#and i was like 'oh ill just come up with whatever sunday morning' but i had work and other stuff so i didnt find the time

[siriussunday]

siriussunday this is very serious why have you missed sirius sunday!!!!!!!! 😡😡😡😡😡😡

BE NICE TO ME on this 3 days late

SIRIUS SUNDAY!

[xdaddysprincessxx]

Say your prayers little girl

Vampire Priest Joel Miller x f!stripper reader

Warnings: Dark fic/Dead Dove, non/dubcon (non bc he uses his powers on her taking away her consent but she does want it), religious theme, p in v (wrap ya dick kids), vampirism, blood, neck biting, mentions of sex work, oral (f receiving), dark fluff?? (The ending ended up softer than I intended), squirting, I believe that’s it!

Summary: Working in the adult industry tends to leave a bad taste in people’s mouth when they find out about your job. Growing up the church has been the only place you’ve been able to find solace and that’s where you seek solace now.

A/n: So I have no experience fucking vampiric priests but I do have religious trauma and a deep seeded need to fuck creatures of the night. Lightly edited, not beta’d, all mistakes are mine! Enjoy!(:

(Mood board made by moi 😇)

Living in LA is nothing like you imagined. Growing up in the Midwest, you moved out here for a fresh start with the hopes and dreams of becoming a movie star. Those hopes and dreams were dashed rather quickly when you struggled to find acting jobs and instead had to resort to working at a high end gentleman’s club. If you were being honest you did enjoy working at the club. You liked the attention, you liked the other dancers but most of all the money. However outside of the club it seemed as though everyone knew what you did for a living and despised you for it. Never in your life have you felt so judged by every passing face. You purposely wear an extra large hoodie with the hood up and sweat pants on just to go to the grocery store.

After working at the club for a few months, one night, around 3am, you were just getting off work. It was a chilly early Sunday morning, the streets covered in fog. Normally you drive to and from work but this particular night you didn’t have your car since it broke down on you a few nights ago. Walking the few blocks to your apartment you just happened to glance down the street you were crossing and saw a church sitting on the corner. Having only lived in the area for a few months, you hadn’t really explored it. Noticing the church doors were open, you decided to walk down to the church and take a peek inside. You grew up in the church. Your family went every sunday, your mom was the Sunday school teacher and your father and brothers regularly volunteered to help be alter boys or set up for fundraisers or whatever else the church needed. You always struggled with what they taught and stood for. If God is the one and only that you should worship why are we praying to all of these patron saints? If God answers prayers why isn’t he answering the prayers of those starving? Of those that are abused or dying from illness? Why does Debra from Mississippi who is judgmental and mean to others get her prayers of a fancy new car get answered but not little Susie who prays she gets taken away from her abusive father? At a rather young age, you struggled immensely with your faith and beliefs but you always found the church to be a place of comfort.

Approaching the front doors you notice some lights were on and someone was playing the organ. You slowly walked up the steps and went through the doors. As you walked in, there were pews on either side, a few random stragglers scattered all over and in front was an alter of Mary surrounded by lit candles and flowers laid at her feet. You passed the first two pews, choosing to stand in the back and just observe. You could hear someone quietly crying and sniffling, a couple of others whispering the rosary and before you know it you can hear soft footsteps behind you.

The sound of a man clearing his throat comes from behind you, making you jump and turn around.

“Well hello there. And who might you be?” says the priest with a smile.

Putting your hand over your fast beating heart, “Oh hi I’m so sorry Father. I saw the doors were open and I couldn’t help myself. I’ve always found comfort in the church.” You tell him as you introduce yourself.

“It’s very nice to meet you sweetheart, I’m Father Joel. Unfortunately we are about to close for the day. You see we like to keep rather strange hours for those who seek out the lord when others are usually in bed. But we will open back up at 10 o’clock tonight if you would like to come back.” He says sweetly as he touches your arm. You can’t help but have this overwhelming feeling of calm. You feel safe and wanted? Your not sure if wanted is the right word but it’s the closest to what you feel. The two of you smile at each other as the priest lifts open his other arm as a guide for you to go back out the doors you entered. You cast your eyes down as you walk back out into the early morning fog. Before you go to step down you turn back around only to be greeted by closed doors.

Hmm that’s weird. You didn’t hear the doors shut. In fact you didn’t hear anything nor did you see the other people leave. Confused as to what just happened you continue on your way back home.

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It’s been six months since you first discovered the church. You try to go as often as you can finding comfort not only in the church but with Father Joel as well. It didn’t take long for him to catch on to what you did for a living. But he never made you feel bad for it. In fact he seemed to be proud of you. One night you were on stage at work and you swore you saw his face in the crowd. That same night you found an envelope in your locker stuffed with money. Five thousand dollars to be exact. But today you decided to take the night off and go spend time at the church. The real reason why you liked to spend so much time there was Father Joel. You couldn’t help but be attracted to him. He had these beautiful brown eyes, fluffy curls on top of his head, the sweetest smile he seemed to save just for you. Oh and his smell! He had this scent to him, a clean yet woodsy scent that never failed to travel from your nose directly to your cunt. Ever since you’ve met him, you’ve been having these dreams of Father Joel. In these dreams you usually run into him in random places, sometimes it’s your house other times it’s a trail in a park you find yourself walking on. But every time he always gives you this look, a rather creepy smile and his eyes change color making him look evil before he dips his head down and kisses your throat. Always leaving kisses on your throat, kissing up your neck, nibbling on your ear sending the most delicious chills up your spine. You always feel this mix of being scared of him and also needing him so bad you might explode if he doesn’t touch you. Most of the dreams are just that. Running into Father Joel, him kissing your throat and neck and then you wake up. However lately the dreams have gone further. He’s started kissing your lips, you swear it feels as though he is actually pushing his tongue into your mouth and he’ll undress you leaving you naked and vulnerable. All for him he’d say as his eyes scan your body much like a predator would size up its prey. In your dream last night it was the same thing except this time after Father Joel undressed you he pulled his cock out, turned you around and pushed his cock in in one thrust. It felt so real you almost forgot it was a dream. He thrusted only a few times before you woke up only to be laying on a wet spot. As you jumped up off the bed, you gave it a quick sniff to make sure you didn’t pee. And sure enough it wasn’t pee. You must have been so turned on from your dream that your juices leaked out of your panties and left a little spot on your sheets.

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It’s already 11 o’clock at night when you make your way to the church. Wearing your favorite black dress with cap sleeves that hang off the shoulder and the bottom hits a little above your knees, you already feel better as you come into view of your sanctuary. Walking right in you immediately run into Father Joel hitting him square in the chest.

“Woah there little one. Not so fast now” he chuckles as he helps you straighten yourself back up. His hands holding your biceps as he stills and just stares at you.

“Father Joel I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there!” You say breathlessly with a chuckle. Your smile almost wiped clean off your face when you see the way he’s looking at you. His eyes. . .

Almost in a flash his eyes go back to their normal brown shade and he smiles at you again.

“You look beautiful tonight. Go on go find a seat in the front row. I’ll be in there soon.” Father Joel tells you. As if by magic you quickly walk to the front pew and sit down. You body moved automatically as if you had no say in your body at all.

Folding your hands in your lap, you look straight ahead at the alter of Mary. Her statue looks as if she’s looking down at you with a soft,caring look on her face. A look that’s almost as if she feels sorry for you.

Soon enough you feel Father Joel’s presence next to you. However you’re stuck. Frantically moving your eyes all around, You realize you can’t move your neck or your arms or any part of your body. Starting to feel scared, your stuck sitting down, facing forward with your hands in your lap. That’s when you feel Father Joel’s hand land on your thigh.

“You know sweetheart it’s not appropriate to wear pretty little dresses like this to church.” Comes his husky low voice whispering in your ear, “especially at night all alone.” His hand starts to slowly move up your thigh, pushing your dress up.

Gasping as if you’re just now able to catch your breath, you can feel your body and your able to move again. You barely move your head to the left when you felt his face on yours. His nose brushes your cheek and you can feel his warm breath on your face. His lips almost touching your cheek.

“You never know who or what you’ll run into sweetheart.” He says as he continues to push up your dress, his thumb rubbing your thigh. Soon your dress is pushed all the way up, exposing your black panties underneath.

“Oh sweetheart,” he says tsking, “you’re wet. Don’t you know lust is a sin baby?” Father Joel said in a very low, hushed tone. He took his finger and rubbed up your clothed slit making you notice the wet spot on your panties.

Sucking his teeth he makes a disappointing noise,

“F-fa-father Joel w-what are you doing? I- we we can’t do this! Y-you’re a priest.” You hurriedly whispered to him. In your head you wanted him to touch you, you wanted your dreams to come true but you also knew he took vows as a priest. There was no way he could ever have relations with you. Not in the way you wanted.

“Oh sweetheart don’t be so naive,” he says as he nips at your neck, “I never said I was a good man. I never said I was a man at all.”

Terrified at the last thing he just said, you turn to face him and that’s when you see his pupils have gone black and his lips pushed back, exposing fangs.

You gasp, eyes go wide as you take in the sight of a man you thought you knew.

“Now get on your knees and pray.” He demands.

Your body obeys his demands as you sink to your knees and you bend forward, resting on your forearms, clasping your hands together as your bow your head in prayer.

You happen to glance up at the statue of Mary and she’s crying tears of blood! The flames of the candles seem to be flickering even higher and you notice there’s no other noise, no music, no murmurs. You feel Father Joel kneel behind you, his big hands gripping your hips and bringing your ass to meet his crotch.

“Mm you’re such a good, obedient little one,” Joel croons as he grabs your hair and pulls you up so your back is touching his chest, “Don’t worry baby you’ll like this next part.” Smirking, he whispers in your ear before opening his mouth and biting down on your neck just below your ear.

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream, the searing pain you feel from the bite. Tears start to fall down your face, you’ve never felt a worse pain than this. The pain seems to get worse, you can feel him sucking the area he just bit. All too soon you feel your energy drain.

Licking his lips, “Mm you have the sweetest taste my little one. You’re mine now. Your blood is mine, your body is mine.” He says in a hushed tone as he begins to lick your wound, laying chaste kisses on and around it as he goes. As weak as you are, you can’t help but feel these licks and kisses, it’s almost as if they’re in high definition. In fact all your senses feel sharper, more defined. Joel brings his wrist up to his mouth slicing open his wrist on a fang.

“Open wide my little one, I need you to drink the body and blood of your savior.” Joel says as he lifts his bleeding wrist to your open mouth. You suddenly find yourself extremely thirsty, your throat burning. When he offers his wrist, you suck down every drop greedily.

“Mm ooohh yes just like that baby drink every drop.” He moans out loud. Hearing him moan as you drink from him turns you on. Makes you want to do more to cause him to make those sounds.

Your face is covered in blood just like Father Joel’s as he pulls his wrist from your mouth and shoves your head down, forcing you back into a bow.

"Give your body to me now, let your savior in little one." Joel grunts out as he let's go of the back of your head and reaches down to pull your panties down. They drop around your knees, your hands go to clasp in prayer again as you feel him pull his cock out and rub it up and down your soaked folds.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned, my cunt craves your cock Father. Please fuck me. Use my body, it's yours." You confess to him. This man, this creature, whoever and whatever he is; you want him. Your very soul now craves him.

Grunting, Joel slowly dips the head of his cock in your entrance, just barely giving you the tip before he pulls back and dips back in, giving you a little at a time. After a few teases, he pulls out and thrusts his cock in in one swift motion, filling you like no one has ever filled you. He begins to pump his cock in and out, you can feel your walls stretching just to try and accommodate his length.

"Ooohhgg nnggg yes father!! Oh fuck me! Fuck my cunt father!" You moan loudly, without a care in the world, "My body is yours! All yours! Fuck your cunt Father!" You scream out as he continues to pound into you mercilessly.

Hearing you declare yourself to him has Joel ready to bust. He's been watching you this entire time. From the very first meeting that he orchestrated, he knew you'd be so sweet and everything he wants and needs. He first saw you walking into the club, you looked too young and innocent to be a dancer. He immediately tapped into your thoughts and was able to discover everything he needed to know. Like how you're new to the area and very much alone and how you struggle with your faith in God but find comfort in the church. That gave him the idea to set up a trap just for you. See Joel owned this house on the corner. It's one of many, and this particular one, he decided to decorate it like a church. One day, he just happened to walk by your apartment and saw your car parked out front. Good thing he happened to be there because your car was leaking fluids, and Joel just happened to have a knife on him and he cut your fluid lines. It took you a couple of days but eventually, you stumbled upon his church and now he has you right where he wants you.

Joel continues to pound into you over and over, spearing you on his cock. The head kisses your cervix, making you scream out in pleasure. You can’t help but fuck yourself back on his cock. Pushing back on him almost as hard as he’s pushing into you. You feel yourself getting so close, never having felt a cock fuck you so good you came from penetration alone. You just need a little bit of attention to your clit.

“Fuck that’s it baby just like that. Fuck yourself on my cock. Nngh ooh oh fuck”

You feel Father Joel’s thrusts start to stutter, after a few more thrusts you can feel his dick pulse inside you, coating your walls with his thick load. You let out a whine as you feel him pull out. You were so close to coming, if only you could’ve touched yourself a little bit you would’ve came but he finished before you got a chance.

Joel pulls out and holds your pussy lips open with his thumbs as he admires his cum slowly pushing out of your entrance.

Hearing your whine Joel grabs your hips and helps roll you on your back. Once your completely on your back, he opens your legs, pushing your knees back up in your chest,

“Oh you poor thing. You didn’t get to cum yet did you? You just let me use this pretty little cunt huh? Don’t worry sweetheart it’s my turn to worship your heavenly body at the alter I built just for you.” Joel says to your sore pussy. Looking down at Father Joel, watching him stare at your cunt has you whimpering as he lowers his face and licks a wide stripe up your slit. Holding your legs up and he keeps his hands on the backs of your thighs, you can’t help but gush even more as he begins to suck on your clit as though it’s the most delicious piece of hard candy he’s ever tasted. You feel your high begin to build again in no time.

Joel can’t help but moan into your pussy. The taste of you and him combined is the sweetest nectar he has had the pleasure of experiencing. He starts to swirl his tongue around your clit while simultaneously sucking on it making you squirm around. His grip on your thighs tightens as he continues to feast from your body.

“Ooh oh fuck right there! Right there! Oh fuck! Yessss!” You scream out loud as you hit the hardest orgasm you’ve ever received. You pussy gushes so hard you actually squirt, watching it hit Joel in the face. He has a look of intense hunger as he opens his mouth to collect every drop.

Joel’s mouth leaves your body as you continue to lay there with legs shaking. He slowly lifts up and looks at you with a devilish grin.

“Let’s get you home and cleaned up my love. There’s a lot I have to teach you and show you now that you’re mine.” Joel says as he pulls your panties up. Finally starting to get your wits about you, you realize your covered in blood. So is he. Joel goes to stand to fix himself when he rips the white collar out,

“Don’t need this anymore” he chuckles as he throws it to the side. He reaches back down, placing an arm under your back and the other arm under your legs and picking you up like a baby, cradling you to his body.

Glancing around the empty church, ���Father Joel what happened to the other people who were in here?” You ask.

“ Just Joel baby. You can call me Joel. And they were all an illusion my love. Merely a figment of your imagination. I had to make this church believable for you sweetheart. If I kept it empty you would’ve been suspicious. I couldn’t have that now could I?” He replies.

Despite all of the red flags that have been going off, you are perfectly content. Happy to be in his arms as he walks out the doors and down the steps to a car parked outside. Carefully opening the door, Joel sits you down in the passenger seat before shutting the door and walking around to the drivers side to get in.

Once inside the car, Joel starts up the engine and goes to grab your hand,

“Let’s go home my love” he says to you smiling. You smile back at him, ready to spend the rest of your days by his side.

A/n: I hope y’all enjoyed this! It literally came to me the other night while I was getting dicked down lol (: anyways yea. Thank you so so much for every like/reblog/comment! You guys are the best!♥️

[ultimateluckystudent-writes]

Nothing Comes For Free (Byakuya/Ultimate Housewife!Reader/Nagito)

CHAPTER TWO: Lately I Begin to Shake (For No Reason At All)

First Chapter || Next Chapter

Contains (Will Be Updated With Chapters): She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Female Reader, Infidelity, Somewhat Unhealthy Relationships, Depictions of Mental Illnesses, Depictions of Symptoms of OCD, Minor Injury, Mentions of Blood

READ ON AO3

     One of the fun games you and Byakuya apparently still played were his unnanouced arrivals. It was a back and forth, really. He wouldn’t tell you when he was coming home and hide his schedule from you, then you would have to question all of your staff relentlessly and bribe them, but if you prepared too much it would be clear that you had gone to lengths to find out when he was coming, and then he would ask you what you were hiding, and so forth. But if there wasn’t at least a little fuss he’d be grumpy for the uncertain time he was home and eventually he’d ask what you even occupied your time with. As always, managing a house was a difficult balance. 

     But for whatever money was still worth to the outside world, Byakuya held… a lot of it. Possibly even most of it. ‘ You’re more than comfortable, so what does it matter? This was nothing compared to what it would be like out there, selling your body for scraps of food.’ A voice in your mind that sounded like your mother putting on her blush in the morning said. ‘This is the least you could do.’ A tight string of pearls around her neck.

     “Good morning, Komaeda-san. How are you doing on this fine day?” You chirped, made-up and ready for the day when he entered the staff’s kitchen at exactly six thirty-seven. You knew because you had allowed yourself exactly ten minutes to have a cup of tea and were seven minutes in. He was clearly still exhausted, still yawning as he crossed the threshold, but he stifled it at once when he heard your voice. 

     “Togami-sama!” He shook his head to clear it. “My apologies, I should have expected you- I’ll begin to rise earlier in the day-”

     “This is a special occasion.” You smiled at him. “Byakuya-san is coming home today.”

     “I feel just useless, I was unaware of this-”

     “Haha, oh don’t be silly.” You tittered. The timer next to you rang out, sharp and shrill. You were ready, resetting it for another minute at once. “Of course you didn’t. But we have a busy day ahead of us. It’s a Sunday, so the cleaning staff isn’t working.” You were sure he picked this day on purpose. “So we’ll have to make sure everything is-” ‘Up to code.’ Your mind supplied. “Ready for him. After that, we’ll need to fetch the liquor and wine from the cellar and check on the food, tailoring, and drivers.” ‘Last time I sent someone else to do it, three years ago, they had absolutely no care for how his suits transported. I still need to figure out which one of my little worker bees is picking my dear husband up. He changes it every time.’ We have to monitor his arrival because I’m still not completely sure of the time, and arrange for the next meal to be prepared accordingly. If we have time-” You stopped yourself. In one of your many repetitions of the list for today, you almost added on the last detail.

     You were only really allowed to bake when Byakuya was to come home. Though they’d never say, you knew the kitchen staff was under strict orders to not allow you to cook or bake. A burn scar would be quite unsightly on a housewife. But when you batted your eyelashes and talked about how badly you wanted to prepare something special for him, they gave in.

     Last time you’d made a stunning macron display of five different flavors and colors. Before was pain au chocolat- that was quite an intensive process to get all the layers perfect. Today would be eclaires. You had spent every moment of your seven step skincare routine last night just thinking about making pastry dough today.

