to admit, that it wasn’t all his fault, that you were to blame to an extent as well, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Ever since the day that you had run into him again, a day that should have been like any other, he’d been living rent free in your mind. Even if you hated him, even if you were still mad at him after all this time. You couldn’t help but wonder - what if. What if. 

What if he had come to California with you and you’d both stayed there? What if you had waited for him while you went to school and he was in the military? What if he’d come back to you long ago? Would you still be together? Would you be married to him? Would  you have a daughter or son that took on both of your best qualities? Or would you have eventually fallen out and broken up anyway, only to loathe each with every fiber of your being? Would you have stayed together?”

What if. What if. What if. 

It was that haunted you for so long now.

“Umm,” you snapped back into reality and pushed the thought of the boy you had loved out of your mind. You set the glass back down and made a small, noncommittal sound, “it was just a lot of things. The more real things became with the wedding planning the more I realized that I didn’t want this. It was at my last dress fitting actually, that I realized I couldn’t do it.” 

“That must have been quite a wake up call,” Anna’s eyes widened as she imagined the scene as you nodded, taking the almost empty bottle of wine and pouring the remainder into your class. 

“It was,” you admitted with a long sigh, “you should have been the poor dress maker. I almost ran out on her. But you know, even though things are far from perfect right now, I would still do it all again.”

“Cheers to that,” Ally held up her class, and the two of you clinked yours against it, “now to bigger and better things. You can, and will, do so much better.”

“Thank you both,” just being in their presence, let alone their home, had you feeling infinitely better, “I don’t even know where to begin to thank you.”

“What are friends for?” 

“I, however, do have some more good news,” Anna was proud of herself as the two of your gave her an inquisitive look, “I spoke to my friend who is a realtor today, no connection to Chad or anything, and he said he has a perfect little house available! It’s a little on the outskirts of town, a small, quiet neighborhood, but that it would be perfect for you. It’s not big, just a little two bedroom, one bath, but it’s all been redone recently, and it’s quaint. He showed me some pictures and I think you’d really like it.”

“You did...you did this for me?” you felt another wave of tears sting at the back of your eyes as she nodded. 

“I’m not trying to push this on you at all, or anything of the sort,” she promised, “but we were talking and it just came up and I thought of you. I thought I’d just tell you in case you were interested...you are, of course, welcome to stay with us however long you want.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” you said softly, “truly. I’d love to see the place. If you like, I’m sure it’ll be great. And honestly, it would be nice to get out of the city and be a little bit out of the way and I don’t need anything much. I just want a place that will feel like home...my own place.”

“Obviously it comes with the stipulation that we will get to help decorate and pick out furniture if you move into it.”

“I would expect nothing less,” you agreed, “it’s going to be nice getting my own things and having it be truly mine.”

“A fresh start,” she agreed, “I’ll tell Elijah that we’ll stop by tomorrow and take a look? How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” you agreed, feeling your heart finally feel warm again, as a wave of calm washed over you, “absolutely perfect.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next two weeks were a whirlwind of moving, although you technically didn’t have much to move, furniture shopping, unpacking, and organizing your new home. 

The house was cute, an older little home that had been recently renovated with a small yard and  a perfect spot for a garden. You could already picture yourself gardening once the cooler autumn and winter months were over. 

It wasn’t huge, but it had a spare bedroom you decided would serve as a home office and occasional guest room, although you figured you weren’t going to have many of those considering how easily everyone had cut you off. It was open, warm, and inviting, and it was perfect for what you wanted. It had brought up the idea of maybe adopting a dog or cat to keep as your friend. It had made you think of something that Frankie always said: anyone who wasn’t willing to share their home with an animal was as good as heartless.

It served as a sharp contrast to your former living situation; everything in the apartment you had shared with Chad had been cold, dark, and minimalistic. Nothing about it had ever felt truly homey, more like an ornate display at an art museum you were afraid to even look at. Chad had never wanted an animal of any sorts, not even a goldfish, claiming that it would take up too much time, too much space, and he just didn’t want something to take care of.

But your new home was the polar opposite, it was romantic and airy and filled with items and trinkets that made it feel like a home. A little animal friend would fit in perfectly. You were fitting in perfectly already. 

You’d even made it a point to go around the neighborhood and introduce yourself to people. Your justification was that you had literally nothing to lose, your family had turned their backs on you, your ex-fiance had taken almost all of the so called friends you’d had, and were left to your own devices. In the worst case scenario, you’d have met a few unsavory people, and in the best case scenario you’d get to know your neighbors and maybe make a few friends.

Something in the stars seemed to align, as your neighbors turned out to be kind and welcoming, and you were sure the cookies you offered them weren't a deterrent either. They were mostly either older couples, or small families, a few roommates that lived together. The normalcy of it all was endearing, and to know that you had a place that you were welcome was enough to let your heart rest easy. 

The only mystery that remained was your next door neighbor, the one on your left side. Whoever it was had been missing, gone or something, since you’d moved in several weeks before. While trying to maintain a respectful distance, you’d kept an eye on the house to see if you could spy anyone coming or going, see a car...something. But you never did - not even seen so much as a porch light flicker on. It seemed odd, especially in this neighborhood.

One afternoon, in the middle of unpacking the new bits of furniture for your living room and rearranging everything for about the tenth time, curiosity got the better of you. Maybe it was because you were in the middle of watching some true crime documentaries as you worked but you just felt...nervous. You were concerned about the health and safety of this mysterious neighbor that you hadn’t even met. You’d hastily wiped the sweat from your brow before rushing over to the neighbor on the other side of the seemingly nonexistent neighbor. 

Unfortunately, much to your chagrin, the other neighbor, an older widowed man by the name of Eddie, who happened to have an adorable dog that you decided you’d offer to take on walks, was just as clueless as you. 

He said he’d seen the man, at least you narrowed it down to that much, come on and go on occasion, but that he kept odd hours. He commented that he must have worked evenings or something, because he wasn’t around much at that time and it was always quiet during the day. Apparently it wasn’t odd for him to be gone for days at a time, or at least for no one to notice him. At least he’d be a quiet neighbor if he ever appeared again. But the older man hadn’t seemed too concerned, so figured there was nothing to worry about. You ended finding out that he was likely around your age, with dark hair. That was about all that Eddie knew; he said the man whose name he couldn’t even remember had always kept to himself since he’d moved in a few years ago. 

You’d thanked him, given the small fluffy dog a few pets and trudged back to your own place, arms filled with various baked goods, including a delicious smelling loaf of banana bread. Eddie had proudly declared that he had taken up the hobby of baking in his retirement and he always had been plenty to share. You made a mental note to store that little piece of info away for future use. 

And yet still, even as more days passed, you still didn’t see hide nor hair of the mystery man. You’d gone to work each morning, wondering if maybe you just missed him and you had conflicting schedules. You didn’t know why you even cared so much, or what drew you to solving this mystery, but you were just inexplicably invested. 

One evening, as you were watching some Netflix and unwinding with a glass of wine, browsing the adoptable animals at the local shelter, it hit you. It was like the proverbial lightbulb had been switched on and you came up with a brilliant idea. When you’d moved in, you’d taken some fresh, homemade cookies to everyone in the small cul-de-sac - why didn’t you just make some for him? 

It was brilliant, you thought to yourself as you set the wine glass down and almost tossed your laptop to the floor in excitement. You would make your favorite cookies, soft, gooey chocolate chip ones you fancied so much, get them all safely in a container and drop them off when you felt for work in the morning. If they were gone by the time you came home that would mean he had to have been there. 

Yes, you thought to yourself, this is brilliant. No one could turn down a plate of fresh cookies. 

So you’d spent the rest of the evening, bouncing around the kitchen excitedly, pouring your heart and soul into the every little step it took to make the perfect treat. By the time you’d gone to bed, excited and worn out, the little package was sitting on your counter for your to grab on your way out. This was going to be it, you just knew it.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You woke up early the next morning, even before your alarm went off, a smile on your face despite being tired. You almost stopped dead in your tracks when you realized that this was the first, the first time in what felt like a small eternity that you woke up like that. It was a good feeling, and you hoped that you would be able to hang onto it. 

Once you’d showered and done up your makeup and hair to your liking, you slipped on a pretty golden dress. It always made you feel pretty, the color bringing a slight bit of joy into your heart. You always felt confident and good in it, and you decided it was just what you needed. If your last session ended early enough, you even planned on stopping by the animal shelter to see if you made a connection with any of the adoptable animals. It was going to be a good day. You could feel it in your bones. 

Once you were ready to go, you grabbed your pre-packed lunch from the fridge, along with your purse and the package for your mystery neighbor. Almost flouncing over to his porch because you were buzzing with energy, you hopped up the steps and set it on the front porch and center, in the middle of the doormat, topped off with a handwritten note introducing yourself. The mat was a generic one, and you did a little look around to see if you could find a name or any personal touches around the porch. But there was nothing - no clue as to who it could be. It was no matter, you told yourself, you would have your answers soon enough.

Giving the neatly wrapped container one last fond look, you headed to your car and off to work. Hopefully you’d be busy enough to keep your mind occupied. It was silly to get so invested in something so trivial and yet...here you were. An eternal dreamer and optimist at heart, just like you always had been, even as a teenager. Even if you had to suppress that side of yourself for some time, more so with each passing year, you were still the same girl underneath it all. 

The day felt like it had like it went by in a blur as you saw several of your regular patients, feeling like you were finally able to help them properly and give them your undivided attention. It went so well that you did manage to finish up early, which meant  you could have your fun and go look at animals. You knew it would be a challenge to meet different pets and not be able to take them all home, but you were willing to give it the old college try. 