     It was time you spent alone, a pleasure you felt guiliter about than you would have eating all of your creations in one night. And it would only happen if you planned everything by the minute and got lucky.

     “If we have time…?” Nagito prompted after a minute. You knew this because the timer rang again. You reset it once more. 

     “That’ll be nice, won’t it?” You hummed, finishing the last sips of tea. You stood, putting the kitchen timer in the huge pockets you’d masterfully sewn into your favorite long, blue skirt years ago. “Let’s get started. We’re ahead of schedule.”

     You were surprised at just how helpful Komaeda was. What he seemed to lack in common sense he made up for in being diligent and obedient. He dusted and polished while you tied up curtains to let the sunlight in and trimmed flowers to place in bouquets for heavily-traffic spots. You couldn’t believe it as your trusty timer seemed to lie to you- so much had gotten done with so few rings. You were two hours and sixteen minutes ahead of schedule. 

     “I’m going to run down and grab the alcohol.” You told Nagito as he cleaned the sunroom. “I’ll be right back.”

     You tapped your way down the hardwood to the door to the basement. ‘One, two, three, four. The tailors aren’t open yet, and they won’t be open for a bit when we arrive if we leave now. I had planned to be done a bit earlier, but not like this. One, two, three, four.’ Down the stairs and past the pianos and vintage loveseats and paperwork. ‘I must have forgotten something. One, two, three, four. What did I forget?’ To the next door, more inconspicuous, to the cellar. The lighting in here was dim. There were rows of wine fridges and the huge cabinets that contained any alcohol Byakuya would find worth drinking. ‘One, two, three, four. Wake up, check phone for emails and messages, deep breathing, shower, exfoliate, one, two, three, four, shave, moisturize, skincare, makeup, get dressed, jewelrey…’ You reached out to open the fridge you’d been looking for. You realized exactly what was wrong when you saw your hand.

     You felt dizzy. A wave of sickness so strong washed over you you bent over, hand pressed against the glass of the fridge. ‘That will stain. Be sure to clean.’ Your mind reminded you, stern around the rest of the swimming world. Your ten-carat diamond engagement ring was missing, along with its matching band. ‘I didn’t check enough times. I didn’t check enough times. I didn’t check enough times. It’s missing, I lost it, it’s gone, how am I going to tell Byakuya? Where did I see it last? I should have worn gloves, he’s going to smell the bleach on my hands, I need to moisturize again, did they slip off?’ You quickly pulled out a handkerchief you had in your pockets, dabbing at your forehead lightly for any sweat. ‘Breathe, breathe, one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four, one two three four one two three four one two three four onetwothreefouronetwothreefourone-’

     “Togami-sama? I finished in the sun room. Do you need any help?”

     Your knees buckled before snapping right back up along with the rest of your posture. You smoothed your hair and breathed and smiled, though there was no one else in the room. Komaeda was calling from the basement, you realized.

     You grabbed the bottles and walked back up the stairs.

     “I’m fine, thank you. Stay up there, Komaeda! Byakuya-san gets touchy about the stuff down here!” You’d been through all the documents. After you realized you regretted agreeing to work at home, this was one of the first ways you’d thought of pissing him off. What you found was a lot more than the insider trading you’d suspected- in fact, after the three weeks you spent pouring over them, it had only made being inside the house worse. You quietly cleaned everything up and never spoke a word of it to him. But that was ages ago, when you were still rebelling.

     “Of course, no worries!” You made it up the second set of stairs quickly.

     “Found what I was looking for.” You flashed him a big smile and held up the two bottles. You hoped he didn’t notice the way your hands were shaking.

     “Wonderful. I don’t know much about wine, myself, but I’m sure it’s a perfect selection.”

     “Oh, I don’t really drink. These are his favorites. A red and a white- easy to pair with whatever the chef has planned for tonight. We’ll bring them to the kitchen, and-”

     A shrill, loud cry rang out right next to you. You jumped, your hands flying up to protect your face instinctively. By the time you remembered it was just your timer in your pocket, the bottle of red wine was already falling onto the hardwood floor. You gasped as it hit the floor, shattering and splashing red wine all over you and Komaeda’s legs, staining them at once.

     You had absolutely no clue exactly why it happened, but the very first thought that crossed your mind, before all the others came one, clear as crystal, alone.

     'I haven’t seen my husband in exactly thirty-one days.’

     Your hands came up, but the fingers just shook and twitched as your eyes darted back and forth, back and forth around at all the possible ways to start. Apologize to Komaeda? Go to change clothes? Try to get the stain out? Mop up the liquid? Turn off the timer? Check the carpet nearby for splatter? The world began to swim again.

     You fell to your knees at once, the pieces of glass underneath ripping up your favorite skirt and digging into your smooth skin. The skirt only soaked up even more wine. Your timer still screamed from within it. You began to collect the biggest pieces.

     “Togami-sama!” Nagito gasped. “Be careful, please, you’ll cut yourself on-”

     “I already have.” A dull voice that wasn’t your own said. It couldn’t have been your own. Yours was high and bright and musical, something from a technicolored sitcom. This one was completely flat and… normal.

     “My lady, please! ” Komaeda crouched down and grabbed your wrists. The unexpected touch surprised you. “Drop the glass.” He ordered. You obliged at once, the sharp pieces falling from your hands all at once carelessly. He was looking deep into your eyes. His remdined you of the murky green of wine bottles. “Please, go get yourself cleaned up. This is exactly the sort of thing I am to take care of. I couldn’t stand to see you do this to yourself.”

     You blinked at him. Your surroundings seemed to fade back into your vision. 

     “I- I’m deeply sorry.” He released you as soon as you pulled yourself up. “I- I don’t know why-” One more thing faded back in. You stuck your hand into your pocket and pulled out the kitchen timer. You turned it off and didn’t reset it. “I apologize for how I conducted myself. I don’t know what came over me.” You bowed to him.

     “Not to worry. I’ll forget it ever happen, if you’d like.” He smiled at you, soft and kind. Your heart jumped a bit. You hoped your smiles looked like that. “I’ll handle this quickly.”

     “Thank you, Komaeda.” You swallowed hard and walked off. You still weren’t completely calm. ‘One two three four one two three four.’ You counted the steps, careful not to step on any of the cracks in the tiles. You changed your clothes and tossed the others into the chute down to the laundry room in a daze, though careful not to get any blood anywhere. Then you went to the bathroom and inspected the cut. It was right across the center of your palm, unable to be bandaged inconspicuously. You washed and cleaned the cut, defeated. As you wrapped up your hand, you noticed something on the side of your sink.

     Your rings. You must have taken them off while getting ready.

______________________________

NEXT CHAPTER

[ecileh]

Nesta and the Mercenary

Pairing: Nesta / the mercenary Rating: explicit Length: 9k Tags: F/F, SAPPHIC SMUT, canon-compliant, non-graphic past mention of the canon SA AO3 link

But Nesta had gone with that mercenary. My hateful, cold sister had been willing to brave Prythian to rescue me. “What happened to Tomas Mandray?” I asked, the words strangled. “I realized he wouldn’t have gone with me to save you from Prythian.” —A Court of Thorns and Roses, Chapter 30

BUT WHO DID GO WITH NESTA TO SAVE FEYRE?? THE MERCENARY.

This is their story. It’s very gay.

As they sat around the fire for the quiet hour before bed, the faerie came.

Later, Nesta’s memories of the encounter were crystal-clear, but frantic and scattered with her terror. She remembered the faerie’s golden fur and elk-like horns and snarling voice. She remembered how Feyre tried to stave him off with a hunting knife. She remembered protecting Elain with her own body like a shield of skin and bone, despite her own fear, always putting Elain’s safety above all else.

Most of all, she remembered her father telling Feyre to go, and live well, and never come back, because she was better than all of them.

She remembered how deep down, she agreed.

Then Feyre’s eyes were on Nesta and she was saying, “Whatever you do, don’t see Tomas Mandray again. His father beats his wife, and he’s never done anything to stop it.” Nesta set her jaw so her lips wouldn’t quiver. “Bruises are harder to conceal than poverty.”

Those were Feyre’s last words to any of them as she left with the beast.

As much as the encounter had made her fear for her life, nothing could have prepared her for the growing horror she felt as she watched Elain and her father dry their tears and go from cowering in terror and sobbing with grief, to bland smiles and mindless conversation in mere minutes.

“To think we had an aunt on the island, all along. I do wish we could have met Aunt Ripleigh before she grew too ill,” their father said, idly picking up his wood carving supplies.

Elain smiled dreamily. “I wonder what her mansion is like, or if she has any handsome bachelors for neighbors. Feyre is so lucky to get to travel, even if it’s for such a sad reason.”

Nesta looked from her sister to her father in disbelief as they chattered away about Aunt Ripleigh, who, as far as Nesta could tell, was a figment of their imaginations.

Elain continued, “Isn’t it funny, how you wrote to our other relatives on the Continent so often for help, when we had one just a few days’ ride away?”

“Feyre left with a beast, Elain. What the fuck are you two talking about?” she hissed.

“I’m sorry, Nesta, that you did not get to go,” Elain said mildly. “But that’s no reason to curse at me or call Aunt Ripleigh’s coachman a beast. He seemed perfectly well-mannered to me. Are you on your cycle? We should have picked up some willow bark tea from the hedge-woman at the market.”

Nesta sputtered, unable to form a response. She looked toward the door, which had been shattered by the faerie mere minutes before. The door was now whole, but it had a little round window that had not been there before. And all of Feyre’s paintings were now missing from the wood.

“When did we get a window in the front door?”

“Hm?” her father said. “Oh, I suppose Feyre must have done that before she left, after the wind damaged it.”

Her eyes fell upon Feyre’s hunting knife, lodged in the cabinet that Feyre had painted with little blue flowers. She pulled the knife from the wood, then looked outside the bare front door’s new window. It hadn’t snowed since that morning, and there was not a footstep in the snow, not even from when Nesta had returned home an hour before.

And Nesta Archeron knew, with absolute certainty, that she was the only one left who knew the truth.

✦✦✦

Nesta rose early the next Sunday and marched into town alone, before Elain could wake and tag along. The market was sleepy and most vendors were still arranging their wares in their stalls and wagons when Nesta arrived. But the person she was looking for was already there, leaning against the broken fountain.

“What will it cost for you to accompany me to the wall? No more, no less,” Nesta asked the only woman of the handful of mercenaries who awaited work in the town square.

She was a mountain of a woman, perhaps in her late twenties, with scars through her eyebrow and along her forearm, chin-length dark hair, and thick muscles draped in silver fur—the very wolf that had earned Feyre her life sentence in Prythian. She narrowed her obsidian-dark eyes as she spoke in a voice that was at once husky and girlish, “Have the Children of the Blessed brainwashed you into thinking you’ll find a faerie husband in Prythian?”

“The Children are simpering fools,” Nesta scoffed. “I’m looking for a human, and I won’t expect you to go over the wall with me. Just get me through the woods.”

The mercenary appraised Nesta from toe to head, her gaze lingering on Nesta’s curves and fine wool dress. “It won’t be cheap, what with rumors of faeries getting over the wall. For what exactly does a fine lady want to spend two days hiking through snow and wolf territory?”

“I am no lady,” Nesta said, steeling her spine to her full height, which was still several inches shorter than the mercenary. “Just tell me your price and I will pay it.”

“You're the brassy-haired huntress's sister,” the mercenary said, fingering the silver fur on her shoulders.

“They took her last week because of the very pelt you wear.”

The mercenary looked at Nesta for a long moment, then clicked her tongue. “Forty silver. Double if you don’t get through the wall and I have to bring you back. And you’ll want more practical clothes, princess. Your boots are fine, but you need pants and warm layers.”

Nesta counted out twenty silver. “Don’t call me that. You get the rest when I see the wall. We leave tomorrow at dawn.” It was more than she had expected, though she had not actually known what to expect. The silver, plus the cost of any clothes she couldn’t salvage from Feyre’s old hunting garb, would eat up a good chunk of the little fund that she had set aside for herself. But if there was even half a chance of rescuing Feyre from the faerie beast who had stolen her and bewitched their family, it would be more than worth it.

“Whatever you say, princess.”

“My name is Nesta,” she said, frowning up at the other woman.

“The princess has manners! I'm Rab.” The mercenary grinned, extending her hand. “It will be my pleasure to do business with you.”

Nesta glared at Rab, but shook on their deal anyway.

✦✦✦

Telling her family that she was going to “check on Feyre and Aunt Ripleigh” had been a vexing affair. Nesta was still in a pissy mood from it when she met Rab in the town square the next morning at dawn, in the same exact spot she had left the scar-faced woman. Blessedly, Rab had stayed true to her word rather than having made off with Nesta's silver, as many other mercenaries might have done.

“What's got your bloomers in a twist, princess?” the mercenary asked with a smirk, noting Nesta's stormy expression.

“You ask as if I'm wearing any,” Nesta said flatly. “Let's go.”

Rab raised her eyebrows suggestively, but stayed silent, having apparently decided not to tangle further with Nesta's attitude.

They walked in silence for the first few hours. Nesta felt awkward and exposed in Feyre’s pants, which hugged her larger backside obscenely, and she was soon gasping for breath. She may have had a full week of square meals for the first time in months, but her body was still not strong enough to overcome the lingering weakness of near-starvation.

Nesta did not complain or let herself fall behind, however, and Rab did not slow her pace, though she did loudly announce, "I could use a bite," before sitting down on a log and handing Nesta a few pieces of hard bread and venison jerky.

Nesta ate quickly, though she appreciated the chance to catch her breath. Rab chewed slowly while Nesta took long sips of water from a canteen and shrugged off her outermost layer now that she was warm from walking.

They continued like this for the rest of the first day: Nesta quietly pushing herself to keep up, Rab maintaining a hard, steady pace but also enforcing regular breaks. She would never admit it, but Nesta was grateful that her pride was saved from having to request time to sit down and catch her breath.

“Didn't your family care to help search for your lost sister?” Rab asked as they bedded down for the night. “I saw you with a third girl. No parents, other relatives to help you or go in your stead?”

Nesta frowned. “I'm keeping up, aren't I?”

“I didn't mean to offend,” Rab said with mock solemnity, piling wood onto the fire. “You're doing fine. I'd just be surprised if coming yourself was your first choice.”

“Even if my father or my sister could make this trip, which they couldn't, they're so magic-addled they wouldn't understand where they were going.” Nesta sighed as she inched closer to the fire, savoring its warmth. “They think Feyre is at some imaginary relative's house and that I've gone to check on her.”

Rab froze in the middle of adding a log to the fire and raised an eyebrow. “They've been glamoured?”

“It's utterly infuriating. I forged a letter and everything to ensure that they thought this nonexistent aunt desperately needed me, and not Elain or my father, to come visit. But they're so bewitched that all I had to say was 'Aunt Ripleigh', and they were glassy-eyed and dreamy-voiced, telling me to have such a lovely trip.”

“But you are not glamoured.”

“Clearly not,” Nesta snapped. Sparks flew as she took the log from Rab's unmoving hand and tossed it roughly into the fire.

“There's a science to a good campfire, and you're fucking it all up, princess.” Rab grabbed another log and used the end of it to rearrange the fire. “Why wouldn't the faerie glamour you? Have you had past dealings with them? Or a charm that protected you?”

Nesta shook her head, then pulled up her sleeve to show the mercenary her iron bracelet. “This is useless. Elain had one, too, and was enchanted anyway. Don't know why I still wear it.”

“The only metal that will stop a faerie from hurting you is a wit of steel, or a sharp blade to the heart or the neck, and the latter is only after sticking them with an ash arrow first,” Rab said, fingering the sword at her side. “You’ll have to rely on the former, as it doesn’t seem like you’re wanting for mental steel. That’s a good thing.”

Nesta stiffened and said bitterly, “Try telling my family that.”

“Do you think my mother was proud to raise a child more beast than girl until I started bringing her money every season until she died? Or that any mercenary bands respected me as an equal until I proved myself their better? You might as well have pride in whatever it is that you’re good at.”

Nesta heard the truth in Rab’s words. She knew her own stubborn pride was all that had kept her going these years. Even if her father never looked at her the way he looked at Elain every day or at Feyre as the faerie led her away. Like he was proud of the people they were. But Nesta didn’t need his approval—or anyone’s. Right now, she just needed to bring Feyre back, because it wasn’t right that she was gone.

It wasn’t right that nobody but Nesta even knew enough to miss her.

That didn’t mean she wanted to face any of that pain right now. Not with the mercenary always observing her so intently.

So Nesta was silent as Rab directed her to boil beans for dinner. She tried to ignore the thickness in her throat and the feeling that Rab could see right through her. If anything, the sensations only ached more keenly the more she tried to shove them away.

Meanwhile, the mercenary stomped through the trees around camp and scattered salt or whatever charm she had to deter any passing faeries who might scent two humans so close to the wall. Even though they both knew it would do nothing to stop a faerie who truly intended to steal, torture, or devour them. Even though Rab herself had said only an ash arrow and sharp blades and wits would stop a faerie. But this close to the wall, humanity felt too fragile to dismiss anything that could turn a faerie away.

“Say one word about the overcooked beans and you’ll be eating snow for dinner,” Nesta said as she handed the returning mercenary a bowl.

“I’ve seen worse,” Rab said before tasting the meal. If one could even call it a meal. “Actually, you know what? I think I like it better this way. It’s inspired. Maybe when you find your sister, her faerie husband will spare your life to keep you as his cook.”

“Shut up.” Nesta closed her eyes and struggled to swallow a mouthful of dry, flavorless mush.

Rab snickered and set to spreading the mush on a piece of hard bread. “Can you at least defend yourself better than you can cook?”

“I'm sure you'll disagree, but not every problem needs to be solved with fists and steel,” Nesta said. Reaching into her pack, she found Feyre's knife. “Though, I do have this.”

The mercenary arched one dark eyebrow. “And can you wield it?”

“Sharp end to the gut,” she said as she stabbed the knife into the cold ground next to her. “Just like that.”

“That's a hunting knife, princess. It's for skinning and filleting, not stabbing.”

Nesta glared at the mercenary, who looked like she was trying not to laugh in Nesta's face. “It wouldn't feel good if I stabbed you with it, would it?”

“Fair enough,” Rab said, setting her bowl aside. “Eat fast, if you can stomach it. I'll give you my time until the moon rises, but then it's bedtime.”

“Your time for what?” Nesta asked.

“To show you how to survive an attack long enough to run away if your wits—or your tits—aren't enough. Works for faeries and men alike.”

For the next hour, Rab showed Nesta the fundamentals of self defense: how to escape a bind, to stun an attacker by gouging their eyes or hitting them in a soft spot (if they even had any), and to wear a knife properly, though Rab impressed that Nesta should only draw it as a last resort, since wielding it would take weeks to learn, and it could easily be taken and used against her.

The quick training was a blessed distraction from her brooding, but Nesta was still relieved when she could curl up in the bedding that Rab had laid out, so that she could hide her face in the shadows of the forest, but the mercenary stopped her.

“You a heavy sleeper?”

Nesta shook her head.

“Good. Then I won't have to worry about not being able to rouse you for your watch.”

“Do I get a discount for doing your job for you?” Nesta asked.

Rab smirked. “Absolutely not, princess.”

The night was cold and long, but the mercenary sat close to Nesta through her watch, her warmth welcome at Nesta’s back. Sleep came even more scantly for her than usual, as it had been years since she had slept anywhere besides the huge iron bed, and its mattress, as lumpy and old as it was, was still a far cry from the cold, hard ground. So she did not care much when her watch came—or at least she wouldn’t have at all, if it weren’t for the distant howls of wolves. Rab had told her not to mind them unless they grew louder than the crackling of the fire, but the sound was unsettling all the same.

The second day passed much as the first, quiet and grueling, though as they drew closer to the wall, the mercenary grew visibly more agitated, fussing with her layers and furs and accidentally thwacking her sheathed sword against tree trunks as if she had forgotten how far it stuck out from her body. Nesta, on the other hand, was exhausted from the day before but had gained some sureness of foot as she picked around the tangled roots and thorns that wove through the snow.

“We’ll camp here,” Rab said abruptly as she dropped her pack on the ground.

Nesta narrowed her eyes at the sun shining through the trees, not yet near the horizon.

“We’re close, aren’t we?”

“You can’t go into the faerie lands so close to nightfall, princess. You’ll have a good night’s sleep and then be on your way with a full day of sunlight before you,” the mercenary said. “Start the fire while I have a look around, see if there’s a gap in the wall nearby. In most places it’s invisible, but here there’s stone brought in by humans. It means there was a gate that faeries were getting through.”

“Absolutely the hell not,” Nesta said, fetching the purse from her pocket and pressing it into Rab’s hand. “We’re done here. Two more hours of daylight is that much closer to my sister.”

The mercenary sputtered in disbelief at the suggestion. But even in her shock, Rab was fast, and she grabbed Nesta before they were more than a step apart.

Nesta tried to stomp on Rab’s feet, to throw her head back at Rab’s face, but Rab was the one who had taught her to do those things. The mercenary anticipated each attack and swiftly dodged Nesta’s blows.

Though Nesta had only just learned how to escape a bind, she had lived her entire life on the offensive. She was feinting, distracting the mercenary. When Rab adjusted her hold on Nesta in order to swing her head out of the way, Nesta took the opening and spun in Rab’s arms.

She sank her teeth into the exposed skin of the mercenary’s neck. Rab yelped in shock, and it was enough for Nesta to slip away.

She took off running toward where she assumed the wall would be. Northward, with the setting sun to her left.

“Nesta, stop!” Rab cried, but Nesta was not listening to the mercenary’s voice or even whether footsteps followed behind her.

All she knew was that Feyre was somewhere on the other side of that wall, and Nesta would bring Feyre back, even if she had to trade herself to the beast that had taken her sister away.

It wasn't right. It just wasn't right that Feyre had been taken away without any choice, and Nesta had been left behind to her own wretched life.

If any of them deserved to be taken away by nasty, vain faeries, it was Nesta, who had never said a kind word or obeyed an order in her life. The faeries would have just eaten her or sent her back once they'd had enough of her attitude. Not Feyre, who always did whatever was required of her, and then some, and still found it in her heart to make things beautiful and care about others.

The woods blurred into a canvas of grey and white smudges as she ran. She barely registered the bare branches that cracked across her face like tiny whips. Skipping and leaping over rocks and tree roots felt second-nature—though her boots were heavier than any dancing shoes, dodging the obstacles recalled some memory in her muscles of long-disused dance steps as she ran toward her destination.

All Nesta could picture was Feyre enslaved to the faeries like their ancestors, meekly scrubbing their floors or being sold off in marriage to a hideous beast. Feyre, trapped for life in a misery she didn't deserve.

And only Nesta knew.

It wasn't right.

Nesta had no idea how long she ran, though even with the added adrenaline of her fury and fear, she knew she could not have made it far.

But just when she thought her winter-starved body would give out, the snow underfoot melted, and when her eyes refocused on the grey in front of her, it was the stone of a wall.

The wall.

Nesta gasped with relief and pressed her hands to the smooth stone.

It was cool, but not cold. And the air was warm, scented of lemon and roses. As if the magic of Prythian itself leaked through the wall to offer a deadly flirtation to any mortal who dared come this close.

She stepped back, taking in her surroundings. Old, rough stone ran along the bottom of the wall as far as she could see, but here, from her chest up, the stone was smooth and clean. A very recent repair if the sharp, precise fit of the stones and the lack of lichens and moss were any indication.

To the left, toward the setting sun, the patch of fresh stone went as far as she could see, sometimes even comprising an entire section of wall from bottom to top, as if the entire wall had crumbled in places. But to the right…the patch ended.

Hoping a rogue faerie or the freeze of the particularly bad winter this year had broken enough of the wall for her to slip through or climb over, she ran to the right, toward the darkening sky, savoring the warmth and the smell of fruit and flowers. A tiny, uncharacteristic smile toyed at the corners of her lips—everything seemed brighter here, and she was so close.

Nesta almost laughed when she saw the pile of boulders ahead, perfectly arranged that she might clamber over them to reach the break whence the rocks came, toward the top of the wall.

She was just putting her hands on the second boulder when a hard yank at her collar sent her tumbling backward. The breath was stolen from her lungs as she hit the damp ground.

A great shadow stood over her. She blinked the shock from her eyes just in time to see short, dark hair swaying around a shaking head.

“You are a damned idiot,” Rab hissed, pulling Nesta back to her feet. “Didn’t you hear me when I said you can’t go into Prythian tired and hungry? We’ll both be alone in the night, on either side of the wall with no one to watch our backs. And then the first monster you meet, if they don’t outright eat you, will ply you with fruit and wine and trap you in a bargain or put you to sleep for a hundred years, and you’ll be too hungry to refuse, princess. And then you’ll be no use to your sister.”

“I've gone hungry plenty.”

“That's exactly how I know you won't be able to refuse anything you're offered. I'm just doing my job to give you your best shot.”

Nesta gave the mercenary her best withering glare: eyes narrowed, one finely arched eyebrow slightly raised, her sharp lips pressed into a thin, cruel purse. “Your job is done.”

The mercenary sighed. “It's your life.” She reached into her pack and handed Nesta what was left of the jerky. “Try to make it last. Eat nothing of Prythian origin, not even a berry.”

Nesta nodded, then turned back to the wall. She expected to hear the retreat of footsteps behind her, but there was only silence.

“Why are you still babysitting me?” she asked coldly, glancing back at Rab.

Rab gave a wicked grin that Nesta wanted to insult right off of her face. “Because if whatever allows you to resist glamours doesn’t let you through that hole, I’m not missing out on my double pay by letting you die on this side of the wall.”

“I'm not going to die,” Nesta snapped, though she swallowed, looking up at the break in the wall.

There was no turning back now.

So she climbed.

It wasn’t a very long climb, maybe ten feet to reach the fresh break. But hauling herself up the layers of boulders required the grueling use of long-dormant muscles, and she was embarrassed to struggle in front of the mercenary with her bulging biceps and thick neck. It was a blessed relief that Rab did not offer to help, as Nesta’s pride might have necessitated that she kick the mercenary in the face.

And when she finally got to the top, the air undulated and sparkled, as if simmered by the forge of the earth beneath, but she could see it.

Prythian. The land of faeries, a land that only the stupidest and unluckiest of humans had seen in centuries.

She would be the first to be neither.

Through the shimmering air, she could see a forest of pale spring green, dotted by white and pink and yellow blossoms. The forest stretched into the distance, occasionally broken by smooth rolling hills and glittering rivers and ponds. She could even spy distant trails of smoke rising from little buildings surrounded by lush gardens. The undulating air seemed extra thick between her eyes and the villages, as if trying to hide their existence from her, but failing.

Nesta knew that Prythian was full of monsters, and even though faeries were known to prize beauty, she had not expected their homeland to look so … normal. Not unlike the mortal lands, just … more colorful. More beautiful.

She looked back at Rab one last time, her eyes inexplicably hot with tears she refused to shed.

“Have you seen it before?” she asked.

“Once,” Rab said. “Where the wall meets the sea. It made me sick to even look at. A dark, twisted hellhole perfect for all the monsters that inhabit it. No wonder they break through to torture us.”

Nesta scoffed quietly, turning back to the spring-touched forest. So not even the wall’s ancient magic could glamour her. Somber and steeled, she reached a hand through the shimmering air.

She was immediately met with a buzzing, crackling pain that coursed through her entire body, and she drew her hand back quickly as a metallic scent scorched her nostrils.

A quick examination of her hand showed no damage other than a little redness. Either a test that she would not fail, or a warning that she would not heed. Nesta rose to her feet and stepped through with her entire body this time.

Every muscle seized with excruciating pain as she froze mid-step, then crumpled to the stone beneath her feet.

The pain lingered this time, like pins and needles from head to toe.

But Nesta rose, shaky and panting, even as Rab yelled below her, “Come down! You can try again tomorrow.”

Nesta jumped.

She screamed as the air held her for a moment, her muscles spasming through the pain, no longer buzzing, but burning through her flesh and veins.

She didn’t remember falling, but she must have. She was curled in the fetal position on the boulder, her teeth chattering and her nose burning with the scent of metal. There was something hot and salty in her mouth and when she spat, it was bright red with blood.

The mercenary yelled again, “Knock it off, princess. You failed. If you keep trying, you'll—”

Staggering to her knees, Nesta howled again, not with pain this time but with rage.

“This isn't fucking right!” she raged, blood streaming from her nose and mouth as if she'd just ripped a creature apart with her very teeth.

She grabbed a small rock from the boulder pile and hurled it at the magic air atop the wall. “Give my sister back!”

The wall held the rock in shimmering air, then flung it right back at her, square in the stomach.

“People have died messing with that magic! I will drag you down myself if I have to!”

The scraping of rocks behind Nesta indicated Rab was following her up, but she didn't care.

“What do you want to let me through, you enchanted piece of shit? My firstborn? A blood sacrifice?” Nesta snorted and sucked up all the blood and saliva and mucous in her mouth, and she spat it all at the wall.

The spot where the disgusting red liquid hit the shimmering air glowed golden-white for a moment, and then it exploded.

✦✦✦

Nesta was floating in a pool in the Archeron estate gardens, ignoring the sound of her younger sisters giggling and splashing in the background.

Nesta loved the pool, but not for the same reasons her sisters did. The water was pleasantly cool as she slowly waved her arms and legs to stay afloat, and the sun warmed her face, and she liked the patterns of stars and flames that danced across the backs of her eyelids in the sunlight. The pool had been meant as a water feature in the garden, where water lilies and lotuses and colorful ducks could float, but Feyre had invaded it—playing pirate—one hot summer years ago, and it had been the sisters’ domain ever since. They always begged her to play their childish water games with them, but she hated getting her face wet and they knew not to direct their splashes toward her. Nesta was content to float, if she joined them in the pool at all.

The splashing and screeching faded into whispers, and a small hand laced in hers.

“Nestaaa,” a girlish voice said in her ear. “Come play with us.”

Nesta opened one upturned blue-grey eye, meeting its near-twin in her youngest sister’s freckled, smiling face. “No, thank you.”

“Please! Hide and seek isn’t as fun with only two people.”

“Hide and seek isn’t as fun when you’re doing it in a pool of clear water. It’s way too hot to go in the garden,” Nesta snorted.

Elain, who had been hanging back behind Feyre, popped her head over Feyre’s shoulder. “We’ve been playing it with our eyes closed, and then the hiders can move around but they have to be quiet or else the seeker will definitely hear the splash and find you. Please, play with us,” she begged.

“Please, Nesta, all you have to do is find us. You’re the best seeker.” Feyre squeezed Nesta’s hand. “Elain always opens her eyes!”

“That was one time!”

Nesta opened her other eye and raised her head. “No splashing, you say?”

Her sisters nodded expectantly, a wolfish grin on Feyre’s face and a pretty pout on Elain’s.

Nesta kicked her feet under to stand upright and closed her eyes tight. “One … two … three … four … five … six … seven … eight … nine … ten!” She reached her arms out and began walking slowly through the pool, careful to keep her movement silent so she could hear her sisters.

Elain was easy to find when a splash and a giggle gave her away less than a minute in. But Feyre had always been a strange, quiet child, and she was much more skilled at games of stealth. Which was probably why she loved sneaky games so much and hated that Elain had to resort to cheating to find her.

“Nesta, what are you doing?” Elain asked. “The game’s over.”

Nesta tip-toed quietly through the pool, listening intently and reaching out in hopes of bumping into their youngest sister. “I still have to find Feyre, silly.”

“But Feyre is at Aunt Ripleigh’s.”

Nesta whirled and opened her eyes. “What did you just say?”

“She’s helping Aunt Ripleigh,” said Elain, who had suddenly aged ten years and was ruining a beautiful silk gown as she sat on the edge of the pool and dangled her legs in the water. “How flattering it was of Aunt Ripleigh, to require us in her time of need!”

Nesta thrashed in the pool, turning in circles. “Feyre!” she yelled. “Come out! This isn’t funny!”

“All you have to do is find me!” Feyre sing-songed on the hot breeze. “Nestaaaa.” Feyre’s girlish voice grew deeper and huskier, distorted like bubbles in water.

“I’m trying!” Nesta cried, then looked down at the water and reflected sunlight that made it hard to see her own feet. What if Feyre had—in the deep end—when she couldn’t yet swim and only ever tip-toed on the shallow side—

“Nesta! Wake up!” called the strange, low and girlish voice.

“Feyre!”

Nesta took a deep breath, and dove underwater.

✦✦✦

Nesta sputtered as the liquid hit her face. It took several tries to fully open her eyes and blink away all the water.

“About fucking time!” said the girlish, husky-voiced shadow that hovered over Nesta against a backdrop of fading sky. “Just relax, princess, stay still.”

Nesta scowled and scooted her arms to prop herself up, but firm gently hands pushed her back to the ground.

“You didn't tumble far, but if you're hurt, moving before you know it is going to make things much worse,” said the shadow.

“I can't go very far with you straddling me,” Nesta said hoarsely.

“That's the point, princess.”

Nesta's eyes had adjusted enough now to see the long, sculpted face and scarred eyebrow—Rab, the mercenary.

Who had brought her to the Wall. Which she had failed to cross.

She had failed, utterly failed, to rescue Feyre. Her little sister, whose little hand she could still feel wrapped in her own.

“I'm just a common bitch, not a fucking princess!” Nesta hissed. “And I’m a terrible sister.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

Rab just coolly raised her eyebrows.

A hot lump in her throat threatened to strangle Nesta as she allowed Rab to poke and prod her fallen body, searching for internal bleeding or broken bones. Though by the time Rab was checking her eyes and asking asinine questions to assess whether her throbbing headache indicated an injury to her mind, Nesta couldn't hold back the eye rolls and scoffs that came more easily than breathing.

Rab froze in the middle of making Nesta count fingers, her pointer still raised above Nesta's face.

The hairs on the back of Nesta's stood on end, and she felt it too.

They locked eyes. Nesta saw nothing but terror in Rab's deep, obsidian gaze.

“Whatever you do,” Rab hissed, her lips barely moving, “don't look anywhere but my face. Don't look. Don't make a peep. Its power comes from acknowledgement.”

Nesta pressed her lips together. Her shivering had little to do with the dewy ground pressing at her layers of clothes.

The temperature dropped precipitously. It was a cold unlike that of the winter woods they had hiked through these past two days; this cold was a living, leeching thing that stole any inner warmth.

Look at me.

The voice was not a sound carried on the air; but rather something older than ears, something felt in the bones, something inherently understood. The cold thing, the leech, circled them, though Nesta did not see it.

But she could feel it. She could hear it.

Look at me. I will devour you. I will snap your bones between my claws. I will drink your marrow while you watch.

Having nowhere else to safely look, Nesta took in every detail of the mercenary's face. She traced the planes of the high cheekbones, the aquiline nose, the sharp brow, the cleft chin. A face that would have been beautiful if carved into stone, but was daunting in the flesh.

She watched the sun-browned warmth drain from Rab's face, leaving full lips ashen and scars stark white against olive skin.

I will make it hurt, and in the end you will beg for my teeth to shred you into oblivion. Look at me.

The throbbing headache turned into a sharp pain along her temples as Nesta clenched her teeth. She flinched minutely at the pain and relaxed her jaw, but it was enough to break Rab's waning focus.

Look at me.

The mercenary's dark eyes narrowed and grazed all over Nesta's features as if unable to find an anchor. A bead of freezing cold sweat dripped from Rab's forehead and splashed onto Nesta's cheek.

Rab was slipping.

Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.

The voice was ancient, hollow, terrifying, seductive.

Nesta just had to be worse.

She lifted her head and wrapped her lips around the finger that was still dangling above her face, even though the flesh was as cold as the faerie-chilled air around them. Rab's eyes, which had wandered as far as the ground next to Nesta's head, grew wide with shock and snapped to Nesta's mouth with sharp, almost predatory focus.

And as quickly as it came, the horrible faerie slithered away. Plants rustled in its wake, as if recoiling from its presence, and the air warmed.

But Nesta's shivering no longer had anything to do with the temperature. And even though she had initially sucked Rab's finger to distract the mercenary, she found she did not want to stop.

She had never been touched like this by a woman, and barely by a man—she refused to count Tomas’s assault days earlier or his harsh, foiled attempts at pawing in his woodshed before. But this, with the mercenary—she wanted it.

It was now she who needed the distraction—not just from her failure, but from their near-brush with death. She needed to feel alive.

Or maybe it was just the faerie magic that leaked through the wall here.

Either way, Nesta wanted.

Nesta's tongue lazily traced the sensitive fingertip, her lips and palate forming a light suction to take the mercenary knuckle by knuckle. She held Rab's gaze as she did so, enjoying the slight twitch in Rab's left eye every time she sucked the finger deeper.

The mercenary's full lips quirked when she shifted her straddle over Nesta, until their pelvises met with a sensation that sent Nesta's abdomen rippling with pleasure and surprise despite the terror that still gripped her muscles. Nesta arched her hips to grind her pelvis into Rab's, and when Rab withdrew her finger from Nesta's mouth, a small gasp escaped.

Her hand freed, the mercenary set to finding the skin under Nesta's clothes. As her hand tickled Nesta's breast, Nesta closed the gap between their mouths. Rab's lips and tongue were soft and ... surprisingly warm. So were her hands where they grasped her breast and slid along her waist, and so was the spot where their pelvises met—her protector seemed to run extraordinarily hot. The sensation was exquisite.

Wanting Rab’s heat to envelop her, Nesta kissed Rab deeper, harder, and ran her hands along Rab’s body until she found a series of leather laces, which she deftly untied. Meanwhile, Rab half-unbuttoned Nesta’s coat and undershirt and pulled away from Nesta’s kiss to admire the escape of her full breasts, peaked despite the warm evening air leaking from beyond the wall. Nesta tried to slip off the mercenary’s jacket, but was met with resistance as Rab buried her hands and face in Nesta’s chest, squeezing her breasts together and licking and sucking every inch of exposed skin.

Nesta luxuriated in the feel of the mercenary's soft mouth and rough hands until she could not stand it anymore and tugged on Rab's jacket again. When Rab still did not move, Nesta practically growled, “Get up, you brute.”