You hadn’t bothered to stop home and change, opting to go straight to the shelter.

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as you'd gotten there and started looking at the different dogs, you knew it would be hard. 

So many of the sweet dogs came up to you, some wagging their tails in nervous excitement, some just beside themselves, but others were more reluctant, sitting and observing you. You went up to as many as you could, keeping a respectful distance from them and offering them your hand to sniff. A couple of them give you a few licks, letting you reach in and pet them, but getting distracted as soon as they spied other people. Sweet dogs, all of them, but those weren’t the ones for you. As you walked through the various dogs, you were disheartened to find that you didn’t seem to have a connection to any of them. You hoped they would go to good homes soon regardless. Maybe it wasn’t your day to find a companion, which was totally okay with you. You’d just come back some other day and make sure that one of them got a home in your adobe.

But as you neared the end of the last row, you stopped when you spotted a small dog, small for being a pitbull that was, sitting in the corner of her kennel, a sad, dejected look on her face. She was a pretty thing, light tan with white marking on her sweet face, but her eyes contained a deep sadness.

“Hi, sweet girl,” you said softly as you didn’t even hesitate to drop to your knees, dropping on the floor of the kennel, sliding a few fingers under the barrier keeping you from her, trying to coax her to you. She observed you with keen interest, but remained rooted in her spot, “you are so pretty! I bet you’re just as sweet too, aren’t you? I can tell…”

“She’s very sweet,” one of the shelter’s volunteers, a young boy by the name of Lucas that had let you in, said as he walked up to you, “but she’s really shy. She’s less than a year old, but she’s already had a go of it.”

“What happened to her?” you asked gently, keeping your voice down so you wouldn’t startle her, “she looks so sad.”

“She was abused by her former owner, sadly. They found her when they went to raid the owner’s home, apparently he was a small time drug dealer on top of it,” he explained and you made a small in the back of your throat as you just looked at her. It made your heart break to know that this poor animal, and so many others like her, were being abused for no reason - not that anyone, person or animal, should ever have been abused, “it’s made her shy, but she does warm up to people.”

“What’s her name?” you asked as she moved ever so marginally closer to you. You smiled at her, giving her an encouraging little nod.

“Daisy.”

“Daisy,” you called softly as her ears perked up slightly. It suited her, you decided, a soft pretty name for a pretty girl, “hi sweet Daisy. You are a big lovebug underneath it all, aren’t you?”

She turned her slightly to look at as you offered her a small, reassuring nod. 

“How about Miss Daisy Mae?” you asked her and you got a glimpse of her tail wagging ever so slightly, “yeah, I think that’s perfect too. May I pet you?”

It was silent, completely so sans for the other dogs in their kennels as you attempted to gain her trust. You didn’t want to scare her off, but you wanted to see if you could get her to come closer. Lucas told you could stay as long as you wanted, and you decided that you would do just that, plopping onto your bottom as you gently spoke to her. You spent some time sitting there, talking to her about anything and everything, and slowly, inch by precious inch, she came closer to you until she was just a few inches from your hand. When you moved your hand and she didn’t flinch, you gently petted her muzzle, tracing over it delicately with a few fingers. 

“You’ve been through a lot,” you mused quietly and she gently rubbed her head into your hand, “but you’ve got so much life left to live. So many happy things to come. Would you like to come home with me and see? I have a big bed that I have all to myself, and I could really use a companion to take up some of the space. Would you like to help me?”

She made a small sound as she looked up at you, her tail wagging ever so slightly. That was enough to convince you that you were making the right decision. Giving Daisy one last gentle touch, you slowly pulled your hand back to keep from startling her and jumped to your feet. She was yours, it hadn’t taken much to figure that out, and you were going to make sure she came home with you. 

Telling her you would be back in a little bit, you went off in search of Lucas, to tell him to get you all the paperwork so you could bring her home with that day.

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as Daisy was all yours, you’d set her up in your car, draping a big, soft blanket over the backseat for her. You were glad you kept one in your car for whatever occasion called for it; this was the perfect time. As soon as she seemed to realize what was happening, Daisy’s eyes had lit up and she already seemed like a different dog, her tail going softly, but nonstop as she stayed close to your side. 

You’d stopped by the pet store on your way home, bringing her in with you as you stocked up on the best dog food, treats, several big fluffy beds (one for each room of the house naturally), and let her pick out several toys. Whatever she wanted she got, honestly, and before you knew it before pushing a huge cartful to the counter to the pay. Daisy, now in a pretty yellow collar and leash, followed closely by your side, a little stuffed bear in her mouth. This felt so right, so natural, almost like you had meant to find her. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had felt this much joy in your heart, and you hoped the feeling would never go away.

“And this is where we live,” you told her as you pulled into the driveway, pulling up to the garage and turning off the car. She stood up and went to the window, looking out eagerly. Your break broke a little when you realize she probably never got to run and play like any puppy should, but you vowed to change that. You got and opened the door, not even bothering to stop her as she jumped out and started to sniff everywhere. 

Sighing contentedly at the sight of the happy dog, the one that had quickly turned from nervous to optimistic, you started to gather everything out of the car to bring inside. Daisy came back to your side, following you with keen attention as you opened the door to the house and let her explore. 

It wasn’t until your last excursion to the car to bring in the last of the toys, that your attention wandered back to your MIA neighbor. When you studied his house, you noticed that all the lights were off, and there was no car in the driveway. The package you had you left for him was still right where you had placed that morning. A small, dejected sigh left your lips as you quickly dashed over and retrieved the package. It was only slightly heartbreaking,  but you knew it wasn’t due to any fault of yours. But still...you couldn’t help but wonder. Who was he? Where was he? Maybe one day your questions would be answered, but at least for now you had your new friend to keep you company. Just as you thought about her, you heard a small, almost tiny bark from your door as Daisy poked her head out and looked excitedly at you.

“Coming sweet girl!” you promised her as you ran back over to her. This day was decidedly not a waste in the slightest, you reminded yourself, you had a new friend and that was more important than anything else.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Several more days passed, and Daisy adjusted to life with you without a hitch. She really was the sweetest girl you had met, and she had won a big spot in your heart, and bed, almost instantly. Gone were the cookies you had baked for the neighbor you thought might not actually exist, eaten with some milk as you watched Netflix late into the evening with Daisy snoozing next to you. 

Something though, whatever little stubborn streak you had, told you to keep trying.

So you did.

That night you dragged yourself back to the kitchen and repeated the painstaking process of making your now neighborhood famous cookies again. He was going to get these cookies come hell or high water. This time Daisy joined you in the kitchen and watched your every move intently, as you walked her through the process, giving her your best impression of some lofty Food Network chef. 

Just as you had previously done earlier in the week, you prepped everything and stuck the same note on the top, making sure it looked perfect. Even if it ended up as another batch that you would eat, you wanted to go through the efforts and ensure it was perfect. 

The next morning, you herded Daisy into the car, allowing her to come to your office with you. She had been enjoying coming to your office and greeting your clients, being a good girl and laying on her bed while you worked. Many of them seemed to find her comforting, and as thought she could sense when they needed something, which she probably did, she’d often go to comfort them with wet kisses and nuzzles. Ally had suggested that you look into her having certified as a therapy dog, which you decided was a perfect idea. 

You wandered over to his porch and left the little package again and turned to head off to work. Whatever was meant to happen would happen. So if he didn’t come and get the cookies, so be it. You’d stop worrying about it and let it go. 

When you got home that evening, you brought everything inside and let Daisy into the backyard to roam around before her dinner time, when you looked through the front windows to try and see your neighbor’s porch. You huffed when you came to the conclusion that you were at just the wrong angle to be able to see anything. Stalking out the front door to get a better look, you sighed deeply when the package was once again there. What had you really expected? You’d struck out for weeks now, the man was an enigma to yourself and everyone else around, it was a far cry that you’d ever really see him. 

Grumbling at yourself for being too hopeful and optimistic, you trudged over to his porch, ready to take the cookies back again and enjoy them for yourself. Maybe you could bring them, and Daisy, over to Eddie and see if he would enjoy them and the dogs would get along. It wasn’t terribly exciting, but it was something anyway.

You bent down to pick up the small container, ready to head back home and get on with your day. But just as you swooped up the container, you heard the door unlock, causing you to jump back in surprise, dropping the container and letting it clatter to the ground. You took a step back and looked up, finding the door open, but the screen closed. Squinting your eyes, you tried to make out the person on the other side but found it almost impossible. 

“H-hi,” you stammered nervously, hoping the person wouldn’t think you were stealing or snooping around, “I-I moved into the neighborhood a few weeks ago, and I was just...I made cookies! I was going to introduce myself but I hadn’t seen you or anything, so I figured I’d leave them for you. They-they’re not old though, I made this batch last night.”

Nothing but silence met your ears for several moments as you nervously picked up the container to display it for him. You were nervous suddenly, terrified that you had somehow offended him, or...something.

“I-I’ll get going,” you said as you set the cookies on the bench that was near the door. Unsure why you felt the need to keep speaking you gave him your name, letting it linger in the air for a moment, “I live right next door, so I guess maybe I will see you around. Yeah...well, umm...goodbye!”

But before you made it off the porch, you heard the screen door open, and swing shut. You swallowed the lump in your throat, ready to turn around and make a proper introduction when you heard your name whispered so quietly, that you thought you might have imagined it. That voice...that soft, gentle voice caused your heart to skip a few beats. You knew that voice. 

Turning around slowly, you came face to face with the man that had been on your mind for weeks. You brought your eyes up to the man’s face and a small gasp of surprise left your lips. 