Rab froze mid-lick, her tongue still on Nesta's nipple, as she glanced up at Nesta and smirked.

“As you wish, princess,” the mercenary replied, matching Nesta's mocking tone. She stood, extending a hand to help Nesta rise and ensuring that Nesta was steady on her feet before Rab leaned against the rubble of the wall to remove her boots and undress.

Nesta watched intently, drinking in every ripple of the mercenary’s body as it was revealed limb by limb. Rab had little curves to speak of, besides that of her thick thighs, one of which was spidered with black veins that ran from ankle to hip. Her breasts were small but pert, overshadowed by the broad muscles gained from years of fighting. And yet, her muscles were very different from a man’s—softer, as if kept deeper inside her body, encased in thicker flesh, criss-crossed with pale scars.

Nesta thought she was stunning.

When she was bare, Rab ran a hand through her short, dark hair, a move that she surely knew showed off her muscled arms. She smiled coyly in a way that had Nesta unbuttoning her coat the rest of the way.

The mercenary shook her head and picked Nesta up before she had a chance to remove anything more than her coat. She pushed Nesta against the wall and sank her lips into Nesta’s neck, gently licking and sucking so that goose flesh spread across her skin. Rab slowly unbuttoned the rest of Nesta’s shirt while Nesta explored Rab’s bare skin, tracing circles that ultimately led her fingers to the trail of coarse hair from Rab’s navel to the warmth between her legs. So warm—the thatch of dark curls was so warm, and her engorged clit was positively burning. Nesta rolled it between her fingers and stroked it slowly, dipping her fingers into the wet behind it to slicken her touch, then playing with the bundle of nerves to feel out what made the mercenary shudder and gasp.

Rab unlaced Nesta's pants and swiftly peeled them down to pool around her ankles, kneeling in the process to bring her eyes level with Nesta's pelvis. Nesta wasn't ready to remove her fingers from Rab's clit, and she reached for it until she couldn't, leaving a line of slick along Rab's torso.

Nesta arched into Rab's hands, which slid up her legs to grasp her ass, fingers reaching into the space where her buttocks met.

“You weren't kidding about not wearing any knickers,” Rab said with a glance up at Nesta.

“I’ve never worn pants before…” Nesta ran a light, teasing touch along Rab’s thick neck and shoulders.

Rab chuckled before burying her nose and mouth between Nesta’s legs, breathing deeply and licking Nesta's clit in exquisite, heated patterns as she unlaced Nesta's boots.

By the time Rab had removed the last of Nesta’s clothes and laid her bare, Nesta’s chest was heaving from the pleasure of Rab’s tongue. The mercenary met Nesta’s eyes and though Nesta mourned the loss of Rab’s mouth, she welcomed Rab’s lips on her own and the return of access to the warmth between Rab’s legs. Nesta tasted Rab’s mouth, enjoying the saltiness of her own flavor on another’s lips. Rab dug her fingers into Nesta’s ass and lifted her onto a large piece of the crumbled wall, the perfect seat to wrap one of Nesta’s legs around Rab’s waist, while Rab lifted her opposite leg onto the boulder beside Nesta in an act of impressive flexibility.

Nesta moaned at the feeling of hot, wet cunt on cunt as she and Rab ground against each other in unison. Rab’s breaths grew loud and fast, turning into gasps when Nesta played with her nipples and licked her earlobe. Rab wrapped her hands around the back of Nesta’s head to hold her closer.

“Aren't you afraid that a faerie will catch us here?” Nesta whispered breathlessly, her lips against Rab's ear.

Rab shuddered, whether from the thought of faeries or the heat of Nesta's breath, Nesta did not know. “If I must die, I always wanted to do it mid-fuck,” the mercenary said teasingly. “Fae are horny bastards, though... Half of them would be as likely to try to join in, if you believe the stories.”

It was Nesta's turn to shudder as she imagined such a deadly creature joining them.

“Would you like that, princess? A monster on one end, and your protector on the other?”

Nesta was unable to form any response other than a moan as she imagined the scene and arched into Rab's heat, her nipples grazing against Rab's broad chest.

Rab chuckled as she ran her mouth along Nesta's collarbone and shoulder. Nesta leaned into the sensation—until Rab sank her teeth into the spot where Nesta's neck met her shoulder.

Nesta yelped at the sharp pain, which seemed as much payback for Nesta biting Rab earlier as it was to pin Nesta in place as Rab’s grinding grew faster, harder. But Nesta didn’t mind the pain much, not when it seemed to sharpen the feeling between her legs. The sounds of pleasure that escaped her mouth seemed to encourage Rab, who pressed hard against Nesta with a shudder and released the bite with a deep groan as they both climaxed.

Panting heavily, Rab released her raised leg and sank to her knees before Nesta, her large hands wrapped around Nesta’s waist. Her face came to rest between Nesta’s legs for a moment while she caught her breath before she sank her face into Nesta’s cunt and licked her once again with gusto.

Nesta tangled her fingers in Rab's hair, gently directing the mercenary's head to the exact spot where she wanted it—up, left, up a little more, more.

Licking turned into sucking, and Nesta shuddered and moaned when Rab teased one finger at her entrance.

“Do you want me to fill you up?” Rab’s voice rumbled against Nesta’s clit, and Nesta moaned again.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Lips closed back around Nesta’s clit as Rab slowly fed her finger into Nesta’s expectant cunt. Nesta immediately tightened, savoring the feeling.

“More,” Nesta said breathlessly.

Rab made a low sound of agreement against Nesta's clit as she inserted a second finger and curled her fingers to massage a spot that, combined with the vibrations of Rab's voice, sent Nesta over the edge, clenching rhythmically around Rab's fingers.

But when Nesta's orgasm faded, she was still arching into Rab's mouth. She pumped up and down on Rab's fingers, almost as if her hips had a mind of her own. Nesta leaned back against the crumbled wall, savoring the cool stone at her back in contrast to the hot mouth and fingers at her core. It felt amazing, but still, she wanted—

“More.”

Rab compliantly inserted a third finger.

“You’re so wet,” Rab crooned, pumping her hand in response and running her tongue along Nesta’s clit. “Seems like you won’t be happy until I fill you up entirely. Are you sure?”

Nesta nodded pleadingly. “I can handle it.”

Rab grinned and rose halfway to worship Nesta’s breasts with her mouth and free hand as she inserted another finger. She curled all four to rub that internal spot, while her thumb grazed over Nesta’s clit.

Nesta’s senses were nearly overloaded, but still she begged. Rab hummed with pleasure that she could elicit this response and slipped her thumb from Nesta’s clit to her core. Nesta gasped as Rab thrust the rest of her hand into her hole, stretching her to what felt like her limit.

“Rab,” Nesta moaned, her legs shaking.

The mercenary kissed and licked and bit her way back down to Nesta's clit. Her hand was now fully engulfed in Nesta's core to the wrist, and Nesta could have sworn her lower abdomen swelled with every thrust.

The sheer force of her climax made her cry out, far too loudly for their precarious location.

But it seemed, luckily for them—or unluckily, if either of them had been serious about the threesome with the horny type of faerie—the horrible, cold leech-faerie had scared away everything for quite some distance, as they didn't even hear a wolf howl that night.

They camped back in the spot that Rab had originally picked out. Though it was much warmer near the wall, the proximity to Prythian was too unsettling. And neither of them needed to say that they felt like they had already pushed their luck for the day.

Nesta barely made it through dinner—blessedly cooked by Rab this time —before she was pulling Rab under the fur blankets of the bedroll so she could have a turn at tasting the mercenary.

It was a welcome distraction from the guilt of her utter failure that day, but mostly, Nesta was nowhere near done with Rab. She didn’t think she would ever be.

When the mercenary, dripping wet from her orgasm, turned on Nesta, she hesitated a moment before saying, “I—my full name is Mirabelle. I started going by the nickname when I realized I’d never hear the end of the mockery in my line of work. It’s too pretty a name for me, but I wouldn’t mind if you called me that while no one else is around. If that’s the name I make you cry out.” Rab—Mirabelle—smirked with arrogance.

“It’s not too pretty for you.” Nesta frowned, reaching out to stroke the face that hovered between her legs. “I think you’re beautiful, in quite a remarkable way. You look like you were carved from stone. I would proudly put you in my garden to admire.”

Mirabelle snorted, but her smile reached her eyes for the first time since Nesta had met her. “Makes sense for a stone-cold bitch to think that, then.”

✦✦✦

Months later, Nesta watched as a servant frantically rushed to find a big, floppy hat for Feyre to protect her skin from the sun.

It was pointless. Feyre had returned home already freckled and tan. If she hadn’t been practically glowing from the inside, some residual magic of being loved in Prythian no doubt, she would have reminded Nesta of Mirabelle—so out of place in, for all the sun she’d drank in as she wandered the countryside, fighting faeries and wolves and protecting stone-cold bitches.

Nesta’s heart was heavy as she approached Feyre, who was examining the dirt on her hands.

“Even if you washed them, there’d be no hiding it,” Nesta said to her sister. “To fit in, you’d have to wear gloves and never take them off. Sit under a parasol and let your freckles fade.”

Feyre grabbed her shovel. “Maybe I don’t want to fit in with your social circles.”

Nesta huffed. As if it was her social circle. “Then why are you here?”

“It’s my home, isn’t it?”

Nesta reached into her pocket to toss the chunk of painted wood, a bit of table that had been torn off by the faerie beast. “I think your home is somewhere very far away.”

Feyre stared at the piece of wood, painted by her own hand with tangled vines and too-blue foxglove.

“Glamours don’t work on me. So while I watched Elain and Father dry their tears and forget everything, talking nonsense about some made-up aunt’s house, I remembered everything. I thought I’d gone mad—but I looked at that table and his claw marks, and the gouge of your knife in the cabinet, and I knew it wasn’t in my head.” Nesta reached under her skirts to her calf, where she wore an embossed leather sheath gifted to her by Rab. From it, she brandished Feyre’s hunting knife.

Feyre blinked, looking at the knife in disbelief. “Elain said you tried to visit me.”

The anger boiled to Nesta’s surface, after long weeks of letting it simmer beneath a façade of blank listlessness. She did not bother to hide it anymore—not around Feyre, whose ferocity could rival her own. “He stole you away into the night, and he lied about why, or else you wouldn’t be back now. And then everything went on as if it had never happened. It wasn’t right.”

“You went after me—to Prythian,” Feyre said hoarsely.

“I couldn’t find a way through the wall. I could see it. Right there on the other side, I could see it. Even when others couldn’t. But I couldn’t get through the magic.”

The shock in Feyre’s eyes gutted Nesta like a knife. Like Feyre didn’t think anyone would have come after her, even if they knew where she was. “You went four days through the winter woods. Through wolf territory. Through woods where faeries slip through.”

Nesta shrugged. She’d lived. “I hired that mercenary-woman who bought your pelts. I figured she owed me as much, if she was going to wear the faerie-skin that got you taken away. And I didn’t think anyone else would believe me.” Her voice came out soft, unbidden, as she spoke of Rab. She hadn’t left the Archeron estate or seen her lover in weeks. Not since the mercenary had taken a job and not yet returned.

“You did that for me?” Feyre said, the words half-strangled with emotion.

“It wasn’t right,” Nesta repeated, meeting the mirror of Feyre’s eyes.

“What happened to Tomas Mandray?”

Fury and shame welled up in her chest and coursed through her throat, threatening to break open the little box where she kept the secret of what Tomas had done to her. Nesta exhaled forcefully through her nose, willing all thought of Tomas away.

“I realized he wouldn’t have gone with me to save you from Prythian.” The words held another meaning, the subtle praises of the one who had gone with Nesta to save Feyre. A tiny gift, to trust Feyre with one thing that no one else knew.

Feyre’s eyes widened, and Nesta had the distinct feeling that Feyre was seeing right through Nesta’s hard shell of rage and pride. As much as Nesta had willingly bared in the last few moments, knowing that Feyre was seeing that much of her still made her desperately uncomfortable. But there was understanding in Feyre’s eyes—understanding that Nesta was near her limit, that Nesta feared sharing any more of her fragile, secret happiness with Rab would somehow lead to it shattering.

“Tomas never deserved you anyway,” Feyre said softly.

Nesta had to change the subject—and she was so ready for an end to months of frustration and lies and worry. “Tell me everything.”

And hours later, when Feyre finished her long tale of faeries and High Lords and blight and love, Nesta asked Feyre to teach her how to paint.

[melye1981]

Very Depressed... I Miss My Mom...

As the holidays become alive again, another year almost gone, and two years since my momma died. I can't bear this pain. People say it gets better with time. No, not for me. This year has not been kind to me. I am struggling financially. I have a $308.00 electric bill that I can't seem to catch up on. This city is a joke. I've tried setting up a GoFundMe, but nobody seems to wanna help people anymore, unless it benefits them. I'm at risk of having my electricity shut off, my boyfriend basically told me to kick rocks because he can't handle the honesty of how shitty he treats me, and then on the two-year death anniversary of my mom that passed this September, my boyfriend didn't even comfort me. Instead started a pointless argument with me. And then today, we argued all day because he ghosted me Friday, and then ditched me on Saturday, so we spent all of Sunday arguing, and the motherfucker can't even take accountability, because he's got that Taurus arrogance that I can't stand. And then before he went to bed last night, we got into it again. I think it's just time for me to go. My next door neighbor and my landlord are harassing me twenty four seven, about moving, and when am I moving, because selling my house would be easier if I weren't in it. Well, fuck them. I'm over this. Everyone in my life is a douche bag right now. I've done nothing but help these people and be kind, and all they can do is talk shit or make me feel like shit... I don't get it. This is why Aquarius would rather be alone than socialize. At least this Aquarius does... It's always the nice people who wear their hearts on their sleeves that get shit on when they're doing absolutely nothing to deserve it. I miss my mom and wish she was here to stand up for me. I know that seems childish to still want my mom to stand up for me at my age, I'm 42, but you know, I always need my mom. Being mentally ill is a big challenge that nobody gets unless they're mentally ill themselves. I've been crying all day and now into Monday morning, I'm at my computer crying again. I feel misunderstood, taken advantage of, misled, lost, truly lost. I am stuck and I don't know where to go from here. Even though I have a boyfriend (who treats me like shit but can't admit that he's an asshole to me), I still feel all alone and lonely. I've never felt so alone in my life. Here come the holidays, so another year by myself on Thanksgiving and Christmas. That's nice. Oh well. I'm tired of being tired. I can honestly say I hate my life. I want to write a book about my life after losing my mom, and how it's affected my mental illness and me as a person in general. My emotionally abusive relationship, my shady so-called friends, all of it. My heroin-addict father... Why can't I just erase my life and begin again as a baby with no flaws, parents who aren't dysfunctional, and a family that isn't dysfunctional, either. But I can't. I have to live out the next twenty or thirty years of my life still learning to accept what is, and learning to just settle for whatever at this point. I don't see myself living past my 60s, nor my 50s if I keep smoking cigarettes the way I do. I truly hate my life. Nobody will remember me when I die, I will be one of the forgotten, with just a little over 42 subscribers on YouTube and a lousy 132 friends on Facebook, nobody interacts with me on either site, so whatever I'm doing isn't right. I'm invisible, but that's okay. One day, I'm gonna fade into nothing, and nobody will know me anymore. They won't know of me, they won't know of my location, and they won't care, either way, just like they don't care now. Hell, even I'm at the brink of not giving one fuck about myself anymore. Why bother? I wasn't even a planned baby. I was just an accident between two people. I can forgive my mom, but my father, no. He was on heroin when I was created. I've had problems since birth. And now, at my age, I would figure those problems would eventually cease. But no. I'm always crying, sulking, self-soothing, thinking about dying, shutting myself away from the world...

[soy-poisoning]

Finally, I feel like I can breathe. What a horrible eight days. On Sat evening a week ago I started out with what I thought was a sinus infection. (Odd for me) I didn't sleep well through the night. I was hacking pretty badly Sunday morning when I got up so I took 2 "non drowsy" Sudafed to help get through singing on the worship team that morning. The Sudafed did its job but you have to understand I don't take drugs. Sunday afternoon the walls were moving. I thought "enough of that, no more Sudafed". As the week progressed, the hacking turned into an additional horrible cough. We filmed "Let's Talk About It" Wednesday and I practically ran out of the studio a few times with a coughing spell so the shows editor wouldn't have to try to edit it out. In addition to the coughing was the sneezing, and the headaches, bad headaches. I hardly slept at night for most of the week. Then Thursday morning I woke up with pink eye. "Oh no, not pink eye." Ok, this is more than just a nasty cold. I'm now very contagious. Conjunctivitis is you know. I had work to do at Day One on Friday (deadlines) so I text the counselors to be sure the offices would be clear before going in. They were, I went in, got it done, and disinfected before I left. I skipped church yesterday. (Of course, I wasnt going to be a spreader of this nonsense). Today is the first day I have felt reasonably good. My eyes are finally clear. Yay, they really are white under all that red. Ha. Other symptoms have disappeared as well. No headache, no more hacking, and very limited cough. Wow, I'm not one to get sick. I had Covid, a very mild case, a couple months ago. Whatever I just had was 5 times worse. I did test for Covid, btw, in case, and I was negative. Thank the Lord it's over. I don't know if I'm scheduled to sing this coming Sunday, but hopefully my voice will be back by then too, else Ill be singing a very deep bass instead of through the ceiling tenor (such expectations, lol). I'm not sure where I got this "common cold and pink eye", but I hear it is going around. If you get it or pink eye, and I hope you don't, stay home and take care of yourself, and pray. Pic: Orion and Mars from last night https://www.instagram.com/p/CkZPG3wJGFMUt5IcZr3qFykCZOUSHYKDdVHuZM0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[blackspoon99]

The Empty Hearse Pt. 1

Sherlock x Female! Reader

TW: minor Violence, Mentions of suicide and mental illness, Spoilers if you haven’t seen season 3!

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

A/N: This is a reader insert of season 3 of BBC Sherlock. If you haven’t seen season 3, I would definitely skip this series because it wouldn’t make sense and there are definitely going to be some spoliers!

Saturday - 8:37 pm

“Take it outside! Not in my shop!” The café owner yelled while pulling John off Sherlock and into the street. John walked a few feet away, pacing and trying to control his anger. Mary sympathetically handed Sherlock some napkins. He leaned his head back and tried to get his nosebleed under control.

“I don’t understand. I’ve said I’m sorry, isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

Mary laughed to herself “Gosh, you don’t know anything about human nature, do you?”

“Hmmm Nature? No. Human? No.” He said with an ironic smile.

John walked back over to talk to Sherlock “I’m going to take Mary home. I’ve had enough of you for the night. Have you seen y/n?”

“Not yet. Do you think the fake mustache was too much? I’d bet y/n would like it.”

John scoffed to himself. “Oh god, Sherlock. What is it going to take for you to realize this isn’t a joke? Don’t you dare do whatever this was to y/n. She hasn’t been the same. You–” He paused and clenched his fists by his sides. Mary put a hand on his shoulder. “You- were not here Sherlock. You didn’t see what it was like. What she was like.” He closed his eyes and turned away. “No, I can’t do this. All I have to say Sherlock is be nice, be kind. For her.” John hailed down a cab while Mary stayed behind.

“I’ll talk him round.”

“You will?”

“Oh yeah,” She said with a smile before following John to the cab.

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Sunday - 10:16 am

The next morning, Sherlock slowly approached the apartment. He was most excited for your reaction. John was still furious with him, but he’d come around. Mary had promised. Sherlock liked her already. You would be over the moon when he came back into your life. Everything would go back to the way it was in time: you, John, and him. Together again in Baker Street.

He walked into the living room. He didn’t see you. Mycroft said you were to come here to pick up a book. He thought it was oddly fitting that your first meeting would be back in Baker Street. It didn’t seem like you were there. Perhaps Mycroft’s surveillance had gone downhill. Sherlock was about to leave when you emerged from John’s old bedroom, holding a book in one hand. You stared down at it, walking over to the bookcases by the fireplace. Sherlock anxiously waited for you to see him standing in the doorway. How happy you would be. He would finally see your face again, hold you in his arms. He’d have you back. You turned to leave and finally, you noticed him.

You let out a startled breath, but you didn’t even look surprised. You just looked sad. Sherlock was silent with anticipation as he waited for you to react. Your face was almost glazed over. Something was wrong. You suddenly dropped the book to the carpet. Sherlock watched as you turned away and with shaky hands, dialed a number on your mobile.

“H-hello? Michelle? I’m sorry to be calling, I know I stopped seeing you a few months ago… it’s just that I-I can see him again. I thought they’d stopped, but he’s back and you said I should call if I…”

His stomach dropped at the realization that you didn’t think he was really there. That’s why you didn’t seem surprised to see him. Sherlock watched as tears formed in your eyes as your voice quivered and stammered on the phone with your ex-therapist. John had said his so-called death had been hard on you, but he hadn’t expected this. You hesitantly looked over your shoulder at him before quickly turning your head back to your phone.

“No, he’s like he was when he was alive this time. It’s not like– you know– when I used to see him there on the pavement.”

Sherlock could feel his heart break a little as you cowered from him near the fireplace. His instincts were screaming at him to say something, to walk towards you, but he was paralyzed. Sherlock stood there for a moment until he realized you were wrapping up your call. He slowly and as quietly as possible backed out of the flat and down the stairs.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You hung up the phone and slowly turned around. The image of Sherlock was gone from the door. You sighed in relief, leaned against the wall, and slid to the floor. You tried to take a deep breath, but you felt sick to your stomach. You tasted salt and became aware of the tears streaking down your cheeks. You were certain you were over this, that you were strong enough not to feel this way anymore, not to see him everywhere. Maybe it was too soon to come back to Baker Street. Then again, it had been 2 years.

Or maybe this is just the way it had to be from now on. You’d go about your business, feel your wounds begin to close but no matter how close you’d think you were getting to healing, no matter what you do, you’d always be just one moment away from falling apart all over again. You figured you should take your therapist’s advice and call John.

You went to pick up the book when you could have sworn you heard the creak of a floorboard on the stairs followed by the sound of the front door closing. Hallucinations don’t make noise. A hot flash ran through you. Your body moved before you could even think. You clambered over to the window, tripping over a loose pile of books. You flung open the dusty curtains and frantically looked out the window. You immediately scanned the crowd on the street below. Just down the block, you spotted a head of curly black hair and a long wool coat.

You snatched up your coat and ran down the stairs, not even bothering to put it on. You threw open the front door just in time to see him turn the corner. You started running, pushing past tourists and pedestrians. The cold air felt like it was burning through your lungs as you sprinted down the sidewalk. Tears were now steadily pouring from your eyes, blurring your vision. You finally rounded the corner and spotted him again.

“Sherlock Holmes!” You yelled, your voice strained and breaking. Sherlock turned around just as you reached him. Still unsure if it was just your mind tormenting you once again, you hesitantly reached for his hand. The moment your ice-cold hand felt a leather glove, a real hand, beneath its touch, you let out a choked gasp. The realization was quickly replaced with blind rage. Without thinking, you raised your hand and slapped him across the face as hard as you could. He barely flinched from the impact and looked at you with pure pain in his eyes.

“How could you!?” You screamed, tears uncontrollably pouring down your face. You threw half-hearted punches at his chest. He reached out and gently grabbed your forearms, trying to stop you.

“Y/n I’m so sorry”

“How could you?” You repeated over and over, fighting him. “How could you? How could you? How could you?” Eventually, the rage faded, and you leaned into him and just sobbed “I needed you” You said weakly.

“I know, y/n. I know. I’m so sorry” He said, wrapping his arms around your shivering body.

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A/N: Part 1 of god knows how many. This story will take us through season 3 and end with his last vow. Just getting back into writing and I will try my best to upload the parts semi regularly! 

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.19

The True Heir

03/09/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 5,781

Warnings: angst, depression, pregnancy, marital troubles, pining

A/N: There is very little editing. Forgive me. I’m sleepy. I’ve been up writing all night. I’ve also been hurting, but it’s all good! I’m so happy to get this chapter out. *insert evil laugh* If you happen to reblog, thank you so much for helping me spread my work! it truly means so much, more than you know. xoxo

Sunday

Today you do nothing.

You’d opened up your laptop last night and attempted to scribble a few lines for your next book, but all you could think about was Thor, Jane, the babies to come, and where exactly you fit amongst all of it.

After typing Thor’s name along with a few other random words for the tenth time, you gave up and shut the laptop. You’d crawled into bed, bundled up under your fluffy comforter, and bid goodbye to the world as you caved in to unconsciousness.

The fact that morning is here, you find that your hope for today to be better than  yesterday was silly. How can anything ever be good again?

You place your hands on your lower tummy, caressing what feels like a very slight swell. It’s just barely harder than the rest of your stomach. Firm. Despite the happiness that your baby brings you, you stare across the room at your computer and can’t find it in you to get up and work.

Instead you roll over onto your other side and pull Thor’s--that is to say, the one he’d used while he was here--pillow over to cling to.

Thor’s texts are also still fresh in your mind.

Sleep didn’t dull their effect on you or the confusion they raised.

Did they mean that he wouldn’t get an annulment? That’s sorta what you were getting from them. His declarations that he couldn’t live without you and that he would die for you and that he missed you so much at his side sounded like he was also telling himself how he felt. As if he were, not so much convincing, but reaffirming what he already knew.

You reach over and switch your phone on, clicking through to your messages to find that Thor must have stolen his phone back from Loki at some point.

Thor: Good morning, my cherub. I hope you slept well.

Thor: I could hardly sleep with you absent beside me.

Thor: Our bed is too big without you in it.

Thor: Have you seen the doctor yet? You’ll text me as soon as you get a diagnosis, won’t you? I’ll be waiting.

Thor: Loki insists that I give you some distance to rest but being apart from you is torture.

Thor: Would you be very angry with me if I came to see you?

Thor: I have some things I must deal with here before I can go though. Loki is right. I should allow you rest and fix things here before I come to you.

Thor: Are you still sleeping, cherub? I’m sorry if my messages are disturbing you. I haven’t gone this long without talking to you since...I wish I’d met you years ago. When things weren’t so complicated.

Thor: Would you have let me court you even though I am the God of Thunder? Future King of Asgard? Would you have married me when I came back with my people to live here on Earth?

Thor: I think if I had to choose all over again, you’re still the only woman equal to the task of being my Queen.

Thor: And the love that has grown between us is...I will never take it for granted…

As you read that last message, you assume he wants to say he won’t take it for granted again. He’s already let it slip through his fingers, although he doesn’t know it yet.

Thor: Perhaps this can be that break you were talking of. For our baby? Maybe we do need a little bit of relaxation to let our bodies recover?

Thor: And yet, I can’t wait to start a family with you, cherub.

You’re bawling all over again, your eyes flooding with tears as you bury your face into his pillow and sob loudly.

He’d said that he missed your body next to his. You can relate. You want to feel the heavy fall of his chest, the deep breaths that fill his lungs and escape through his lips in a quiet little snore that always makes you cuddle into his side.

Normally, he’d respond by turning to face you and holding you right up against his chest.

The comfort that simple thing would give you right now when your heart is aching so painfully is what you so desperately need. But...you’re so angry too. You don’t want him near you.

The images that flood your mind are torture. Mixtures of pleasant, happy moments now marred by the betrayal and anger that has taken hold of your heart.

You bury your face into the pillow and scream until your throat really does go hoarse. Frustration at the force of change you’ve had to make in the past twenty-four hours.

You’re startled back to the present when your phone rings. You make a small attempt  to clear your throat then answer and the absolute gravel voice you use settles any wondering as to whether your illness is real.

“Hello?” you whisper, clearing your throat to no avail.

“Oh, cherub, you sound terrible.”

Your heart panics. How are you supposed to talk to him?

You don’t want to talk to him.

“I can’t really talk,” you say weakly hoping he’ll take the hint.

“Did the doctor see you already?” Thor asks, his worry evident in the quiet tone of his voice.

“Yes, he gave me some medicine and told me to try not to talk,” you lie, surprisingly easy right now since you don’t want to talk.

For your emotional sanity, you need to hang up soon.

“I’m so sorry, love. I wish I could take this illness from you. Where’s David? I’d like to talk to him.”

You panic again, floundering as you cough and clear your throat to buy some time.

“He’s not here. He went to the store to get some groceries,” you hope he buys it.

“I’ll call him a little later then. If you need anything, let me know. I’ll get it for you.”

“Thanks, Thor,” you mumble, suddenly not wanting to hang up.

How can one person give you so much ease and worry all at once? How can he be your source of agony and comfort at the same time? It’s not fair.

“I have so much to tell you, but...now is not the right time. You need to get better first.”

Nevermind! Fuck this guy. Your heart sinks.

“I have to go,” you tell him, hoping he’ll just hang up and leave you be now.

“Very well. I love you, cherub.”

How do you answer him without giving anything away just yet?

“Me too,” you choose. And it’s true.

Even if he’s torn your heart into pieces, he’s still the father of your baby and you still love him.

Whatever madness overcame him when he’d suggested to Loki getting an annulment was the best course of action seems to have passed. Loki must be right about him.

“Bye, Thor,” you whimper.

“Bye, Y/N,” he says your name, making your heart quake a bit.

You hang up and quickly dial up David.

He answers after two rings.

“Hello? How is my favorite girl in the whole wide world?”

He sounds amused by something, or just happy. It’s such a difference to how you feel at the moment that it breaks you and you sob again, renewing your tears.

“Y/N? What’s the matter?” David demands, clearly now beginning to fret over the way you sound.

You tell him everything. Somehow you manage to get it all out minus one important detail and when you’re done recounting the most horrible night of your life, David sighs heavily and you can almost picture him settling into a deep armchair with massive worry weighing on his shoulders.

“Well, the good thing is, if he goes through with an annulment, you’re to be given a monthly allowance for the rest of your life. It was a condition in your contract, should Thor change his mind about marrying you. But he didn’t so it was moot, until now. You will be a very rich woman. More so than the small fortune you originally inherited.

“I know that money is hardly a consolation for the man that you love-” David sighs again. “Perhaps he said it in madness? He must have been very upset. Caught by surprise?” David offers.

“Even if he doesn’t mean it or doesn’t go through with it, I know that for you the point is the thought was there.

“However, I do think we must make allowances for Thor. I’m sorry to say. He is a king and he’s responsible for his entire people. A baby would give them security. Stability. A legitimate heir would tie them to Earth forever.

“We musn’t make light of his choices. This isn’t a common situation to find one’s self in. For either of you.”

“David, I’m pregnant.” You finally explain, knowing that it will maybe just show him a little bit more of what you’re facing. “I went to tell Thor and that’s when I overheard them.”

For a moment he’s speechless. When he speaks again, his voice is heightened.

“Congratulations! I-I knew it would happen eventually. The timing is a little-”

“I haven’t told him yet, clearly.”

Silence again. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I was so happy when I went to tell him and then I heard their conversation and I-I just can’t find the strength to do it right now. Not until I know whether he wants the annulment.”

David breathes in deeply and then exhales slowly into the phone. His breath is light and soft.

“You’re afraid that he will only stay with you because of the child,” a statement.

David knows you better than anyone else in your life. It’s not surprising that he’d make the leap so quickly.

“He’s willing to leave me and marry Jane because of her baby. It’s possible that he’ll stay by my side only because of our baby and I’d rather he do what’s best for our people than to stay with me because of a sense of obligation.”

“It could be that Jane will not want him. She might keep her child away from the Asgardian royal court. Didn’t she refuse to marry him because she didn’t want to be Queen?” David’s voice is pensive. “This might all feel much larger than it is. I suggest you take some time to really think through your actions before making any decisions.”

“I’m not going to never tell him, David. He’s the father of my child. He has to know that he has two and not just the one. I don’t think I could do that to him. I could never keep him from his children.

“Either of them.”

“You are magnanimous, Y/N. More than even I thought you were capable of.”

“Bullshit. I ran away and am refusing to see him until I get my week of space,” you nod firmly. “But David-?”

“Tell me,” he urges you, recognizing your tone of anguish.

“I-I know that I accepted this marriage hesitantly. It wasn’t like I asked for it and you know how I felt before Thor asked me to marry him. You know how s-scared I was about marrying someone who was in love with someone else, and now...now he’s-”

“He’s married to you, Y/N. Not Ms. Foster. And from what I have been able to see, he does love you. Not Jane. This is a temporary setback. If you’re angry at him, be angry at him. Don’t pretend you aren’t. If you’re hurt, show it. Wear your heart on your sleeve.

“Loving someone is one of life’s greatest blessings. Sometimes that love doesn’t last, sometimes it takes a beating. But you must choose whether your love is worth fighting for.

“You’ve also got obligations that you cannot escape from. Duties to your people as their Queen.”

“Assuming Thor doesn’t leave me and take my crown,” you scoff.

“I’m with your brother-in-law. I don’t think it will come to that. I think Thor was a little shocked and thrown by Ms. Foster’s news. Now that he has had some time to think, I believe he’ll do right by you and when you tell him, your child.”

“I won’t tell him until he makes up his mind,” you insist.

“That is your prerogative. Do what you need to. What can I do to help? What do you need from me?”

“Just be prepared for any eventuality. I’m not sure what’s going to happen at the end of this week. Oh, and if Thor calls you--just make something up and tell me what you say. He thinks you drove me from the airport and have been staying with me.”

“Using me as your alibi so that your husband won’t come looking for you,” David clicks his tongue. “How much detail shall I give him?”

“You’ve got a job too, just tell him you’re coming and going. Tony had his staff install some security on the house after the honeymoon. I’m safe here. He’ll believe that I’m safe if that’s all you say.

“Anyway, I need to go. I have two more calls to make before I can relax and enjoy my break from the throne.”

“If you need anything, you know how to reach me. Anything, Y/N. I mean it.”

“Thanks, David. I can always count on you,” you smile.

Just a tiny one. A very subtle curve at the corners of your lips.

“Well, you do pay me,” he jokes, which actually pulls a small laugh from you.

“Right. Bye, David.”

“Goodbye, Your Majesty.”

You take only a minute to think about your conversation with David before you make the most important calls of your week in solitude.

The first one is simple. Just a reminder of doctor-patient confidentiality. He understands what you’re saying even if he doesn’t practice by that mentality.

Dr. Wilson’s phone call is more difficult. She wants an explanation. She wants to know why she’s not allowed to tell your husband, the King of New Asgard, that he’s finally got what you and he have been wanting.

An heir!

It’s painful to talk about but you tell her what’s happened. You tell her that Thor doesn’t know that you know about Jane’s baby.

She’s very quiet as you talk. She assumes things and you can hear her anger when she starts to ask for what she can tell Thor.

“He didn’t cheat on me, Dr. Wilson,” you explain, hoping that this will ease her anger.

You’re angry at Thor because of the annulment, not because he and Jane have created a life from their love. You’re hurt because he’s willing or was willing--you’re not sure yet--to leave you to be with Jane, even if not for love but for the baby growing within her.

You’re hurt because the man you love was choosing his duty over his feelings for you.

Even though you know that he’s right to do it. Even though you know that you should understand because he’s King and you also took an oath to put the people of New Asgard first.

It’s your duty to put their well-being before your own. That doesn’t mean you have to like it.

In Thor’s mind, his only duty is to his child. Jane’s child. He doesn’t know you’re carrying one of your own yet. Even though that would probably make sure that he stays with you because of the baby, you don’t want that to be the reason he stays.

Proud fool.

“Thor slept with Jane the same night he proposed to me. This was before we loved each other, when leaving Jane was the hardest thing he’d had to do. I don’t hold that against him.”

You don’t tell her about the annulment. She doesn’t need to know how messy this all is.

“He’ll probably call for you and Dr. Alric soon. Loki suggested they get Jane checked so act surprised? But please don’t tell him I’m pregnant. Not yet. He’s coming to see me at the end of the week and I’ll tell him myself then. Please?” And it really is a genuine plea.

“I’ll do whatever you need, Your Majesty. I would like to come and check on you. You don’t sound well.”

She’s very sweet and her concern is touching.

“Thor will probably send you to me eventually. He’s worried but he’s clearly got other things on his mind.”

“I’ll make arrangements to head over there tomorrow. Oh, can you hold for one minute Your Majesty? I’m so sorry.”

“Of course.”

There’s silence on the phone for a few minutes before she comes back.

“It was His Majesty. He’s told me about Jane but she’s not available for an examination until later in the week. So, he’s asked me to come to you first. I’ll be there tonight.”

For some reason, the idea of having her with you eases some of the stress you’ve been carrying with you since yesterday.

“I’ll call and have a car sent for you.”

“Actually, His Majesty has promised to bring me straight to you via bifrost.”

“Wait, what?” You sit up in bed, clutching your blanket to your chest as your nerves suddenly fray and panic begins to build up within you.

“Should I come by plane?” She asks, worried by the sound of your voice.

You can’t see Thor. No. You can’t.

“No. I’ll just be going out later tonight to pick up a few things that I need here at the house. Toilet paper, napkins, laundry soap. I just didn’t want you to get here when I was out, but I’ll text you the passcode to get in.”

You’ll just have to make sure that you’re not at home when they come. That’s what you’ll do. This is a perfect excuse to be out since you need to get the stuff you listed anyway.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t just like me to come by plane?”

“No, really. The sooner you get here, the better. The car ride is so long from the airport. I’ll see you tonight, Dr. Wilson.”

“Bye, Your Majesty.”

Even though you know that you have hours upon hours until Thor brings Dr. Wilson here, you force yourself out of bed and abandon your plans to wallow in your feelings so that you can shower, get dressed, and leave the house.