“F-Frankie?” except this wasn’t the Frankie you’d known. No, this man was tired looking, nothing but sheer exhaustion on his face, dark circles, parched lips, no trace of facial hair, his hair flattened from what you knew was a signature hat. This was a different man, a world weary man, a man who you never intended on seeing again. But you knew that voice, you knew it so well, you’d recognize it anywhere, even after all this time. But there was something about him, how he was looking at you that broke our heart. 

He remained silent as his dark eyes watched you, wondering how and why on earth you’d ended up as his neighbor. It was like some force was at play, some weird thing that kept bringing the two of you together. 

He remained silent as the two of you looked at each other, his eyes quickly flicked to your left hand. You straightened up when you noticed that and got ready to walk away, unsure of how to feel in that moment. Once again, your life was thrown in a complete tailspin. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, unable to find any words. 

But before you could leave his porch, his hand went to your wrist, taking it gently in his large hand as you immediately turned around and gave him a wide eyed stare.

Your chest was rising and falling rapidly as you looked at him in silent question, and he did the same. 

This was Frankie - your Frankie. After all these years, he was still yours.

Before either of you could say anything, he gently grabbed your face and studied it for a moment before crashing his lips onto yours. It took a moment for you to react, and for a few beats before you kissed him back, not even having to think about it. But just as quickly as it had started you came to your senses and while part of you was screaming to continue to kiss him, the logical part of your brain took over and you pushed him away from you. Immediately realizing what you were doing, he let go of you and took a step back. 

“Don’t,” you insisted sharply, your voice crackling on the singular word, “don’t. You don’t get to do that. I shouldn’t have done that. Not anymore. Never again.”

Before he could say anything, you dashed away from him, running back over to your house. This had to be some sort of weird dream, surely life couldn’t be throwing another challenge at you. Surely you’d been through enough.

Surely you weren’t neighbors, after all this time and years, with Frankie Morales. 

Life couldn’t be that cruel...right?

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[illusionsofdreaming]

lay down your ghosts;

Notes: Hey would you look at that, more angst for our favourite MC.

Ft. Cale

It's been three days.

Three days since they last heard from you. 

Three long days of replaying the memory of the shock and surprise on your face when the ledge you were on crumbled apart and the storm of smoke and dust swallowed you whole. 

There hadn't been time to cancel the teleportation, hadn't been time to reach out, hadn't been time to regret. You were gone. 

Just like that.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Immediately Choi Han and the others prepared to return, but Cale pulled them back. 

Not now. Not like this.

Not when their enemies have surely swarmed the area after their narrow escape. Returning immediately would've put more of them at risk and Cale would not permit that.

He told them he trusted your abilities to survive. He told them to believe in you. High profile searches would only put you more at risk by alerting their enemies that you were missing. (He hated how clinical it sounded, hated how his thoughts remained clear even when it felt like all the blood in his veins was being drained away.) 

A plan was quickly hatched and under a cloak of Invisibility to hide their tracks, Choi Han, Beacrox and Ron took on the dangerous task of returning to enemy territories to scour the ruins for signs of life. As much as he wanted to join the search himself, someone had to stay behind to reassure the young ones, and though it hurt to admit it, Cale knew he would only hinder rather than aide their search efforts. The last thing he'd want is to jeopardise their chances of finding you.

Cale was sure you weren't captured. Their enemies would've flaunted the fact had that been the case. And you weren't dead, for even the combined efforts of their best fighters and assassins, no body was found. If you managed to escape, they all knew you'd lay low and play it safe until you could find a way back or contact them, to reassure them of your status. 

No news is good news. This he kept reminding the others, kept reminding himself, even when every passing hour felt like a dagger was being twisted further deeper into his heart.

(You could be injured, crippled or trapped and slowly withering away. There are so many different ways a person can survive and remain in a state worse than death, but he didn't tell them. He couldn't share his morbid nightmares and thoughts that continue to haunt his waking moments.)

(Perhaps he had damned you after all when they didn't return for you immediately.)

Three days.

Three days.

Cale's beginning to realise he's going to have to call off the search. The thought itself drained all the energy from him and he retired to his room earlier than usual, waving off questions of concern. 

"I'm fine." 

In the silence of his room did he finally allow himself to drop the facade. 

The memories swarmed him like water rushing from a broken dam and he lurched towards his desk, overwhelmed by the onslaught of thoughts he'd kept back until now.

"Fuck." He kicked open the alcohol stash by the table and settled down to drown away his miseries. 

For the first time, he cursed his strong alcohol tolerance which impeded his attempts to blur the day's horrifying details from his mind.

It was useless. His records would never let him forget. Not his past, not the people he's failed, not you- another broken record to add to his repeating list of nightmares. The ruins have nothing more left to give, either you've left on your own or have been moved by others. Worst case scenario, you're too deeply buried and have probably been crushed by the weight of the rubble. Sooner or later, an empty grave will be erected, because the longer an unanswered question remains, the worse it'll hurt. Some closure must be had for the people who stay behind. It's the same old drill all over again.

The bottle smashes into the opposite wall, the sound of broken glass was jarring and he glared at the red stains that dripped down.

Where had he miscalculated? Had he gotten too arrogant after having successfully smacked his enemies in the back? Had he gotten lax? 

His face remained remarkably dry for all the stinging in his eyes. An ugly feeling was building in his gut that clashed with an irrational fury that boiled in his chest. He felt so much and didn't know how to deal with it, except to drink and drink and drink - until the nauseousness took over and the world swam, until the burn in his throat became hotter than the sting in his eyes.

Eventually, he stills, the alcohol in his bloodstream finally kicking in to rein in the maelstrom of emotions in his being. For having felt so much in the last few hours, the numbness was both a balm and a curse.

"Wow, you look like shit."

He breathed out a dark laugh and immediately reached to pour himself another cup.

At least he could still talk to you in this moment of weakness. He missed doing that. "I am trash after all." he mumbled.

He looked up, squinting against the moonlight to find your silhouette occupying your favourite spot on his window ledge. The familiar image sent a pang of agony through his chest, and he took a deep drink. It was one of the many spaces you had carved out for yourself over months, and now that you're gone, he found it unbearably empty. His drink addled mind couldn't define your features in the darkness and was only capable of providing a shadowy form of yourself. But perhaps that was for the best, your disappointment would've hurt too much. 

If only he put more effort into dreaming your ghost, perhaps he could convince himself that you're really there, frowning at him as you tend to do whenever he uses that term. 

"You keep calling yourself trash. You know it's quite insulting to us who chooses to follow you."

He laughed bitterly. "And look where that got you." He threw back his cup.

The wind sighed through his open window, carrying your voice to his ears. "It's not your fault."

"I know." He wasn't looking for consolation. Wasn't looking for forgiveness either. He just...

He wished he could offer more to your phantom, but in the end, these illusions are as fragile as his current mental state. A way for the human brain to deal with grief when it becomes too much. It'll never be the same as talking to your real person, but he wasn't ready to banish your ghost by debating 'what could've been's.

"Cale."

Part of him considered ignoring it, entertaining his delusions can't bode well for his sanity, and the truths he wanted wouldn't come from a false imitation constructed from his memories of you. 

"Cale."

Weak. He looked up, watching with wary eyes as your ghost stood from the ledge, outlined in silver from the moonlight, painting a visage so unreal, it made the breath in his throat catch. With every step that brought you closer, something in his chest shuddered on the verge of breaking. Something didn't feel right. 

He frowned. Do ghosts limp?

Finally, only the table separated him and his phantoms, the air in the room felt light. Cale felt dizzy, nauseous as he stared, wordlessly, up at you. 

Cold hands held his face, fingers brushed lightly under his eyes. He took in everything, dirt, blood, bruises and all. Shakily, his hand rose to touch the hand on his cheek. 

"Hey," you cracked a tired smile and suddenly, the tears that had been absent abruptly burst forth. "Don't write me off just yet."

He surged from his seat, so violently that his chair crashed backwards and the sound made you flinch- vaulted over the table, reached for your face, with perhaps too much strength as you winced, but he had to make sure- His eyes drank in the sight of you, his fingers smudged the dried blood under your ears -you could be suffering from a concussion, your wounds need to be dressed properly to avoid infection- and he realises he's dissociating because his brain cannot process the fact that you're here, you're alive, after three long forsaken hellish days, in his arms.

"Shit." he breathed out, dropping his forehead on your shoulder as he held you to his chest.

"Yeah." You agreed, and he almost wept when he felt your arms around him, rubbing his back gently. "I missed you too."

He choked out a laugh and squeezed you tighter, and because he can, because you're here, he held you and kissed you until your lips went numb.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬2

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, violence and abuse, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of death [other warning to be added throughout series]

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader’s husband brings home an unexpected houseguest.

Note: Still working a lot but here’s another chapter. I work gaming and the console launches are just killing me for real. Why do (some) gamers have to be idiots?

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You awoke stiff and cold. Your legs were tucked up under your nightgown as the early spring turned frigid in the night and your muscles ached as you fell onto your back. You were still young but you didn’t feel it. The deep snores still rose from the bed as you sat up and the soft light of dawn broke through the curtains.

You suspected that Roy would be just as unpleasant once it came time to rouse him. You got to your feet with a grumble and rubbed your tender stomach. You could feel the bruise and winced as you went to the closet to gather your clothes for the day. The usual; a plain blouse and dull skirt. Then you took a pair of old nylons, some underwear and your brassiere from the chest of drawers.