If Thor’s coming, you’re going to be as far away from your house as you can be. You’re not ready to see him again just yet. You only have small errands to run but you’re gonna stay out all damn day if it’s the last thing you do.

~~~~~~~~~~

Tuesday

Thor is at a loss. Completely and utterly lost without you.

If he was ever in doubt as to how he really felt about you--which he never has been because he knows himself well enough to know better--he knows now that you are the light of his new life here on Earth.

His reign would mean significantly less without you at his side.

Even though the time you’ve spent together has been a short few months, they have been the best months of his life.

If he’d had one of those other women he’d interviewed become his Queen, this life he’s chosen to lead would have felt empty and tedious. Instead of watching his Queen spend her time with his people leading the way in progress.

You’re so eager to be part of the Asgardian populace. They’ve embraced you so fully.

With a sigh, Thor leans forward and buries his face into his hands as he mentally trashes himself for the absolute fool that he’s been about this entire situation.

The fact that he’d even entertained the thought of leaving you.

He wants to cry and tear his hair out in frustration.

Should he tell you that the thought was weighed along with many others at Jane’s news?

And Jane.

Thor groans.

She’s been avoiding him since she told him. He can’t exactly blame her for it. He hadn’t exactly taken the news well.

He had no reason to expect her to be receptive to him after he’d basically accused her of being confused about it. She knew her own body. If she said she was pregnant, what reason would he have to doubt her?

He’s messed everything up so much and he’s terrified to tell you about Jane.

What if you have the same idea he did? What if you decide to leave him in some foolish attempt to have him marry her and legitimize his future child?

It’s something you would do. Sacrifice yourself so that he could do the right thing.

The thought of living this life of rule without you at his side is unbearable.

With another frustrated groan, he gets up and moves to pace the length of the room, ignoring the large pile of paperwork on his desk as his mind moves in circles.

It always comes back to you.

And then you’d been out when he’d gone to drop off Dr. Wilson. He hadn’t expected you to be gone. He’d wanted to see you. To hold you. Touch you. Hear your voice after so much turmoil.

You are his only solace.

Going so close to you and not seeing you has left him with a terrible pain in his chest.

His phone rings.

Thor dives for his phone and fumbles with it as he grabs it off the bed. He almost loses it over the opposite edge.

He literally throws himself towards it and lands with a grunt onto the bed as he catches it.

He presses the button on the screen without looking to see who it is because he only wants it to be you.

“Cherub?” he gasps, his voice an octave higher than normal with the little bit of exertion he just underwent.

“Oh, no. Sorry, Your Majesty, it’s Dr. Wilson. I was just calling to give you your daily report on Her Majesty’s health.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry. I just haven’t heard from-” He clears his throat, sits up, and slides to the edge of the bed. “No matter. How is my Queen, doctor?”

“She was asleep. But just woke up. She’s very tired. Her throat is better, but she’s had a fever every morning since Sunday.”

Thor sits up straighter, hand clenched into a fist around the edge of the bed as his heart starts to thrum loudly.

“Is she seriously ill?”

“No, of course not, Your Majesty. But she really does need rest. She has been under severe stress and I’m sorry to say that your constant messages are not letting her rest.”

Thor’s heart drops and buries itself into a hole at the bottom of his stomach. He feels numb suddenly, fearful of what he might be doing to you. The guilt of what he knows he must tell you soon also weighs down on him.

“Are you saying that I should leave her be until she is recovered?” Thor checks, just in case he’s not understanding correctly.

“I’m saying that if you want her to get well quickly, you must give her what she asked you for. She needs rest.”

Thor hates that he can’t be there to check on you. He wants to feel you close. He wants to see you. What if you’re deathly ill and you’re telling Dr. Wilson to lie for you?

You abhor lies and cherish honesty , but he can see you lying in order to spare him pain. Just as he is lying to spare you the worry of all this uncertainty with Jane.

Although he knows that he can never lose you now and even with a child coming with Jane, you are his wife and he can’t leave you. He was stupid to think he could even try. The thought was a sin and he’ll never forgive himself for thinking it.

Loki was so angry with him.

Rightfully so.

The good thing is that you’ll never know how bleak things looked. At least he has found his sanity again.

“Will you keep me informed? I’ll stop contacting her if you will promise to tell me how she fares. If she gets worse, I want to know.” Thor insists, his voice passionate and begging.

“You have my word, Your Majesty. Have you heard anything from Ms. Foster? Do we know exactly when we’ll be running her tests?”

“She’s very busy. As of now, it’s looking more and more likely that we won’t be able to find the time until the week’s end. After we confirm her pregnancy, I’ll tell Y/N. I’m sorry that I’ve asked you to collude in this business.”

There’s a long pause and for a moment Thor thinks that maybe the phone has disconnected but then Dr. Wilson sighs, “I cannot wait for this week to be over. Will you come back for me then? When she’s ready?”

“Yes. I’ll pick you up in the same spot that I left you. My wife wasn’t too upset about her lawn, was she? Only, Stark seems to get irritated with me every time I land on his.”

“No,” Dr. Wilson chuckles once. “She was not upset. Again, there’s little more than her throat, head, and fever on her mind. I’ve gotta go. She’s gone out into the garden for some fresh air but I need to get her back into bed.”

“Please take good care of her, doctor. She’s...well, she’s my wife,” Thor finishes heavily.

The phone goes dead and Thor sits there staring at his phone until he can find the strength to get to his feet and go off in search of Jane. They really need to talk.

~~~~~~~~~~

Friday

Thor is upset.

He’s beyond frustrated by now.

He’s irritated.

It’s a week tomorrow since he’s seen you and he can’t stand the distance anymore.

Dr. Wilson snuck him a photo but you’d been sitting on your sofa, looking weak and withdrawn.

He’s not sure what exactly is making you sick, but he knows that he can’t go another day without seeing you.

He needs to get Dr. Wilson back here and he needs to get confirmation so that he can have something to tell you once he sees you.

He won’t lose you over this.

It was one last time. One final goodbye with Jane and he’d thought she was on her birth control but apparently she hadn’t been so he hadn’t bothered to protect himself from the possibility of getting her pregnant.

Why hadn’t she said anything?! Why hadn’t she told him that she wasn’t on her pill?

He knows it’s wrong to blame her. It took both of them to make this baby, but being away from you for so long is wearing thin and he’s losing all semblance of patience.

It takes some very careful maneuvering. Heimdall is sent first, then Hilde, then Loki.

None of them know why they’re going in to corner Jane in the tower except for Loki. Well, Heimdall knows, but there’s no hiding much from Heimdall. He pretends not to know and that’s good enough for Thor.

Loki is just stepping out of the tower when he turns to look at Thor with a grave almost exhausted expression.

“She’s up there,” he assures Thor, frowning as he shuts the heavy door. “When will this end, Thor? Are you going to keep the Queen away forever?”

Thor says nothing, he’s too upset to speak. He pulls the door open roughly and stomps his way up the steps taking them two at a time until he’s standing on the top floor landing.

He can see Jane biting her lip, pacing the length of the room until she turns and finally sees him.

“Thor…” she gasps, not expecting to see him.

“We have to talk, Jane.”

She looks away, turning her back on him then moves towards her laptop which she carefully closes. She puts her hand up to her throat and turns to face him.

“I will have Dr. Wilson brought in and Dr. Alric to give you the same tests they have been giving Y/N. They will be confirming your pregnancy and once we have that, then we can all sit down and figure out-”

“I’m not pregnant,” Jane gasps, her voice filling the room despite the quiet breath that escapes her pink lips.

Thor’s stomach twists. It’s agony.

On the one hand, the words she’s just spoken are...they’re a celebration. They’re simplicity. They’re peace and a return back to normal where in his life there is only you.

On the other hand, he’s just lost a baby he never had. An heir that he’d been expecting and now can never get back.

He’d made plans for this child. He’s pictured his life with them, the happiness and joy that their birth would bring to the people of New Asgard. The assurance that they would always belong to Earth.

He’d picked names for boys and girls. He’d begun to make a list of nursery items they would need even as he lamented that the baby was not yours but Jane’s.

This baby would have, and had already begun to change his life.

And now this?!

“What?” he very nearly spits.

Jane is so flustered she’s wringing her hands hard, welting them red.

“I’m...I didn’t expect to come here and see you with her and see how fast you just-” she waves her hand as if shooing away some animal. “-moved on. It’s like you were never with me.

“You were both so happy and talking about the future and I just lost it for a little bit,” she shrugs. “I have no excuses, Thor. I’m sorry if what I said hurt you. It was selfish of me and I just loved you for so long. You were mine, you know? And now you’re married, planning to have kids, and your wife is so nice and considerate and even though she has every reason to hate me, she was polite and so damn perfect…

“I’m not afraid to say that it made me hate her. I’m ashamed of it, but not enough to take it back.”

The silence is thick. The air suddenly grows charged and Thor’s eyes shine a bright sparkling blue.

His hands crackle and his eye spits as if full of blue fire.

The sky overhead thunders and the world shakes with the boom. The lightning strikes sharp and fast, shaking the tower so that for a moment, Thor can see how Jane thinks it might topple.

His anger gives way to betrayal and his lightning fizzles out as he takes a step towards her, his brow furrowed, eye full of pain as he stares at her, searching for the joke that this must be.

There is no way that this is really happening.

“You lied to me?” Thor accuses.

Jane blanches, her lips going pale as she takes a step towards him.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie, I just-I didn’t want to see you with her anymore and I wasn’t thinking straight so I just said it before I could stop myself. I know that it was wrong and I didn’t think it would go on for so long. I wanted to tell you almost as soon as I said it that it wasn’t true, but then you just took off and then the Queen left and I wasn’t sure if you told her and maybe that’s why she wasn’t here.”

Thor shakes his head, turning away from her as he paces towards the stairs but then turns back, his anger returning but full of pain now.

“I defended you. When Loki insisted I have you tested I asked him if he doubted you and I assured him that you would not lie about something this important. What reason would you have to lie?” he demands, almost of himself instead of Jane.

“Thor,” Jane begins.

“How long were you going to let me think you were carrying my child? How long were you planning to con me?” he accuses and his words seem to hurt Jane.

Thor can’t find it in him to care too much.

“I wasn’t-that’s not what I meant to do, Thor. Please, you have to believe me. I just didn’t know how much seeing you with her would-”

“You have no right to be upset!” he booms, his voice loud and it startles Jane quiet.

She’s never heard him angry like this. She’s never heard his voice raised.

“I gave you every opportunity to be with me, to marry me, to build a life here with me and be my Queen. You didn’t want it! You flat-out refused to be tied down by me and this Kingdom but now that you see me and my wife happy, you change your mind?

“You have the audacity to raise obstacles between us because you have regrets?”

“Thor,” she tries again, but Thor won’t let her speak.

“Get out,” he says sternly, turning to move towards the stairs.

“What?!”

“I said, get out. You are no longer welcome in my home. Pray no one ever finds out of your treachery. And should you have the urge to return for any reason, don’t.”

Thor storms down the steps, so angry that each step shakes the tower.

He’s breathing heavily as he slams the door shut behind him.

The storm air helps to calm him a bit. It clears his mind at least and the past week zooms by him like an unpleasant movie.

All of that worry and the plotting and planning. The agony that he felt wondering if you’d leave him when you found out about his child with Jane was the most unbearable.

Your face flashes before his eyes and he knows that there’s only one place he can be right now.

He throws his hand out and a metallic whistling rushes closer before his fist closes around his hammer.

He swings it firmly and throws it up into the air as he makes for your home.

Now that he has nothing to keep him here, he’s eager to get back to you. He’ll tell you everything and hope that you can forgive him for lying to you about Jane.

Even though it was a lie by omission, it was still a lie.

“I’m coming, my cherub,” he whispers, so eager to have you in his arms again.

Nothing will ever tear him from you again. He is certain. Nothing. Not a false heir, or a former love, no doubts exist within him anymore. You are the one.

The only one.

[lightsovermonaco]

Speed and Stress: Part 2

Masterlist

Thank you to @acollectionofficsandshit for betaing, your comments on this one were unhinged gold 

Word Count: 3.1k

Recommended Vibes: “Perfect Day” by Tundra Beats

Part 1

Your brother was late. Not that anyone was surprised.

“Got the time mixed up,” he says as you climb into his absurdly tall truck. Living in Texas for three years had turned him into somewhat of a country boy, though not enough that he forgot his upbringing. He was still a blue blooded Los Angeles boy, just with a love for trucks and longhorn cattle.

“At least I wasn’t waiting for an hour this time,” you say and sling your bag to the backseat. Deciding to get right to the good stuff, you clasp  your hands together. “So! I have some news.”

Hunter grins at you. “You finally found a job?”

You roll your eyes and shoot him a pointed look. “No, dipshit. Better than that. I got us paddock passes for the whole weekend.”

“WHAT?” He jerks the wheel, horns honking at you as other drivers swerve. You grab the dash to steady yourself, laughing at his outburst. “Do you know how hard it was for me to get general admission tickets? How the hell did you get paddock passes?”

“May have met someone pretty high up at McLaren in Los Angeles,” you say, examining your nails.

“Like, Zak Brown? You met Zak Brown?” Hunter was such a fan boy, you had to laugh. His love for McLaren ran so deep he practically bled blue and orange. The only reason you watched the sport was because of him shoving it down your throat for years, but damn if you weren't glad for it.

“Daniel Ricciardo.”

Hunter choked on air but managed to stay in his lane this time. “And you waited until now to tell me?”

“I didn’t know it was him when I met him! He was on a motorcycle and I stopped to help film a tiktok and then-”

“Of course you’d stop,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You’re a sucker for bikes.”

“Yeah well, lucky that I am, cause all I had to do was flirt to get us those passes.”

Your intention had never been to take advantage of Daniel. It was more the opposite in fact; you were just living in the moment and capitalizing on the once in a lifetime opportunity to flirt with your celebrity crush. You had to admit, it turned out better than you'd ever thought it would.

“I can’t believe you seduced Daniel freakin’ Ricciardo,” he says, shaking his head. “You astound me.”

“I didn’t seduce him!” You protest.

"Sorry my bad. You charmed him. That sound better?"

You roll your eyes. "Whatever. I damn near had a heart attack when I figured out it was him but he was kind enough to let me brush it off."

"Well, thank god for your two-wheeled obsession because without it, we would be watching the prix from the nosebleeds."

You laugh and shake your head. Hunter tended to have a poor filter when he was excited and tended to spew whatever was on his mind. "Just watch your tongue this weekend, alright? I'd rather embarrass myself than have you do it for me."

Hunter gives a mock salute. "Yes ma'am."

**********

You'd stuffed five different outfits in your bag in preparation for the grand prix weekend. In theory, it shouldn't be hard to decide what to wear. But Friday morning you changed clothes so many times you lost count. No matter what combination you tried you weren't satisfied.

Finally, you give up and settle on a McLaren polo and denim shorts. Simple and comfortable, but form fitting enough to catch Daniel's eye should you run into him.

You knew you shouldn't, but you pull out your phone to text him anyway.

Thanks again for the tickets. Let me know if you've got any free time so I can properly thank you!

You hit send before your brain has the chance to overanalyze the message. You check your phone obsessively the entire drive to the circuit, only half expecting a response. You tuck your phone in your pocket when you get to the gates, determined not to let it get to you. Daniel warned you he would be busy, and you knew that responding to you was likely on the low end of his list of priorities.

Hunter gets you to the circuit a half hour before they let fans in and you have to listen to him ramble about driver stats the entire time. Normally you don't mind; guessing who's most likely to win each Sunday is something of a competition in your household. But today, you couldn't focus enough to put any thought into your prediction, instead just blurting Daniel's name.

"You're only saying that cause he's into you," Hunter says, grinning savagely. "He struggles in Austin and you know it."

"So? He's in a McLaren this year. You saw his pace in Bahrain, and that was with a damaged floor! He'll podium for sure." You cross your arms and return his grin. "Besides, he's motivated."

"Oh, is he?"

"I told him I'd buy the winner of the United States grand prix a drink. Up to him whether it's him or Verstappen."

"Oh my god you have a date with Daniel Ricciardo?"

"Dude, chill out. It's not set in stone. Honestly, he's probably forgotten that I exist."

"Has he texted you?"

You glance down at your phone and are greeted with an empty inbox. "No. Not after the initial time so I could have his number." You shrug and pick an invisible piece of lint from your arm. "But he said he'd be too busy anyway."

"Guess we'll see once we get to will call, huh? If he's forgotten about you."

"Yeah." An odd feeling rolls through you. It feels a bit like nerves mixed with hope, but you stamp down on it. You were here to enjoy yourself. The trip of a lifetime had been handed to you on a golden platter and you were wont to let something as trivial as nervousness ruin it.

Bells chime as you step into the blissfully cool will call office. A blonde woman with a bit too much blush dusted on her cheeks greets you with a smile. 

"What can I do for you?"

"Picking up some tickets that were left for me by a driver?" You try, unsure of the proper procedure. "I don't have a paper or anything."

She waves a hand in the air as if she expected as much. "All I need is your identification. They should be under the name."

"Oh uh, of course." You motion for Hunter to hand over your wallet and show the woman your driver's license.

"Great. Wait here and I'll grab those for you."

You drum your fingers on the desk while waiting for her to return. After what feels like ages she re-emerges empty handed.

"I'm not seeing anything here with your name on it," she says, her plastic smile at odds with her sincerity. "I'm afraid your tickets aren't valid until Sunday."

"Can you double check? Daniel said they'd be here-"

"So sorry. There's no record of anyone dropping tickets off for you."

You blink, holding your tongue in the face of her blunt response. "Okay. I guess ill try and get it sorted out."

Hunter breaks the tension. "Can't you call him?"

"I can't just call him, I'm sure he's busy."

"Either that or we don't get in. Just do it, he gave you his number and specifically told you to let him know if there were any problems, didn't he?"

Yes he had, but that didn't mean you wanted to disturb him. He was probably knees deep in some sort of race weekend press conference or drivers meeting and heaven forbid you interrupt.  But it was either that or you slink home disappointed and empty handed.

"Fine," you grumble, pulling out your phone with deliberate slowness. Hunter crosses his arms and tips his head to the side, a smile playing on his lips.

"Well?"

"It's dialing, you good for nothing busybody-"

"I was wondering how long it would take you to call," Daniel answers, voice radiating sunshine.

You cut right to the chase, not giving yourself a single second to evaluate how your heart skips. "Look, I don't wanna distract you on a race weekend but I'm at will call and they're telling me they can't find any passes left for me."

"Let me guess," he starts, raising his voice to be heard over the pneumatic tools in the background, "You're dealing with Jenny?"

Your eyes fall to the name on the woman's lanyard. She shifts under your gaze like she knew exactly who you were on the phone with. "Yep. Spot on."

"Kinda figured she would be a problem. She's got a huge crush on me and does this every time."

You fight back the strange sensation his offhand comment brings to the surface. "Oh, really?"

"I'll be right there. Give me ten minutes or so."

"Oh you don't have to-"

"Hey, no big deal. I gotta go that way anyway."

"Uh, okay. See you soon?"

"Yup. On my way."

You hang up and stare down at the phone, stunned.

"Well?" Hunter asks.

"I guess he's coming here to sort it out himself."

He blinks rapidly and shakes his head. "Hold on. Are you telling me that I get to meet Daniel? Like right now?"

"Can you relax?" You laugh lightly. "Honestly you're gonna freak him out."

"Uh, yeah sure. No big deal, just meeting one of my favorite drivers in the minus five minutes and I'm completely unprepared. It's fine."

If you roll your eyes any harder they'd pop out of your head. "Relax. He's laid back, but I don't want you to freak out and embarrass us both."

"Excuse me," Jenny breaks in, her distaste clear. "Please move aside if you're not picking up passes."

"Er, yeah. Sorry." You shuffle awkwardly off to the side to wait. Cheesy elevator music plays and Jenny shoots you glares until the door squeaks open and the human incarnation of the sun steps inside. Your breathing stutters when the Australian shoots you a wink and a grin before sauntering up to the counter.

"Why hello there Jen," he says, and she giggles coyly. 

"Hi Daniel." She lays a hand on his forearm, the touch light and flirty. "What can I help you with?"

Daniel leans into her, whispering conspiratorially. Whatever he says has her bold smile faltering, replaced by a mask of professional cheer. Daniel shoots you another wink as the woman retreats to a back room, returning moments later with your supposedly missing passes.

"Thank you," Daniel says sweetly, taking them from her and turning to you. "I think these are yours."

"Thanks." You take the passes and hand one off to your awestruck brother. You nudge him and he comes to his senses in time to shake the hand Daniel sticks out.

"You must be the brother," he says. "I see you're a fan."

Dressed head to toe in McLaren colors, there was no other conclusion for Daniel to draw. For once your brother is the one stunned into silence so you answer for him, "Yeah, only a little. He was crushed when you left Red Bull cause Max is his other favorite driver and now he has to split his loyalties between teams."

Dan's laugh snaps Hunter out of his trance. "I know you're busy but do you think you can sign something for me?"

"Of course. How about this?" Daniel snatches the hat from Hunter's head and produces a sharpie from his pocket, signing the brim with practiced efficiency. 

"He'll be texting the group chat about that as soon as you're gone," you tell Daniel who laughs along with you.

Heat rises to your cheeks as Daniel's assessing gaze sweeps you from head to toe. "McLaren orange looks good on you."

Channeling his easy confidence you flash him a grin. "Not as good as it looks on you."

He smooths the hem of his soft shell jacket, smile turning bashful. "Anyway. I gotta run. See you Sunday after I win!"

Your eyes follow him as he jogs back through the paddock until he's swallowed by the crowd. You sigh, shifting your weight from foot to foot. God, he was gorgeous. And he had such a big heart. It was a shame someone hadn't snatched him up yet, but then again, that meant you still had a shot, even if it was a slim one.

"So where exactly do these get us?" Hunter toys with the lanyard now placed around his neck. "It doesn't say."

"I'm guessing the McLaren lounge," you say and point to the logo on the passes. "Above the garage."

"That's the perfect vantage point for practice."

And it was the perfect view- before getting in the car Daniel walked out into the pit, suited up in his cobalt racesuit and minty helmet and glanced up. You weren't sure if he saw you or not when you waved but he gave a little salute nonetheless.

Hunter was practically glued to the bank of floor to ceiling windows for the entirety of free practice, immersing himself in the experience. You found yourself glancing at the timing tables every lap, silently hoping to see the RIC tag move up. By the end of the second session he had been fourth fastest, a few tenths behind both Mercedes and the Red Bull of Verstappen. 

By the time you make it back to Hunter's house, you're both exhausted from a full day of running up and down the paddock. The pair of you had been determined to soak up every second of it, sneaking into whatever offices you could and stealing bites off the buffets and cups of coffee. 

Saturday’s free practice and qualifying session pass in a blur of color. Daniel drags his McLaren up the ranks to qualify fourth, his best starting position so far this season. He had a decent shot at the podium- Bottas should be easy pickings and if Verstappen and Hamilton made any mistakes, Daniel might even have a shot at the win.

The excitement in the air is palpable as you both flash your badges and head back up the now familiar path to the McLaren lounge. An hour before lights out, the v6 engines rumble to life below. You venture out onto the balcony, watching and waiting for a glimpse of Daniel.

The Aussie does you one better by walking out, race suit on and helmet in hand. He chats animatedly with Michael before stopping and craning his neck upwards. Michael nudges him with his elbow but Dan ignores him, answering your tiny wave with a wink. He mimes taking a drink and you roll your eyes.

Dan throws his head back and laughs, audible over the cacophony below. He gives you one final salute before Michael drags him back into the garage.

Ten minutes later cars begin streaming out on track, Daniel taking the fourth grid place as his mechanics once again swarm him. Tire blankets are secured, keeping them warm and pliable ahead of the formation lap. Thirty seconds before the boys are released, they're peeled back off as everyone scrambles off the pavement. Verstappen leads them away down the 3.4 mile track for the formation lap. Dan does a few small power slides before taking his place on the second row.

One by one, the red lights illuminate and disappear quicker than your blink. Daniel gets away clean while Bottas stumbles out of the gate, leaving himself wide open for Daniel's overtake on his right side. Cheers erupt around you, your brother going so far as to lift you off your feet.

Maybe Dan had a shot at winning after all.

A nail-biting 38 laps pass without a change in the order of the top three. Finally, a mistake in Max's pit stop sees him return to track third, just behind Daniel. The McLaren driver puts up the fight of his life, late braking at every corner and defending his position for all he was worth. Lewis was twenty seconds ahead- he wouldn't be winning but he could defend his second place spot.

Lewis Hamilton, race winner for the seventh time at the Circuit of the Americas!

Daniel Ricciardo crosses the line second, Max Verstappen takes home that last podium step for Red Bull. An astonishing fifty six laps here today in Austin!

The box erupts around you, a roar of cheers making it impossible to hear what else Crofty and Brundle were saying. But it didn't matter as Daniel raises his fist when he swings back into parc ferme, jumping out to be congratulated by his team. It was his first podium for the papaya team and you can tell it means the world to them.

"Looks like you're taking Lewis out for a drink," your brother teases. "Told you he wouldn't win."

"He almost won," you counter. "But hey, I'm not above asking Lewis on a date. Could you imagine? I mean, he would never agree, but still. It would be a hell of a date."

If you crane your neck from the balcony, you can just barely see the podium. Everyone goes quiet for the anthems and erupts again when the champagne is sprayed. The McLaren team chant for a shoey, which Daniel obliges. He sits to unlace his mint green boot and pours champagne into it, drinking from the boot before passing it to Max who joins in on the fun. 

Just as quickly as it began, the celebrations ebb. Daniel is the first to leave the podium which seems odd, given that the PR department surely wants his first big win for the team to be well documented.

Your phone buzzes a second layer. You fish it out of your pocket, a Cheshire grin splitting your face.

"Shouldn't you be busy celebrating?"

"I am," Dan starts, sounding breathless. You can barely hear him over the sound of the crowds chants behind him. "But I want to celebrate with you. I know I didn't win, but how about you let me buy you a drink instead?"

You barely hear anything beyond his first sentence. I want to celebrate with you. Were you dreaming? There was no way this was real.

"Um, I'm sorry, you want to celebrate by going out with me instead of your team?"

"If you'll let me. Hey- just text me okay? I can barely hear you over everyone screaming my name. It may be going to my head."

You laugh, drawing the attention of the vip's nearest you. You give an apologetic smile and move further from the crowd. "I'll text you an address. See you later, second place."

[nikrangdan]

roommate!heeseung pt. 1

pairing: roommate!heeseung x female reader

genre: mini fic(?), fluff, comedy, tiny angst(one little sad part)

warnings: cursing!!! 

word count: 4.3k

description: i guess you just didnt realize you were in love with your roommate...... who has a girlfriend

————

“ow!”

you had just hit heeseung over the head after he said he would burn all of your plushies

your Precious. Plushies

hell no you’ve been collecting these since you were 11 no way in hell heeseung would threaten ur babies

you rolled your eyes and started to walk to the kitchen to get a snack

stupid heeseung

hes always saying stupid shit🙄

before you walked out though you noticed the look on his face

like he was contemplating something

“y/n... can you do me a favor?” he nervously uttered out before you walked out his door

“....what kind..?” you furrowed your brows

why was he being so cryptic

“uhh i need you to get flowers and chocolates for me from stacys....”

STACYS?????????

stacys was this fancy store 45 MINUTES AWAY..

“ur fucking serious?” you deadpanned

this was something new

in all your 8 months of living with him he had never asked you of a favor this big

for context.., you had moved to this city apartment for college 8 months ago but you couldn’t afford it without a roommate

but luckily you overheard a certain boy praying for an apartment while you were on campus

and you guessed it!!! it was heeseung

you two clicked easily and you were very thankful he was your roommate

after 4 months of living together he told you he got a girlfriend

you didnt really know about his campus life since you didnt have classes together and you never saw him walking around

you dont know why you were surprised when he told you... i mean have u seem Him.....

but nonetheless

u were like “Omg heeseung!!! thats great<3” like the supportive friend u were

yeah and that was that

you didnt meet the girl until another month later

Now that..... that was an experience......

FLASHBACK WHOOSH

*knock knock knock*

who tha hell was knocking at 7 in the morning.........

you staggered your way over to the front door with your matching hello kitty pajamas

and u open the door to see a blonde Lady who looks around your age

Why did u forget to look thru the little peephole in the door...... ur probably just tired whatever

anyways ur like

“uhm....”

and shes like

“? who are you.?”

and ur like

??!!?[\^€]€\¥,_[+{*}*

“i live here....”

and shes like

“?...? oh sorry i thought my boyfriend lived here..”

and ur both just standing there like ;-;

shes all dressed up and u look like a childs room threw up on u

And thats when it hit u

“OH”

“are you heeseungs girlfriend?!!???” your hand raises up to point at her unconsciously

“ yes.. i am” she looked so lost it was so funny

“oh then you have the right place im sorry! hes my roommate” you scurry back into the apartment, gesturing for her to come in and close the door behind her

“what? he didnt tell me had a roommate..”

poor girl 😭😭😭

you quite literally pounce into heeseungs room and smack him while shes still standing outside awkwardly in the living room

“fucking idiot” smack to the face

“wake up” smack to the chest

“heeseung i swear to god” you shake his head

“are you fucking dead???? wake up!!!!” you pinch his ears really hard

that woke him up

“Ow ow ow ow OWWW y/n what the hell???” his eyes are forced open but theyre squinted due to the sunlight

“your girlfriend is here” you whisper-yell at him

“what???” he sat up so quickly you almost laughed

you were 90% sure she heard everything

oh well

his problem

he just stares into space for a second before his eyes go wide

ur just sitting on his bed waiting for him to do something like Uhhh

“shit i planned a date today oh my god” he jumped up from his bed and hastily told you to “stay put” before throwing on a hoodie, walking to see his girlfriend, and slamming his bedroom door leaving u sat on his bed

yes u were nosy Muahahahahah

so u pressed ur ear against the door to listen to their conversation

“sora, im so sorry i slept in late i promise ill make it up to you please baby dont be mad”

you had to stifle your laughter with your hand

God this was gold

“heeseung why didnt you tell me you lived with a girl.”

oooooooh hes in trouble you laugh to yourself

“ah about that.. im sorry i didnt tell you.. dont worry though, you know i only like you! shes just my roommate”

ouch

Why did that hurt 😪

“whatever heeseung.. ill call you later” and then you heard the door slam

already???? you were ready to get ur popcorn :///

you didnt even notice it had been a while before the door opened with you still leaning on it

boom u fell on the floor

“ow”

“shut up” he said before jumping face down on his bed

you stand up to lean against his door again, staring pitifully at the boy

“you okay?” you cross your arms

“mmm” he mumbles into his pillow

“you know i think i deserve a treat for being woken up at 7am on a sunday by your little girlfriend”

“little? shes taller than you” he turned around to lay on his back and chuckle

“oh so you’re making jokes right now when your girlfriend might break up with you?” you glare at him

“shes not gonna break up with me over something this little” he rolls his eyes and grabs his phone from his nightstand

“you know you’re a little piece of shit heeseung!” you yell out to him after you walked out of his room

“how?!” he yelled back

“treat your girlfriend better!”

he kept his mouth shut after that

yeah you two didnt talk for the rest of the day because he stayed in his room sulking or whatever

fast forward to now

Right after he asked u to get him the chocolates and flowers

“please y/n, sora is gonna be here in 2 hours and i need to get everything ready and i dont have enough time to do everything” he begged

WITH THOSE CUTE LITTLE PUPPY DOG EYES OF HIS GOD

“do you really need them from stacys though???” you whined

he just huffed and glared at you “yes! sora only likes them from there.”

“nuh uh mister dont give me that look” you narrow your eyes at him

he immediately stops his glare and tries to look neutral

it almost made you laugh

you just looked at him for a few seconds before giving up

“fine. but what am i getting in return?”

his eyes lit up and traveled up as he was in thought

“hmmm ill buy you food whenever you want for a month”

Wow

“woah thats more than i bargained for but deal!” he didnt realize that until after you shook his hand, very enthusiastically might i add

Lol

so now you were on your way home with the MASSIVE bouquet of roses and beautifully wrapped chocolates sitting nice and snug in the passenger seat of your car

these two things costed $115

oh well its heeseungs money not yours

you found it amusing because heeseung was nowhere near rich so where was he finding this money to blow

over an hour later and ur finally back home

u open the door

u struggled very much btw

almost dropped everything haha

but woah......

your eyes widened and your mouth fell open

“heeseung? you didn’t tell me you two were having the date here..”

as soon as you walked in you smelled a pretty scent and the lighting was dim

it was beautiful

there were candles lit on every surface

rose petals were scattered messily everywhere

the two seater dining table was topped with elegant decor

there was quiet jazz music playing from his speaker

the familiar aroma of your favorite food hit you

standing there in your apartment didnt feel real

it felt like you were in a dream

you couldnt believe your apartment could turn into room from a fairytale

you were never one to be into disney princesses and fantasies

but for the first time ever you almost wished for a prince charming yourself

you almost got lost in a trance

and then....

the boy himself walked out

donned in an all black suit with a sliver of the white undershirt peeking underneath and the white tie

his bangs were covering his forehead and you noticed he styled them to be wavy

he had his earrings in and rings were present on 3 of his fingers

he looked absolutely dazzling

you dont know how or why.. but your heart began to race

why did this feel like it was for you...?

you wanted to be his disney princess

staring at him wistfully, it felt like time had stopped

“oh thanks y/n, i almost thought you ditched me” he chuckled quickly

he was frantic and out of breath as he snatched the things out of your hand

“right!” he began as he sped around the room setting everything up

“im sorry but i forgot to ask if you could leave for today. im such an idiot, im sorry y/n.. you can stay at a friends house or something for the night?” he didnt even look at you as he perfected the chocolates on the counter and the plates on the table

you couldnt help but notice your heart clench and your stomach twist at his words

you were still glued to your spot infront of the door

“o-oh! yeah, okay thats fine ill get my stuff now” you scurry to your room

you speedily threw some clothes and necessities in a bag before walking back to him

“hey..”

he didnt look at you

“helloooo”

“heeseung” you poke him

he finally turned to you

“sorry what?” he gazed down at you with big eyes

“its okay.. just wanted to let you know im leaving now” you give him a small smile

“oh right! thank you y/n again” he grinned

his pretty smile

“you look great by the way... have fun” you manage to say before slipping out the door

you didnt let him reply back because if you stayed in there a second longer you think you would’ve fallen in love with him

where did these feelings come from...?

you smack yourself on your forehead as youre walking down the steps to your car

ur probably just feeling like this because no man has ever done anything like that for u

and seeing it in real life made u want a bf 😟😟

yeah... thats it

so now ur at sunoos house

a close friend from your finance class

he lives in his parents house but theyre never home so he basically owns the place and doesn’t have to pay for it

Yeah u kinda envy the boy

but you love him because hes great

“y/n ..do you like him????” sunoo gasps

you guys are watching tangled for the 10th time and you were explaining what happened back at your apartment

“what? where did you get that from?” you snort, your eyes still focused on the movie

you could literally feel his eyes piercing into your soul with that stare

“the way you were telling me that story.... you sounded a bit jealous if i do say so myself..” he raises his eyebrow and leans back into the couch

“i do not like heeseung, sunoo” your eyes roll and you turn to look at him finally

he has a little smirk as he looks at u suspiciously

“hmmm okay, i get it” he raises his arms in defense and surrenders “you don’t wanna talk about it”

you scoff and laugh at his actions “you’re so annoying”

so ..*time skip* lol

you slept at sunoos for the night

it wasnt anything new bc u used to stay at his alot while u were in the process of moving into your apartment

one of his guest rooms is practically urs bc u have some decorations and spare clothes there :P

when you woke up that sunday morning you realized you forgot to set an alarm

so now its like 11am

well its not like you needed to be home so you shrugged it off

“morning” u said to sunoo when u saw him sitting on the couch watching wreck it ralph

boy loves his movies

“when are you going home?”

“wow rude.... not even a good morning back??” you found him amusing

“sorry, good morning. when are you going home” he turned his head to look at you

it made you laugh

Sunoo is so funny u love him

“do u wanna get rid of me that bad??? i hate you”

“ni-ki and jungwon are coming over today and i dont want you smothering them like you always do” he playfully glares at you

NI-KI AND JUNGWON???!!!??!!!!!!

“MY BABIES????” you exclaim and jump on the couch next to sunoo

“yes” he exasperatingly says

“now leave before they get here”

“WHAT?? no im staying because i wanna see them”

“NO!!!! now get out of my house y/n”

“why not?!!???! sunoo please i bet they miss me so much”

“y/n please.. they do NOT miss you”

“they literally do i always make them cookies and theyre like y/n ur so cool we love you”

“u mustve been hallucinating....”

“sunoo please please please i dont wanna go home” u tried to muster up the cutest puppy dog eyes ever

he looked at your face for a moment

“no u look ugly”

“YOU’RE SO ANNOYING” you push him

“theyre coming back tomorrow you can come then! today is boys night”

“boys night?” you snort “what the fuck are u kids gonna do that i cant be around for?”

“SHUT UP Y/N get out of my house!” he just starts to drag you out of his house himself

“ow oW OKAY fine ill leave... have fun doing.. whatever you’re gonna do” you grab your bag and start to head for the door

sunoo slams the door in ur face after he says “bye dont come back please” 😭😭😭

“asshole!” u yell to him thru the door

you just huff and stand on his porch for a second

you wonder if heeseung still has his girlfriend over and decide to text him

y/n🦧: hi can i come back home

welp

now ur sitting on sunoos porch waiting for a reply

10  minutes pass while ur scrolling on your phone and still no reply

you look up when you hear the front door open

“why are you still here?” sunoo frowns at you

“heeseung didnt answer my text and i dont wanna go back if his girlfriend is still there” you reply

“go home y/n plz.... i lied jungwon and ni-ki arent coming over.. my grandparents are” he tries to shoo you away

“why would you lie about that” you laugh

“theyre really mean! but you can come back tomorrow because the boys are actually gonna be here.. now go because my grumpy grandparents are gonna be here in like 5 minutes” he guides your shoulders down his porch

“ugh.. if his girlfriend is still there its your fault” you pout

“wha- how is that my- whatever y/n go home!!!”

when you drive off you dramatically wave your hand to him trying to show how desperately you did not wanna go home

sunoo just giggles and runs back inside

you drove home extra slow Lol

and now you were at the door contemplating whether or not you just make a run for it

but u said fuck it because u missed the comforts of ur own room

well u knocked a little before unlocking the door

how embarrassing to be knocking on the door of ur own home 💀

you didnt get an immediate answer so u just stood outside in the apartment hallway....waiting....

after waiting for like 30 seconds (because ur impatient) you knock again

well i tried to be nice you thought

you finally gave up and unlocked the door with your keys, kind of slowly opening the door to peek in

hmmm.... nothing

the sun was emitting some rays of light through one of the windows but none of the lights were on

and why was there food still on the table..?

you were kind of afraid to go see heeseung 

but

you did notice one thing

there wasn’t a pair of shoes u didnt recognize sitting on the rack by the door 

so... is his girlfriend not here or did she bring her shoes to his room lol..