You wrapped yourself in a robe and crossed to the washroom to quickly clean yourself up before you dressed. You stared in the mirror, your eyes puffy with fatigue. You sighed and dumped your robe and nightgown in the bedroom before you continued on downstairs.

If there was anything that would placate your husband, it was food. Since your wedding day, he had put on quite a few pounds, not that he had ever been particularly slim. He had also aged more than three years of your union, though he was ten years your senior already. Well, your father and mother had about the same difference between them; it was far from unusual.

You took out your iron pan and placed it on the stove, a relic of the Depression era but still able to catch a flame. Your father was always proud of his old appliances. Before you were born and in the early years of your life, he’d worked hard to build not only the farmhouse but a home for his young family. Those years before the war had remained his most precious until the end.

You took out the tray of eggs and the small sausages bartered at a discount from the butcher. You hated to think of replacing the puttering fridge but you doubted it would hold up another couple decades. That in itself would be a battle with Roy. He worked hard for his money. It was difficult enough to negotiate a pair of nylons without holes from the terse man you called your husband.

You were startled as you heard a footboard whine. You turned and accidentally cracked an egg onto the floor as you did. Arvin was dressed in jeans and a plain tee. His overalls were slung over his arm as he entered.

“You’re up already?” You asked as you bent to clean up your mess. “Hope it’s not ‘cause of me.”

“I’ve always been an early riser,” he assured you, “Need any help with that?”

“No, no,” you stood with the egg and shell in your hand, “I think I can manage.” You went to the bin and dumped your handful. “You drink coffee? Orange juice?”

“I wouldn’t mind some milk, if it isn’t too much a bother,” he smiled. “But I can fetch it myself.”

“You don’t have to--”

“You keep saying that. I respect that this is your house, ma’am, and you’re used to doing all the upkeep but I don’t mind at all.”

You pursed your lips and nodded. You wiped your hand on a dish cloth and went back to adding eggs to the mixing bowl. You listened to his footsteps as they continued onto the dining room and he returned to search for a glass among the cupboards.

“Here,” you reached up and opened the cabinet, “Milk’s on the middle shelf in the fridge.”

He neared and grabbed a tall glass from the rows. He was awfully close as he did. He set the glass down on the counter and went to the fridge. You listened as he struggled with the handle.

“You gotta wiggle it. Don’t be afraid to put some muscle into it.” You chuckled.

The door popped open and you heard him grunt. You whisked up the eggs as he approached with the milk jug and filled his glass. He paused as he watched you work. A long silence rose between you, interrupted only by the clink of the whisk on the bowl.

“You got any laundry?” You asked suddenly. “I can manage another load today.”

“If it’s not too much,” he lifted the jug and slowly backed away, “The laundromat isn’t much for efficiency. Sometimes I think my shirts come out more stained than before.”

You listened as he put the jug away and took his glass from beside you. You felt his lingering gaze before he left you but ignored it as your tendency to overthink. He was a kind, young man and you had grown unused to that. 

You loved Roy, tried to at least, and you reminded yourself that he hadn’t always been bad. You hoped that he could be good again. Perhaps Arvin could help with that.

You moved stiffly around the stove. Your muscles strained more with each stretch of your arm or bend of your leg. The floor never left you in very good shape and your apron reminded you of the bruise that deepened along your torso.

When the eggs were fluffy and the sausage browned, you climbed the stairs to wake your husband. You stayed in the doorway as you called to him. It was best not to get close when he was hungover. 

He grumbled and threw a pillow. When you reminded him he would be late to work, he lobbed the lamp. It landed a good foot from you but still caused a thunderous thump on the floor before the bulb shattered.

You left him. He would rouse himself and be too late to bother much with you. He would also have an audience to keep him in line.

You went back downstairs and plated the food; you covered Roy’s before you laid it out on the table along with your own and Arvin’s. You sat across from your houseguest as he greedily eyed his breakfast.

“What was that?” He asked as his brown eyes flicked up to the ceiling.

“Silly me,” you twirled your fork nervously, “I tripped over the cord of the lamp and brought the whole thing down.”

Arvin nodded and his cheek twitched. He said nothing as he cut into a sausage and you pushed around your eggs without eating. Your appetite was soured by memories of the previous night. If fate and alcohol favoured you, Roy would not recall it so well.

“Did you sleep well?” You asked suddenly as you tried to distract yourself. “I know the attic gets a bit gusty, walls aren’t very thick and that couch is old…”

“I slept finer than I have in months,” he replied, “Thank you.”

“You’ve been down at the motel, Roy said. You new in town?”

“Was meaning to just pass through,” he swallowed, “But a few odd jobs turned into a full gig down at the garage. I used to fiddle around with my aunt’s truck when I was a kid and… guess I figured a few things out.”

“Oh? And where’s home? Is that where you were headed?”

“Leavin’, actually. Sometimes you just outgrow where you’re from.” He said wistfully, “Life shakes you awake and says ‘go or die’ and you’re too restless to wait around for the inevitable.”

Your mouth fell open. His face had fallen, a lifetime worth of worries and tragedies set in his thin lips and squared his jaw. He looked through you at the past that had chased him all the way to your doorstep. The naive boy fractured before you to the frightened young man. And then, he was gone.

He smiled and was once more firmly sat in the present.

“I know what you mean.” You said quietly.

“So…” He set his fork down, “You from here then?”

“Daddy’s house. Never left it.” You confessed, “Never had the courage to stop waiting, I suppose.”

“You got lots of time for that,” Arvin said, “You know, when life’s seemed to slow down, it starts back up all at once.”

You rubbed your fingertips along the tablecloth. You looked at your plate, your food barely touched.

“You okay? You’re not eating.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, “I didn’t sleep too much…. there’s this shutter that just knocks against the house when it’s windy, you know?”

He leaned back and considered you. He grabbed his glass of milk and drained it.

“So, how long have you and Roy… been married?” Arvin asked.

You heard the stairs creak and stiffened in your seat. You tapped your fork on the lip of the plate and cleared your throat.

“Three years,” you said as Roy’s grumbles grew louder. 

“Oh,” Arvin glanced over as Roy stumbled in and caught himself on a chair. You stood and uncovered his plate as he sat. He waved you away groggily and swiped up his fork. “A long time and not very long at all, then.”

“Mhmm,” you sat and watched Roy nervously. He said nothing as he shoved a whole sausage in his mouth and groaned. 

“Coffee,” he choked out.

You diligently went to the task of pouring him a mug and returned as Arvin watched him with a placid awareness. You set down the cup and Roy emptied it just as fast as it appeared.

“Too much beer, huh?” Arvin chuckled.

Roy tilted his head and gulped down his mouthful. “Maybe you’ll join me tonight,” your husband challenged. “Boy your size, one bottle’ll have you on your ass.”

“Probably,” Arvin said coolly. “Maybe I’m better stickin’ to water.”

You sat gingerly and looked between the two men. You realised how easily Arvin had distracted Roy. How he kept the temperamental man from his usual morning rage with a few words. You wondered if he had dealt with men like Roy before. Or maybe he had no idea what he was doing at all.

“You want me to drive today?” Arvin ventured, “You can close your eyes on the way.”

“Probably best you do,” Roy smacked his lips, “Don’t know I’ll be very useful at the garage.”

“Ah, just keep your head under that old Chevrolet and no one can tell you’re napping,” Arvin laughed at his own joke. “I won’t tell.”

🚬

You filled your day as any. Your chores kept you busy; laundry, sweeping, dusting, prepping dinner for the return of your husband and the houseguest you kept having to remind yourself of.

You made certain to fold Arvin’s clothes and stack them neatly in a basket for him. He didn’t have much; a few pairs of jeans, some tee shirts, two sweaters, and a denim jacket. You would search through your father’s stuff and see if there was anything worth salvaging.

When the old truck rumbled in front of the house, you were shoving a glazed ham into the oven. You wiped your hands on your apron and strode through to peek through the window. Arvin was quicker than Roy, smaller, younger. Your husband stomped across the gravel as the other man kept a deliberately slow pace behind him.

You opened the door to greet them as they neared the porch.

“How was your day?” You asked as you held open the door.

“A day that calls for a beer,” Roy snarled as he brushed past you. You couldn’t remember when he’d stopped kissing you; sometimes, you were certain you’d imagined he ever had. 

“It was good,” Arvin said softly as he smiled at you. Roy ambled into the front room and fell onto the sofa. “How was yours, ma’am?”

“Well enough,” you replied pensively as you watched your husband, “You want a beer too?”

“No, it’s still a bit early… Actually, I’ll get his beer.” Arvin said, “Why don’t you take a break?”

“She can do it herself,” Roy growled. “What else she gonna do around here?”

“I’m goin’ that way anyhow.” Arvin said. “Think I’ll get myself some water.”

“She’s my wife. She can serve me. Well, you would think she could.”

“Please,” you looked to Arvin pleadingly, “Just sit down.”

He stared at you and nodded slowly. His arm jerked as if he was going to touch your elbow but he backed away and turned to drag his feet into the front room.

“I have some Coke?” You offered, “If you prefer that.”

“Water,” Arvin said dully, “Thank you.” 

You slowly retreated but didn’t miss the way Arvin glared at Roy. He sat in the armchair and bit his thumb as he watched the other man. You spun before you could overthink it and scurried into the kitchen. You grabbed a bottle from the fridge and poured a glass of water. You hurried back to offer the refreshments and rung your hands as you hovered in the doorway.

“Your laundry’s on the landing,” you said meekly, “And Roy, I fixed the lamp.”

Roy merely belched as Arvin lifted his chin and sighed.

“Thank you,” Arvin uttered and set aside his glass, “Show me where that bed is and I’ll move it after dinner.”

“I--” You hesitated and looked at Roy fearfully. He was entirely unconcerned with anything but his beer. “Sure.”

Arvin stood and you led him to the stairway. He followed you up and bent to lift the basket from the landing. You turned to him and he was quick to take the clothes from you.

“I didn’t want to go up there without you knowin’,” you said, “Since it’s your space now.”

“I appreciate all you’ve done.” He hugged the basket. He pressed his lips together and peered back down the stairs. “Are you alright?”

You frowned as he looked at you again. You turned your hands out and shrugged. 

“I’m just fine.” You lied.

He squinted then his eyes fell to the clothes. “Well, you let me know if you need help. With anything.” He slowly edged away from you, “I might be payin’ Roy but I won’t be living on your hard work, ma’am.”

“I-- It’s my job to--”

“It’s his job to love you, with all due respect,” Arvin set down the basket and grabbed the cord of the attic hatch, “Ain’t no work hard enough at the garage that he can’t do that.” The stairs slid down and he picked up the basket again. He placed a foot on the bottom of the latter as he cradled the laundry in one arm. “I’ll be down for dinner.”

🚬

Several days passed with little change. Arvin barely seemed to affect things around the old farmhouse; he kept to himself mostly but helped where he could. Roy didn’t change either. His moods, his brutality, his demands. As you always had, you distracted yourself with your chores.

On Saturday, Roy announced that he was going fishing. Arvin refused an invitation and it didn’t seem to bother your husband. It did, however, make you wonder. Most men in the area were eager to be away from the homestead with a rod or rifle in hand. Well, it didn’t seem like your houseguest was most men.

You bid Roy goodbye. He was in a happier mood and let you kiss his cheek as he packed up his bait box. When he was gone, you went about your usual. You would sweep and dust the entire house before you started lunch; a small one as Roy took his with him.

When you got to the dining room, Arvin was at the table. He had a small, leather-bound notebook before him as he scribbled in it with a stubby pencil. He smiled as you hit the doorframe with the broom and apologized under your breath. He went back to his work and you went about your own, quietly, carefully.

As you bent to sweep up the dirt into the pan, you looked at him. His reddish-brown hair hung forward, the strands dangled along his nose. You stood and neared the table.

“I don’t know how you see anything,” you remarked.

He lifted his head and his hair tickled his cheeks. He chuckled and closed the notebook around the pencil.

“Guess I’m just used to it,” he said, “Do you ever sit down? Don’t think I could run around like you in those heels?”

You glanced down at your kitten heels. Not very high or fancy. You gripped the broom and leaned on it.

“I just think my feet are naturally curved now,” you kidded. “Sorry, if I interrupted you.”

“No, no, you’re right. I need a haircut,” he pushed his hair back and stretched as he bent his arms behind his head. “Been a while.”

There was silence between you. You weren’t sure why you’d broken it in the first place. Usually, you wouldn’t dare bother Roy. He always had the first word. And the last.

“I cut Roy’s hair. I could do yours.” You were shocked at your own words and snapped your mouth shut bashfully. “Or you could go down to Hannon’s and get him to give you proper trim. I’m just… offerin’.”

“Really?” He sat up, “If you wouldn’t mind. I’m tryna save my money for a car of my own right now. I’ll pay in labour? Got this old batter recipe I learned as a kid. Roy brings back some good fish and we’ll have some filets.”

“You don’t--” You voice died as he gave you that look. How many times had you said those words? ‘You don’t have to do that.’ You took a breath. “Bring a chair in the kitchen and I’ll get the scissors.”

You went to the kitchen and dumped the dustpan. You leaned the broom against the wall and searched for the scissors in the second drawer. You heard Arvin behind you as you took a dish cloth and turned to him. He placed the chair in the middle of the floor and sat.

You tucked the scissors into your apron along with the comb you kept with the old silver shears. You neared him and held up the cloth. “I’m just gonna tuck this into your shirt to catch the hair.”

“That’s fine,” he smiled at you as you bent to wrap the dish cloth around his neck and tucked it into his collar carefully. Your fingers grazed his neck and you saw him tense.

You backed up and took out the comb. 

“Where do you usually part it?”

“I usually just comb it back but then it just kinda… falls,” he snorted bashfully. “So, just wherever.”

You rounded him and combed his hair back before parting it along the left side. It split naturally from his crown and you did your best to be precise. You pulled his hair up with the teeth of the comb and began to cut away the length. The chopped ends fell over the towel and the shoulders of his tee. 

As you came around the front, he watched you with his deep brown eyes. You tried not to fidget against his intent gaze.

“Close your eyes,” you said and he seemed reluctant to do so. You began to snip as you let the hair hang to see the length and lifted it again to cut away more. 

“So, you got any records for the player?” He asked. The question surprised you but eased you.

“My daddy loved Sinatra and Crosby.” You said. “But I don’t suppose many listen to that anymore.”

“Well, some,” he said, “You ever listen to Ray Charles? I was down at the general store and they… they were selling his album at discount.”

“Oh?” You leaned closer as you softened the blunt ends of his hair, “I think… on the radio. Sometimes, I turn it on when Roy’s workin’ but I always make sure to turn it back to his station before he gets home or he--”

You stopped yourself and focused on your task. You didn’t want to mangle his hair. He had such nice hair. Soft and thick.

“Or he what?” Arvin opened his right eye.

“Or, you know… he just gets real upset. The dial on that old thing is so fussy,” you moved around him so the heat receded from your cheeks. “Just don’t want him breakin’ it.”

“You think he’d break it? Over that?” Arvin asked gently.

You chewed the inside of your lip. “No,” you said after a pause, “No, Roy can be grumpy but he wouldn’t…” You sniffed and combed his hair, “Maybe we can dig out some of my daddy’s records when I’m done.”

“Maybe,” he said evenly as he tapped his fingers along his thigh. “A little music might brighten this place up.”

[briefinquiries]

Luke Alvez x Reader: Our Place

Description: You ask Luke to sign the divorce papers, but he decides to try one last time.

Tagged: @ssaic-jareau , @alvezstan , @lcvischmitt , @ogmilkis , @ssa-morgan, @akimagies, @zhangyixingxing1 , @pinkdiamond1016​ , @yourwonderbelle , @rachelxwayne , @sc4rletw1tch , @ellvswriting​

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst

The two of you had made a promise.  For better or for worse- til death do us part.  And now that he thought about it, maybe you’d kept that promise. After all, he was feeling like he was dead inside. He didn’t know if he was a helpless romantic or if he was just too stubborn to break that promise.

Or if he just couldn’t bear the idea of losing the love of his life.

...

“You’re not going to meet your wife at a club, so just relax,” Matt had said close to his ear, patting his shoulder in a condescending manner. They sat at the bar of the club, and Matt was trying to lighten Luke’s mood. “But you can get laid, which really is our only goal here.”

He guessed that Matt was right- but that didn’t take his attention away from the girl sitting at the end of the bar. 

“You’re not helping, Matt,” Luke had replied, trying to look nonchalant while the most gorgeous girl he’d seen in his entire life glanced at him. 

“Actually, I am.” Matt tilted his chin not so subtly towards the girl.

When Luke looked up, the girl was smiling at him.  She tips the clear drink in her hand towards him, like a salute of some sorts. Luke blinked, confused, and looked back at Matt. 

A stuttered “What?” was the only thing he could say.

After an eye roll followed by a long-suffering sigh, Matt smirked, “I told the barman to give that girl a drink and say it was from you.”

“You what?” Luke gasped.

“You’re welcome,” Matt said, patting his shoulder again. “Now go talk with her, or you'll look like a dick.” 

“I hate you,” Luke mumbled, but Matt couldn’t hear him as he got up to walk away.

It wasn’t the first time Matt had embarrassed Luke ― or pushed him in the right direction, in his own words ― at a club. The thing was that Luke wasn’t the most confident man to exist when it came to girls. But he always tries hard, and he’s gotten really good at pretending.  So, he finished his beer in two deep swallows and walked towards the girl, acting like liquid courage was a thing.

The girl stared at Luke with a small, almost shy smile while he walked towards her.

With a grin, Luke came closer and said, “Hi, I’m Luke.” He knew his chat up line was lame, but he was a polite person and he thought it was only right to introduce himself first. “Sorry if I overstepped,” he added, and looked at the just emptied glass of alcohol.

“I’m Y/N.” Even her voice was beautiful. 

Luke smiled. “I don’t know-” he sputtered, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Would you wanna dance or something?”

“Not really,” you had laughed, cringing a little. Instantly, Luke’s shoulders deflated, and opened his mouth to apologize again for bothering you, when you quickly added, “But you can sit, and buy me another drink.”

...

In the end, Matt was wrong. Well, partially wrong at least, because Luke did get laid that night ― but he also found his wife.

Luke wasn’t sure why he walked to the park that he and you had gone for your first official date. At the time, you had called it a ‘dog date’, because you used the excuse of taking your dogs to play at the park to see each other again. There was a river there and you sat while Roxy and your dog played in the water.

The two of you kept going there with your dogs until you decided to officially make this into something it already was. 

Luke had asked you to marry him there, too ― with an expensive ring and kneeling and flowers and a bleeding sunset pouring across the sky from above. 

“What is it about this place?” Luke had beamed at you, admiring the ring on your finger with the backdrop of the flowing river. 

You had smiled, standing on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on his lips. “It’s our place,” you said, claiming the spot proudly. 

“Our perfect place,” Luke confirmed. 

You had gone there for your anniversary the next year as well.  And then again the year after that.  

The year after that though, was when everything started to crumble.

...

“It’s our anniversary, Luke. Don’t you remember? ” you hissed angrily on the phone, and okay, Luke knew he promised he’d be there- but work had gotten in the way. 

“You know I want to be there- but this case just came in. We can celebrate next week,” he said, apologetically, trying to make things better.

You had plans to go to the river again, but Luke’s work was demanding.  For the most part, you accepted that and supported him, but Luke could see that you weren't happy. Luke spent too much time at work ― and when he was at home, he was too tired to do anything besides sleep.

“Or you could tell your boss that it’s our anniversary and come meet me at the river,” you snapped back.

“You’re already there?” Luke asked, surprised. He looked at the clock and saw he had an hour before the time you had agreed to meet. Then, he understood. You were already there because you must have planned something special, which meant you were getting something ready. “Baby, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be sorry. Just be here, ” you said, sighing tiredly.

“I’m already on the jet,” Luke sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I called you now so I could catch you at home.”

You were quiet and Luke didn’t know what to say.

“Okay, ” you finally said, after a minute of silence, which startled Luke.  

“I swear, as soon as I get home from this case, I’ll set aside some time and we can have a special night- just you and me,” Luke said.  The defeat in your voice, paired with the easy acceptance made his skin crawl, and he should be thankful, but something felt off.

“Okay,” you said again. “Have a safe trip.” You hung up before Luke could say anything else.

...

Luke thought that walking in the park would be good for him- like closure of sorts.  But he guessed wrong.  All it did was make the manilla folder with the divorce papers inside feel heavier in his hands.  As he sat on the familiar bench, the packet clutched tightly between his grasp, he couldn’t help the tears glistening in his eyes.  He wanted to tear them to shreds, throw the remnants into the river, watch them wash away and disintegrate into nothingness- he wanted to do anything but sign them.

The worst part was that Luke couldn’t sit here and wonder where it all went wrong.  He couldn’t claim his innocence and plead that he did nothing wrong.  He knew what he did.  He knew what he didn’t do. What he didn’t know was when you decided to give up.

...

“Luke, you said you’d make time for us-” you said, and you didn’t sound angry, just really, really tired.

Luke had learned that he couldn’t schedule a date ahead of time, because he could never predict when the team would have a case and he’d have to be whisked away to some other part of the country. So he decided that he would just ask you to go out spontaneously and try to do this at least a few times a month.

The thing is, when he gets home he’s drained.  Physically and emotionally exhausted, and he couldn’t even think about going out.

“I know, I’m working on it,” Luke said, from where he had collapsed on the couch.

You had mumbled something under your breath that Luke didn’t quite catch. 

“What was that?” Luke had asked.

“Nothing.” You sighed and sat by his side on the couch, leaning into him.

Luke frowned. “I can’t understand you when you mumble. How can I stop doing what bothers you if you don’t tell me?”

“Because I have told you, Luke. More times than I can even count.  I’m married, but it feels like I don’t have a husband.” You snapped, leaning away from Luke’s side. 

“Babe, you know I can’t just not go to work,” Luke frowned.

“Actually, you can. You could quit that job and maybe find one that doesn’t keep you there eighteen hours a day,” you said.

Luke was shocked. “This is my dream job-I can’t just quit it.”

“You can, you just don’t want to.”

“We’re not having this fight. I don’t want to fight about it again,” Luke said, and got up from the couch.

“You used to apologize when you were wrong,” you mumbled, crossing your arms tightly.

“Yeah. I would, if I was wrong.” 

No one says anything for a while, and for a second, Luke can see that your anger and hardened features give way to a look of hurt.  A tear slips down your face before you can wipe it away.  

“Why did you stop trying?” You whisper, your voice trembling.  

Luke hates himself for making you cry and tremble and hurt.  He’s stunned and can’t come up with an answer soon enough.  

His silence is enough of an answer for you, though.  And with that, you went to the bedroom.

...

The wind blew the folder so hard it almost flew away.  Luke tightened his fist to prevent the pages from flying everywhere. There was no comfort or closure for him at this park.

The folder with the divorce papers made sure of that. 

...

Luke made his way back home.  To the home you two shared- although it barely looked like you lived there anymore.  Luke supposed you didn’t.  You spent the nights at your sisters house, and he could only assume popping back in during the day, while he was at work.  Each night he came home, more and more of your things were missing.  

The pen was on the table, and Luke picked it up while he flipped the pages until he found where he was supposed to sign. You had already signed it, and Luke just stared at your signature for a while.

The point of the pen was poised over the line in which Luke should put his signature. His hand was trembling so much that he dropped it, exasperated.

You were right, he stopped trying. Every time you complained, Luke knew you were right, and knew that apologies wouldn’t change anything, so he stopped with the empty promises and instead started to keep quiet.

He chose a job over you, waited until it was too late- when you had already left him. And he accepted that he no longer had the right to ask you to stay.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? He never really asked you what you wanted, never talked about how you two could find a balance together. You always tried to talk, but Luke would choke on his feelings and wait until he was under so much pressure, he couldn’t even think of what to say. Which only ever made things worse. 

Maybe it wasn’t too late to tell you everything he’s realized since you’d left. But you didn’t want to see him right now- Luke doubted that you ever would.

Why did you stop trying? 

Your words echo in Luuke’s head and he breathes deeply.  You deserve someone who would fight for you, someone who realized your worth and your value. He picked up a clean sheet of paper and started to write.

‘Baby,

I know you don’t want to see me, but please, please- read this.

I’m not good at talking about how I feel, you know that better than anyone.  That’s why I decided to write a letter.  Because I do feel- even if I can’t talk about it.  And you at least deserve to know that.  I need to tell you some things, and you might think it’s too late, and maybe it is. But I want you to know- above all else, that I understand. I mean, I understand why you left, and I understand why you don’t want to see me.  I hurt you. I know I hurt you- and you’re still hurting.

It has killed me to know that I disappointed you.  To know I’m the reason behind your pain. And I am so sorry.  

I have been so focused on not breaking the promise we made on our wedding day, that I forgot all the other promises I made to you.  The ones I didn’t keep. And because of that, I lost not just my wife, but my best friend too.

There’s some things I should have said to you… The first one is that I don’t want to divorce you- I never wanted you to leave. I didn’t say anything before, because I thought I didn’t have the right to try to stop you from leaving.  But me not speaking up made you think I didn’t care. And that’s another thing I didn’t say before, but I’m saying now: I do care. I care and I miss you so much it hurts. 

Our home doesn’t have a meaning without you. It’s too big and too empty, and I see your ghost in every room. I can hear you humming in the kitchen when I close my eyes.

Maybe I’m too late, maybe your mind is made up- but I have to say it.  I have to let you know I care.  

I almost ripped the divorce papers up today, but I didn’t.  They’re still here. I haven’t signed them. I will if you want me to.  Just not until you read this letter.  Because I’m telling you- I don’t want to sign them.  

I love you.  And I want to see you again, to talk about this face to face. I’ll be at our place tomorrow and I’ll take the divorce papers with me. If you go, we can talk about it. If you don’t go, I’ll sign them.

If, in the end, you don’t want to go, just know that I understand.  I understand and I’m sorry and I’ll love you until the day I die.

This is me, trying. 

Luke’

...

Luke was anxious. He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t eat, and he went to the park early in the morning. He knew you wouldn’t arrive early, if you even arrived at all. But Luke didn’t want to just wait around at home. 

He sat on your bench, under the tree, looking at the river flowing in front of him. 

His phone’s alarm was set to buzz at noon, but it didn’t stop him from looking at the time nonstop. The minutes crawled and he started to sweat. When it buzzed, he jumped and looked at it, his heart pounding in his chest. He started looking around the park frantically, but there was no sign of you.  Luke willed himself to calm down- to wait longer. 

When fifteen minutes passed, he got up and started to pace.  When half an hour passed, he sat again, feeling defeated.  You were never late. Which meant you weren’t coming. 

His eyes started to burn, but he swallowed hard. Luke sniffed and bowed his head, his sight falling at the damned folder. 

With a deep sigh, he picked the folder up and flipped the pages until he found the signature place.

His hands were trembling, but he forced them steady as he pressed the pen to the page and began signing his name.  Each line tore deeper and deeper into his heart.  

“Luke?”

He heard the soft call from behind, making him jump and turn quickly.  

You were standing in the grass, hands buried in your coat pockets as you shivered in the cold.  Your cheeks were red and your eyes were puffy, evidence that you’d been crying too.  But God, Luke thought you were still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

“Hey,” he said, still in shock that you had showed up. 

“Hi,” you answered.  

After an awkward moment of silence, you shuffled your feet and nodded towards the paperwork in Luke’s hands.  “Did you sign them?” you ask. 

Luke nods, holding the folder up, offering for you to take it.

You sighed and walked closer to him, taking the papers before sitting down by Luke’s side.  

“I didn’t think you were coming,” Luke explained.  He watched as you stared towards the river.   

A weak smile spreads across your face as you sigh.  “Neither did I,” you admit.  

“But you did,” Luke continues.  

You nod, biting your lip.  When you turn to him, there are unshed tears glistening in your eyes.  “All I ever wanted was for you to try,” you tell him, your voice cracking. 

And before Luke can respond, you’re grabbing hold of his face and kissing him firmly. Luke pulled you closer, deepening the kiss quickly, needing you closer, closer, closer. Luke felt you smile against his lips, and for the first time since you’d left, he feels like he can breathe again. 

When you finally pull away, breathless, you just look at each other for a moment. 

“I am so sorry,” Luke’s voice was soft, but serious.  “I am so sorry I made you feel less important than work- because you’re not.  It’s just a stupid job, I’ll quit tomorrow if it means I can get even one more minute with you.” 

“I forgive you,” you whispered, watching as Luke’s eyes fell shut, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  You gather his hand in yours and squeeze it gently.  

“God, what is it about this place?” you say, lighter now.  

Luke smiles and turns his body so that he’s facing the river. “Special place for a special girl.” 

You looked up at him, a small smile on your lips before leaning into Luke’s side.  You rest your head on his shoulder, letting him wrap an arm around your frame and pull you closer. 

“Our place,” you state. 

“Our perfect place,” Luke whispered, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head.

[lluvguts]

all better // reddie

pairing: teen!richie tozier / eddie kaspbrak

genre/warnings: fluff and angst, trauma, h/c

word count: 2111

summary:  Eddie has a bad day and Richie does his best to cheer him up.

check out my ao3

It’s just Richie’s front door.  

But no amount of convincing worked for Eddie’s mind as the sight of it warped into the small door in the sewer...With the grotesque face of the leper staring back at him. As he stared at the Tozier’s oak door he swore he saw a thick trickle of blood seep from the threshold and hear the sound of sickly, rasping breath from inside the hollow door. Just a few more moments and he’d be face to face with It..

It’s dark out, he told himself. That’s why I’m seeing things. But I’m here, Richie’s here. I’m safe. No need to be scared.

But that didn’t stop the nightmares that assailed him all night long—ever since they defeated It—keeping Eddie wide awake and strangled in worry for what could be lurking in the murky blackness outside. Eddie’s mother had caught on to his insomnia since the first week, making him take all sorts of supplements and medicine claiming to be a “sleep aid.” They did nothing to keep the images at bay. The noises. He only slept well on nights when Richie snuck over, or when Eddie drove to his house.

Richie could never know.

Eddie shook his head and knocked again. His eyes searched the window with its drawn curtains. I did tell him I’m coming, right?

But then the lock swung back and the door opened, showing the face that soothed all his worries. Richie grabbed Eddie’s arm and brought him in for a hug. He was suddenly pulled into Richie’s open chest and the familiar stink of cigarettes and black tea consumed him. It was a bold and comforting smell, one that Eddie loved. It made his nerves settle and for Eddie was unmistakably Richie Tozier.

“You look like shit, Eds,” Richie held him tightly, “On the phone you said it was a bad day, right?”

Eddie nodded against his shirt and they pulled away. I’m not entirely wrong. It was a bad day. He just doesn’t need to know exactly why. And that was the great thing about Richie: he didn’t need an explanation. He was more than happy to let his boyfriend curl up in his arms, his face still burning from fearful tears while Richie whispered little jokes or Voices in his ear until Eddie wiped his eyes and laughed. Most of the time they weren’t even funny.

“That’s alright, Eds. I’ll fix us some dinner, yeah?”

“You can cook?” Eddie followed Richie into the kitchen and sat on an island chair.

Richie pouted at him, his lower lip sticking out. “Don’t be hateful, sweetheart. Of course the Trashmouth can cook.”

“What’s on the menu then, Chef Tozier?”

“You’ll see.” Richie laughed and rummaged through the pantry.

Eddie glanced around the empty kitchen, not a single sound filled the house—except of course for Richie banging around looking for a stove pot.

“No parents?"

"Nope. My folks are out of town for the weekend, some family thing.” Richie said, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand.

“And they left you alone?” Eddie asked, unable to help the smile that drifted into his voice.

“I’m seventeen. I don’t need constant supervision.” Richie growled.

Eddie pointed to him. “Yet you were about to pour marinara sauce into a pasta strainer.”  

“Okay, scratch that. I’ll always need you, Eddie my love...Plus I promised them I wouldn’t burn the house down.”

“What on Earth are you doing with all that?” Eddie caught sight of two boxes of macaroni, lettuce, and red sauce.

He tried to stifle his giggling, but it was useless. “Rich, are you trying to make spaghetti?”

“Maybe.” He replied defiantly with an embarrassed blush.

“With iceberg lettuce?”  

Richie inspected his ingredients again with his eyebrows raised, his eyes looked more doubtful now from beneath his glasses. “..That’s a thing, right?”

Eddie sighed and joined him at the counter. “You’re hopeless, Richie. Give me that ladle,” He loosely gestured to the wooden spoon next to him while putting back the lettuce.

“This is the wrong type of noodle.” Eddie held up the box of pasta while the marinara sauce simmered on the stove—the one thing Richie had done correctly.

Richie snorted and put his hands on his hips. “Not everything can be perfect like you.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and let Richie’s arms snake around his waist. “Okay, fine. Macaroni it is.”

He waddled over to the sink—with Richie still attached from behind—to pour water into the pot. As he let the faucet run Richie bent down and kissed his bare neck softly, his glasses poking into his skin.

Eddie stiffened. “What was that for?”

“For helping me with dinner. For being cute. Why, can’t I kiss you just because?”

“Of course you can. You’re just..distracting.”

“Oh? You mean like this?” Richie laughed and placed a trail of teasing kisses up his neck, making Eddie grip the handles of the pot tighter while he fought to breathe. He knows just where to kiss me.

“Am I distracting you now?” His mouth rested just above the space between Eddie’s jaw and earlobe, his warm lips and breath tickling him. One of Richie’s hands drifted down toward his pants and Eddie stepped on his bare foot.

“Cut it out Richie,” Eddie gasped. He realized in his daze that the pot of water was about to overflow and quickly shut it off. He carried it to the stove and set it to boil, then poured in the macaroni noodles.

He turned to him. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.”

Richie returned his hands to his sides and smirked. “Awe, shucks. To think I have that effect on people.”

“Only me, dipshit.”

“And that’s just fine,” Richie pecked his cheek and hugged him again.

“Feeling any better, Eds?”

“After some dinner I will be.” Eddie replied while wrestling out of the bear hug to set two plates on the tile counter. Richie drained the pasta and Eddie turned off the burners.

“Like mother, like son.” Richie said philosophically at the sink.

“Be quiet,” Eddie gave his chest a playful shove and handed him the food. They sat at the table on opposite sides, and just as he was about to eat Richie stuck his fork at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Letting you try some!” Richie pushed the fork further towards Eddie’s mouth.

“I have some right here,” He gestured to his own full plate, “And you’ve been eating off that already.”

Before he could pull his fork away a few stray pieces of macaroni slipped off the fork and fell across Eddie’s shirt, staining the front with oily red sauce. Richie’s eyes widened, and he drew the fork back guiltily.

“Gross!”

“Oh, shit. Sorry Eddie! I’ll go get one of mine!” He hopped off the chair and dashed up the stairs. Eddie took the chance to eat some of the “spaghetti” before Richie returned with a fresh shirt.

“I am not wearing that,” Eddie said firmly, picking the noodles off his lap and into his empty plate.

“Just take that off and put on mine. It’s mostly clean, don’t worry. I’ll wash yours.” Richie held his shirt out to him, waiting with closed eyes for the dirty one. Eddie diverted his eyes and pulled his shirt up over his head. He threw Richie’s on hurriedly, his face was red the whole time. God, it smells just like him.

“Okay, you’re good.” Eddie told him and he opened his eyes. Richie examined him wearing his own clothes then flashed a grin.

“Why do my clothes look better on you? And the Cutie Award goes to..”

Eddie thrust the stained shirt at him. “My ass.”

“He’s not wrong, folks!” Richie shouted into the empty hallway as he went back upstairs to the laundry room.

“You want me to clean this up?” Eddie called. Richie had left a trail of dirty dishes and stray pasta noodles in his wake as they had cooked, not caring to pick up.

“Just come up here! We’ll do it later.” came his reply. By “later,” Eddie knew he meant “tomorrow.”

Eddie headed up the stairs and sat on Richie’s bed, waiting for him. Even without him there—just for a few seconds—the thoughts came racing back, like a flip of a switch, no matter if things were happy and easygoing minutes before.

He was no longer in Richie’s room. He was on the burning asphalt with a broken arm, he was running through the yard of the Neibolt house, desperate and out of breath. He was staring directly in the face of Henry Bowers, his entire arm engulfed in flames as searing as a hot iron with Patrick’s spit stuck in his eyes. He was reliving every memory.

“...Eds? What is it? What happened?” Richie appeared in the doorway but Eddie could hardly see him through the haze; he only heard his footsteps thundering in his head as he came to his side, taking his face and forcing him to look into his chocolate brown eyes.

“Eddie? Talk to me, please,” Richie was pleading, sitting down next to Eddie and keeping his hands placed firmly on his shoulders, helping to relieve his staggered breathing.

“It hurts,” Eddie said weakly but his words got choked up in a fresh wave of tears.

“Where, baby? Where does it hurt?” He searched his face and scanned his body frantically.

“God, Richie. My head..the memories, it hurts so much. They never went away,” He cried, truly feeling every ounce of that childhood pain. Richie grabbed his sides and pulled him into his lap, his face set into a hard, serious frown that left Eddie startled.

He’s always been there for me.

“N-no,” Eddie tried moving away, “I’ve been crying..It’s gross, Rich. Let me go wash my face or something.” He sniffed loudly.

“Shhh,” Richie shook his head and held him more fiercely, Eddie could feel the beating of their hearts together against his chest. He closed his eyes and counted each rhythmic thump of Richie’s heartbeat until he could breathe again.

He brought his face to Eddie’s cheek, wet with tears, and kissed him.

“Let me make it better,” Richie whispered. He moved his lips to tenderly kiss every spot on Eddie’s face: each tear, his pink nose, his eyelids.

“It’s gone, we killed It, everything’s alright now,” He kept his lips pressed to Eddie’s temple, and as he did the ache there subsided, “You’re safe with me, Eds.”

Eddie let out a shaky laugh. “You’re such a sap, Richie.”

“Only for you.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes with Richie running his hands through Eddie’s hair. He loved when Richie did this, when his gentle fingers sent shivers down his spine. His comforting touch made different tears slide down Eddie’s face.

“Is it still there? Did the nightmares go away?” Richie asked with another twinge of concern when he felt Eddie crying quietly again into his shoulder.

Eddie tucked his face into the crook of his neck to hide the embarrassment and mumbled, “No, they w-went away.”

“What’s wrong? Why are you still crying, Eddie?” Richie leaned against the headboard so he could see the smaller boy’s face and he cradled the back of his hair.

“I’ve never had someone be so..kind to me before. Not like this. No one would ever do the things you’re always doing for me. I-I don’t think I deserve it.”

Richie lifted Eddie’s legs up higher so he was more comfortable and the smaller boy snuggled in. He spoke with his chin resting on top of his head, “I know I’m kind of an ass most of the time, but I don’t mean to be. I’m always looking out for you Eds, even when you think I’m not...It’s cause I love you.”

Those three words silenced everything and left Eddie blissfully calm—despite his frantic heart.

He loves me?  

Eddie questioned it as soon as he said it, but after thinking it over he knew Richie wasn’t lying.

Who else would clean me up after a panic attack, or wake me from a nightmare, even if I was covered in sweat and tears and who knows what else? Who else would hold me the rest of the night, even if it meant he didn’t sleep?  

“I love you too,” Eddie said against his neck. And then, after a thoughtful pause,

“But don’t call me Eds.”  

[candycityy]

based on @pufferssss' discord headcanon of levi taking care of petra while she's on her period. just fluff, because my babies deserve it, sue me.

(You can also read this on AO3!)

==

She's off her game today.

He'd noticed it earlier that morning, during PT. He'd assigned them to complete a circuit, and most of the squad had groaned and complied, but she'd remained silent, just turned a shade paler.

"Something wrong, Ral?" he'd asked, when her face twisted into a pained expression. For a second, she'd looked at him entreatingly, like she was trying to communicate something with her gaze.

When he just stared blankly back, she'd sighed and shook her head. "Nothing, sir," she'd grumbled, before turning around and going off on the ten-kilometre jog.

But now – something's definitely wrong, he's sure of it. She looks distracted and self-conscious, her eyes flickering between the guys and him, and she keeps adjusting her uniform even though as far as Levi can see, every strap is perfectly in place. She's pale, too, looking far too drained for one measley circuit –for all her flaws, Petra's never been one to back down from a challenge, let alone show a sign of weakness.

He watches as she maneuvers robotically towards the end-point, slicing at the rubber-foam targets in an almost absent-minded way, wearing that pained, distracted expression. When an Abnormal emerges suddenly from the side, plywood arm raised for attack, he waits for her to snap to attention and dodge.

Instead, she turns, much too slowly and goes, as if in a daze, "Huh?" The arm slams down on her wires, and she lets out a shriek as she struggles to recalibrate her position while dangling mid-air. His irritation mounting, he swiftly swings over and plucks her out of the air, ignoring her protests, and dumps her unceremoniously on the ground. Following his lead, Eld, Gunther, and Auruo alight on the ground, expressions tight and wary.

"What the hell was that?" he demands. But instead of looking sheepish like she usually would, she shoots him a venomous glare. Like it's his fault she failed to dodge a damn piece of plywood.

"Sorry," she mutters, sounding not the least bit apologetic. Levi stares at her in disbelief. They've been together for a while, sure, but she's never been insubordinate like this, let alone in front of their squadmates, in the middle of drills.

"Ral." His tone is frigid. "I'll say it once more. What the hell was that? You're being out of line, and your drills were atrocious." His tone is harsh, and her gaze snaps to his, bright with fury.

"I said," she hisses, "I was sorry."

He's angry, now. "Well, you sure have a fucking funny way of showing it."

"Oh, fuck you, Levi," she spits, and there's a sharp intake of breath all around – Petra never curses, and she never calls him by name during training.

"Petra!" Eld exclaims. "Sir, as second-in-command, I'll take care of this – you can continue with the drills –"

"Fuck you too, Eld." She gets to her feet, dusting herself off, and glares around at her squadmates.

He's had enough. "Ral, I don't know why you think it's okay to speak to us this way, but –"

"I'm on my period," she finally bites out. She spins around, eyes flashing, and everyone but him takes an involuntary step back. "And I don't know what I did wrong but this time it feels like I'm being stabbed in the abdomen by a thousand daggers and I'm pretty sure I've bled through these stupid fucking white pants and God help me I'm so done with all of you insensitive fuckers."

There's a beat. He finally finds his voice, and says, lamely, "You should have spoken up earlier. You could've gone to the sick bay if it was that bad."

At that, she honest-to-goodness snarls at him, baring her teeth and curling her lip like a cornered animal. "Then. I'll. Go." The words come out in a low growl, and it's all he can do to keep his expression flat and unreadable.

"Go, then." For a second, her mask of fury cracks, and her eyes fill with tears.

But then she turns on her heel and stalks off, her boots crunching in the dust. He notices, belatedly, that there's a smudge of red on the back of her pants.

His squad stands there, shocked into silence. "You go tell her, Auruo," Eld says finally.

"What? No way, you do it, you're second-in-command –"

As the guys argue between themselves, Levi presses his head into his hands and wonders briefly why the universe seems to hate him.

==

Later, when he knocks on the door, he's not surprised when he doesn't get a reply.

Steeling himself for the worst, he pushes the door open a crack. She's not on the bed. Maybe I'll just go in and wait for her, then, he thinks, before a soft moan makes his gaze snap to the ground.

It's Petra, curled up into a fetal position on the ground. She's sweating despite the mild temperature, and her skin has taken on a deathly pallour.

She groans again, and the sound startles him out of his reverie. He opens the door and steps in. "What the hell, Petra?" he mutters under his breath, kneeling on the ground next to her. Her eyes are closed, and he thinks he hears a muffled fuck off before she sighs, turning onto her other side and pulling her knees even more tightly to her chest.

Despite her mumbled protests, he lifts her carefully back onto the bed and pours her a glass of water. "Open," he orders, gently lifting her head and thumbing her lip. She bites his thumb halfheartedly, and he lets out an irritated grunt.

"Dammit, Petra, it's just medicine for the pain. Quit being a stubborn brat and open up already." She mumbles something unintelligible, maybe another curse, but obediently opens her mouth and swallows the small white pill dry, ignoring the glass of water and grimacing as she does it.

Her eyelids flutter weakly, and she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Go away, you ass. Don't wanna talk to you. Ugh, it hurts." She lets out a high-pitched whine, the sound somehow both irritated and agonised at the same time, and he snorts – it's just so Petra for her to be frustrated at her own pain.

"Lie down," he orders, pulling a hot water bottle out his bag and tucking it roughly into her arms. She presses it to her abdomen and curls into the warmth, making a small, pleased sound, and even though her hair clings to her damp forehead and her clothes are a rumpled mess, it's still inexplicably, ridiculously cute.

"Better?" he asks. She nods sleepily – and then, a few moments, just as she seems on the verge of dozing off, she sits up abruptly, almost shoving him off the bed in the process.

She looks at him with wide, panicked eyes. "You – oh, no," she groans. "You can't be here. My room is a mess, I'm a mess, there's a pile of bloody laundry in the corner..." Levi inwardly recoils at that, but manages to keep his face carefully composed, "...and – ugh – just, get out get out get out." She collapses back into bed, throws a pillow at his general direction (he dodges), and lets out a cry that's somewhere between exasperation and embarrassment.

"You're welcome," he deadpans, and she drapes an arm over her flushed face, covering her eyes. "I'll leave soon. Just as soon as you tell me you're okay."

"I'm okay, now get out." Her words are muffled from underneath her arm. With an irritated sigh, he gets up, pausing only when she peeks out from under her arm (again with the ridiculous cute) and asks, "where'd you get the hot water bottle from?"

"Nifa." He frowns, recalling the thinly veiled disapproval on the girl's face when he'd confided in her the morning's events.

"Oh." Her voice is small. "Um. Captain – Levi," she amends, and hesitates.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. You know. For everything. And, uh, sorry for freaking out earlier." Her arm goes back over her face.

"It's fine." Levi lets out a short exhale, and against his better judgment, leans back over her slight figure to gently brush the tangled hair out of her face. Her face is still fever-hot, and she sighs at the coolness of his touch.

"Feel better, Petra," he says, quietly. As he gets up to leave, his eyes flicker to the pile of laundry at the corner at the corner of the room.

Every cell in his cleanliness-obsessed body screams in protest.

Oh, what the hell. Without making a sound, he lifts the bundle into his arms – keeping it as far away from his face as possible – and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

Levi Ackerman, he thinks grimly to himself, as he makes his way towards the laundry room, you are such a fucking loser.

==

The next morning, Petra wakes up to a pile of clean, perfectly pressed laundry outside her door.

There's a note. Ral, it says, in a familiar, elegant script, you owe me a new bottle of bleach. Let me know when you're better, because I'm still giving your insubordinate ass a week of latrine duty. C.L.

Carefully, she folds the piece of paper and closes the door behind her. She flops onto her bed, feeling an irrepressible smile spread over her face – and somehow, all of a sudden – the ache in her abdomen doesn't feel quite so bad.