“hello?” you unconfidently called out to nobody in particular

no answer

you slipped your shoes off quietly and tiptoed towards the hallway that included both of your rooms across from eachother

the kitchen and living room looked untouched 

to describe u being confused would be an understatement

you set your bag down on your bed and then made your way to heeseung.. just to check on him

you were genuinely so confused rn

you thought they would be cuddling on the couch or talking in his room or something but it was dead silent throughout the house

“heeseung?” you soft knocked on the door of his bedroom

surely he couldnt still be asleep.. it was noon on a monday and heeseung would normally be up by 10 because he said he would “start being a more productive man” as he said it

you always laughed at him because he used to wake up at like 3pm on days he didnt have class

anyways you didnt get an answer which was slightly concerning because you didnt forget to take note that you saw his car in the parking garage when you arrived

“i’m coming in” you called out to him before twisting the knob and pushing the door open

you realized you might be crossing a line and he’d get upset at you for invading his privacy but you were honestly worried for your friend

at first you didn’t see him

his room was empty, not a single person in sight

that is until you further examined the big lump on his bed

“heeseung? what...” you walked over to the lump that you only knew was him because you could see a bit of his hair peeking out from the top

“um.. am i interrupting something..” you awkwardly said, debating whether or not to go closer

he wasn’t saying anything so you guessed he was sleeping

how odd for him

you wanted to just check real quick and then you’d leave his room

so your feet padded softly against his wooden floor as you made your way over to him

and you bent down a little to kind of tug the huge blanket away from his face

as you got closer you also noticed his girlfriend wasnt here

the first thing you noticed was that he was definitely not asleep

your eyes widened and your hand instinctively went to his face to cup his cheek

“are you okay?! why are you crying?” you quickly asked, your eyebrows were furrowed in worry

in your months living with him you have never seen him show any emotional feelings in front of you and it almost made you panic

his eyes locked onto yours before he looked away from you and closed his eyes

he still hasnt said anything and you really didnt know what to do in this situation

you took your hand off his cheek before sighing

now you’re just sat on the side of his bed just looking at him.. wondering what to do

you were sure he wasn’t sleeping even though his eyes were shut and he wouldnt move

but you sat there for 5 minutes and he didnt seem to mind

“sora broke up with me” 

he finally broke the silence

...

you didnt know what to say

you couldnt ask if he was okay when he obviously wasnt

“do you wanna talk about it? you looked over to heeseung to see him staring at you

“not really” he broke eye contact once again and looked up towards the ceiling

“later i will.. just not now” he breathed out

you nodded at that, understanding his situation

you felt terrible for the boy

his eyes were red and his voice was all nasally like he’d been crying

“i’ll leave you alone now..” you patted his big blanket fluff to lighten the mood and walked out his stuffy room

hours had passed while he was stuck in that room and you didnt know what to do 

it was 7pm already

you spent the day watching tv in the living room 

but it was dinner time and you made ramen (his fav!!!) in hopes that he would come out of there

“heeseung you’ve gotta eat” you knock on his door again

you had told him to eat at 2 earlier but he insisted that he wasnt hungry

you were surprised when he instantly opened the door and your hand was still in midair as you were knocking

if your hand moved an inch you wouldve been knocking on his chest which you found very funny but you didnt think this was the right time for jokes

“hi” you looked up at him

he was wearing his purple beanie with sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt

he definitely looked better than he did this morning which you thanked god for

“hey” he gave u this look :]

“you okay? i made ramen.. can you smell it” you kinda giggled

“yeah, thanks” he tried to send you a small smile which you were thankful for

“okay well come eat because i worked very hard on it” you turned on your heels and went towards the tiny kitchen island with two seats

he followed you and sat next to you as you gave him his bowl and chopsticks

“bon appetit!” you clapped your hands before digging in

you were proud of urself ngl... the ramen was smacking

“thank you y/n” he said softly

you refused to admit it but he was.. So Cute

“no problem, just eat” you grinned

and you two ate in silence for a good 15 minutes

he said he would do the dishes after you were done which was relieving because you wanted to go jump in your bed and watch tiktoks very badly

there was a slight awkwardness in the air too so you wanted to let that cool off too

so now you were cuddled up in our bed with your phone very close, almost too close, to your face

and you could hear the sink running as heeseung washed the dishes

you silently prayed he was feeling better and that he would be over it soon

the sink turned off and you could hear his footsteps coming towards the hallway

what surprised you was that you heard knocks on your bedroom door

“can i come in?” he asked

“yeah its open” you replied

u had to get out of ur blanket cocoon :///

you watched him stride over to sit next you on your bed

he even got under the covers and laid down like dang lmao u getting comfy i guess

“whats up?” you were sitting up while he was laying on your pillows

“so.. she broke up with me last night” he spoke while hugging one of your plushies

oh OHH so this is what this is about

“oh.. are you feeling better now?”

“yeah i think.. we only dated for 4 months but i really liked her....”

“did she say why she did?” you asked

“she said she found someone else. i dont know if you know this but shes a year older than me and she told me she wasnt into younger guys which doesnt even make any sense because her ex was younger than her too and-”

“okay heeseung” you laugh “people are like that, you just gotta deal with it”

“yeah yeah, i know” he sighed “i dont know.. i dont know if im sad i lost her or if im sad over the fact that i dont have a girlfriend anymore”

“was she your first girlfriend?”

“me? y/n” he laughed “ive had plenty before”

“oh” you didnt even wanna ask

“why? have you never had a boyfriend or something?” he joked

“no....” you trailed off, unable to look him in the eye out of embarrassment

you were never even embarrassed about that but for some reason admitting it to heeseung made you shy

“what?! no way” he was actually shocked

“yes way now can we change the topic this is terrible” you roll your eyes and shove a plushie in his face

“awee little y/n” he teased you

“get out” you snickered

“okay okay fine.. but yeah i think i’ll be okay. she broke up with me as soon as she got here so all of my planning was for nothing. i think that was what devastated me the most, i had no one to eat with”

you wanted to yell I LITERALLY EXIST soooo bad

Why is he so stupid....... 

“thats sad...” you said

you wanted to laugh at your reply bc what else could you say

“yeah anyways you dont have to worry about taking care of me while im sulking or whatever im cool now’

“well that was quick.. you were acting like a baby this morning now ur this tuff guy” you tease

“yeah yeah i dont even know why i was acting like that” his cheeks went pink

“im just kidding” you send a small smile his way “you know im always here for you right? dont be afraid to be a little emotional sometimes” you reach over to pat his head

“thanks y/n” he smiles “you’re a really great friend”

ouch

yeah.. friend

[sobsicles]

Opening Line Tag Game

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

I was tagged by @dont-offend-the-bees - thanks! ill just do my spn fics and not any ive co-written because i didn't start the first chapters for those, though they're very good (Season Z and The Bad Santa Clause, respectively, that are fics written by a group of many amazing authors!)

Dean starts falling in love with him on a slow Sunday morning under slanted sunlight that slips through the gaps in the trees. — six hundred sundays (and many more)

Why did the curtains have to be yellow? — i want to do with you (what spring does to cherry trees)

In a bar on a Tuesday morning, it's a few months out from the final shot at the world ending. But hey, Chuck's long gone, and everything has worked out for the best, and the world keeps right on turning. Funny how that goes, huh? — dumbassery, denial, doing (the three d's to the destination)

There are certain moments in one's life when things go exactly as planned. It's like the stars align and the skies open up to reveal rays of sunlight and, against all odds, everything seems to be in perfect harmony. This is a phenomenon that Dean is genuinely not accustomed to, as it doesn't really happen for him. — finding hope (and finding him)

The first time she meets him, he's nothing more than an almost-missed appointment. — break the skin (to break the barriers)

The first time Dean and Cas kiss, it's not even really a kiss at all. It is, in fact, mouth-to-mouth. — a kiss for every season (literally)

The brass chip slides back and forth in a small path across the leaning desk Bobby has had for years and still hasn't gotten around to fixing. The chip reads: To thine own self be true. Unity. Service. Recovery. — separate ways and sleeping dogs

Getting used to Heaven is something of a marvel. It ain't perfect, and Dean thinks he'd hate it if it was, which is probably why it isn't. There's just enough human-esque nuances to it that keep it feeling like life rather than death, and he's thankful for that because he's got the smallest inkling that he should have gotten to live a little longer than he did. — oh sooner or later it all comes down to faith

So, the first thing that happens is Castiel comes back. It's at a pretty inconvenient time, considering the amount of pain Dean is in and how close he is to being dead. — things happen (they do, and they do, and they do)

It's not the first time Claire has ever gone missing. It is, however, the first time Kaia panics about it. — what's missing is found (our souls can exhale now)

It's different now, no matter how much they're pretending it's not. Mostly out of self-preservation, because sometimes their sanity is hanging by a mere thread and it's so obvious that they simply have no choice but to fake it 'til they make it. They've done a lot of that through the years, practically crafted it into a fine art, but this is the best performance yet. — according to all known laws of life

Time is different here. — what they deserve (it's better this way)

The first realization he remembers having is that the stars are oddly bright from where he lies sprawled on his back. The second, of course, is that there are troubling sounds coming from some vague point to his left. He supposes that's fair—vision and auditory processes are usually the first thing people make sense of when they wake. He knows that much, at least. Not much else, though. — Memories Bring Back Memories (Bring Back You)

Dean would think that a failsafe like this wouldn't exist. It doesn't quite add up in his head when he sits down and thinks about it, but Sam assures him over and over that it's well within the realm of possibility for the Men of Letters--supposed smart people--to come up with something as stupid as this. — home is where the heart is (and you have mine)

The blackbirds start singing a dawn. — profoundly bonded (by law)

So. So, the thing about desperation, and want, and desire, and how it controls, is that it's all bullshit, and Dean wants absolutely no part in it. — staring at ceiling in the dark, same empty feeling in your heart (love comes slow and it goes so fast)

Cas wasn't a music fanatic of any kind, Dean knew this firsthand. Sure, he listened to whatever Dean was listening to, or whatever was playing in the car on long trips. But he never went out of his way to listen to music in his spare time. — listen to the song in my soul (only you can hear)

All things considered, Castiel found solace in the fact that his life couldn't get any worse than this. — Just A Touch

There were a few things that were known about Dean Winchester, undeniable things that hadn't wavered once in his entire life. — a helping hand (let's not be friends)

Dean was merely ten years old when he discovered that bridges didn't close the gap between two worlds. — The Bridges We Built

insane to me that none of these opened up on dialogue. i don't open up with dialogue that often, as it turns out. also, most of these fics are dean pov. only three of these out of twenty are cas pov (1, 12, 18). my personal five favorites out of these: 3, 5, 10, 14, 15.

im supposed to tag people, but like, i want anyone who wants to do it to do it! if you see this and want to do it, definitely do so! tag me if you do; i'd love to see your answers!

[chemicalpink]

512 ♡ Jung Hoseok

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Words: 1.5k

Genre: fluff, kinda neighbours to lovers

Warnings: none

Summary: There's just something so captivating about the man living inside the apartment at the end of the hall, so what if there's a whole zoo inside your belly whenever you see him, at least there might be a chance to get with him, right?

A/N: Inspired by Selena Quintanilla's song el chico del apartamento 512, part of BCC Summer Games.

You feel exhaustion taking over as you were making your way to your apartment building after being dropped off by a taxi, the way you always did, mind already deciding which movie to pick as you eat dinner, half a mind to really drag yourself all the way to the elevator, the modern, yet somehow overcrowded living complex giving you a sense of comfort and dread at the same time as you hear someone calling out your name.

“Y/N!” you turn your head towards the man, a cute guy by the name of Jungkook of whom you only knew two things for sure, one, he had the most obvious, yet somehow endearing, crush on you, making it a habit of waiting for you outside his own apartment just to greet you as soon as you got home, and two, that even though he was very cute, he was also considerably younger than you. You sighed to yourself, the same way it was customary for you now, turning towards him and smiling just a little bit, although to some it might have been a bit infuriating to go through such a routine on a daily basis, you just couldn’t seem to help to be friendly with the guy, knowing he’s never ill-meaning on his actions. As soon as you acknowledge his existence, you could clearly see him blush and immediately rush inside his home, having you giggle to yourself at his actions

Just a few more steps. A few more steps until you could comfortably be enveloped in a familiar warmth, munching off of whatever leftovers were on the fridge. Just a few more steps until “Y/N! How nice to see you around here!”

“Seokjin, we’ve been over this, I live here, you see me literally every day” you go for the arm had wrapped around your shoulders in the overly flirty way that he always seemed to greet you with whenever you two crossed paths, placing it back down on his side as he laughs your reaction off. The man had always been everything but subtle about his flirty ways, not that you were complaining really. Kim Seokjin was one hell of a man, not just visually, although you were soon to find out that his seemingly romantic advances were merely part of his own charming personality, Kim Seokjin, was as beautiful as he was afraid of commitment, so really you had just stuck by as friendly neighbours that would sometimes turn into drinking buddies.

“Yah, I just wanted to invite you over for dinner, I made kimchi fried rice and it’s so good” and really, it did sound nice, perfect even, Seokjin was one hell of a cook that almost never shared his delicacies and the man knew very well how to play his cards with you. As if the evening couldn’t get more eventful than that, the elevator doors ding open, a man walking out rearranging his black blazer as the world seemed to slow down, the light hitting the right places on his face to make him look even more handsome, hair pushed back, brilliant smile thrown your way as Seokjin acknowledges him “Hoseokie, going somewhere?”

“Oh yeah I’ve got this thing from work” Jung Hoseok, not that you were a stalker, since the two of you weren’t exactly formally introduced, but he lived on your same floor, a few doors down on apartment 512, your schedules didn’t quite overlap so it was a rare occurrence for you to run into him, although you very much treasured every small glimpse you could get of the man, really, it should be a crime not to see that much beauty on a daily basis. Your heart seems to stop beating for two seconds too long when he poses his eyes on you “Hi”

Your ears are ringing and you robotically say a polite goodbye to the man when he takes off, if years of friendship with Seokjin were anything to go by, you should really just skip the dinner invitation in favour of not being questioned any further about what had just happened. “So… someone’s got a massive crush”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you start your original path towards the elevator, forget homemade kimchi fried rice, it was definitely not worth the teasing that Kim Seokjin was capable of, although you might have underestimated his love for meddling with your life as he stops you right before you enter the lift, dragging you unceremoniously towards his apartment like a mother handling her petulant child. It really wasn’t worth the fight.

“I’ll even throw in a homemade bingsu if you spill all the tea” And you were a goner.

Apparently, Seokjin, that little social butterfly, has pretty much become Hoseok’s closest hyung ever since the man arrived at the building, and as soon as he heard your lovesick stories over him, and buckled down in laughter with tears coming out of his eyes, he dramatically pursed his lips saying something along the lines of having the right to remain silent. At least the free dinner was nice.

Surprisingly enough, your crush on Hoseok was a topic that wasn’t really talked about any further, most probably due to the fact that said man was nowhere to be seen, even if the holidays had so much as come around during summer, leaving you that much time to lounge around your apartment, deal with a one-sided lover boy and leech of off Seokin’s cooking skills.

“I’m just saying Y/N” your friend turns to look your way “don’t question me any further, but if you were to ask Hobi out, I’m sure he would say yes”

You groan for the umpteenth time, making a big fuss out of something that you had long deemed like something that was meant to just stay inside your head, so close to making you feel like you could reach it, yet so far away. “You don’t know that”

“I really don’t” Seokjin cough uncomfortably, straightening up on his seat the way he always did when something made him uncomfortable, the way he religiously seemed to be doing whenever you two talked about Hoseok, making you wonder just how much effort he was putting in not spilling his guts on whatever it was that he definitely knew but was adamant on telling you.

So perhaps Seokjin had hyped you up a little bit too much, whatever stratospheric ego he had, he had rubbed off on you, which was probably the reason as to why you were currently hyping yourself up in front of a mirror “Come on Y/N, you’ve got this” you whisper to yourself as you make sure your look is put together but not overly done either. After months of pinning over Hoseok, you were finally just going to go for it, what’s the worst that could happen? Probably a lot of things, you two lived on the same floor after all, so hopefully if he rejected you, it wouldn’t be too awkward when running into each other. Or when you got to use the elevator at once. He might even go ahead and try to evade you like the plague. But none of these thoughts were useful on the bright Sunday morning you woke up determined to make the day to finally ask him out.

You walked down the hall, all too aware of the fact that this was indeed happening. Your heart seemed to pick up its pace as soon as your eyes locked on the small golden number ‘512’ for a few seconds as you fixed your hair and just went for it. Your fist connected with the wood, knocking three times in a row, not too loud but loud enough for anyone inside to hear you clearly calling at the door. Your stomach seemed to get all warm and fuzzy as you heard the lock turn, only for that lovely feeling to turn into a need to contain your stomach contents and your heart seemed to break when an unfamiliar, and very much female face, answered the door. Of course, Hoseok had a girlfriend. What type of man that even remotely looked like he did would have done it single? Screw Seokjin and his stupid way of working your courage and hopes up to do this. He was most definitely going to pay for it. You took a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm yourself down when the girl spoke up “Oh..you must be looking for my brother”

[delos-mio]

First Thing To Go - THE BEFORE

First thing to go was the sound of his voice...

The Before

The condo was dead silent- a knife with a jagged blade cutting through your very existence. But you hadn’t found it in yourself to play anything. Not the tv, not a movie. In fact, the record you’d loved so much and used to dance around to, smiling like everything was good, practicing for your first dance as husband and wife, lied broken on the floor. It was just another casualty of the night before. 

Damian had been very calm when he told you it was over. His face was stone and if he was hurting deep down inside, his eyes gave nothing away. It was just a fucking transaction for him. You knew he could be cold- you’d experienced that plenty- but you never knew he could be so cruel. All he said was that he was sorry as he left you crying on the couch, the first piece of furniture you’d purchased together. No tears, no kiss goodbye, not even a sigh. Then it was just silence. Echoing, never ending silence.

Once you’d regained your breath and managed to dry your eyes enough to see again, you quickly texted your mother and your maid of honor, letting them know there would be no need to show up to the rehearsal dinner tomorrow as there was no longer going to be a wedding. Before either of them could get a single question out, you’d turned off your phone, tossing it somewhere in the bed. You hadn’t stepped foot into the bedroom, much less slept in the bed you used to share, since that night either. 

Everything you looked at was a stinging reminder of the life you were supposed to share together. The life you’d already started to build. The condo was outfitted with art and furniture and media you’d picked out together. Shit, even some of the gifts off your registry had already shown up to the condo. He was woven into every fucking surface, into every fiber and space of the home you once shared together. It was really starting to make you sick. 

With rage turning in your stomach, making you ill and angry, you looked around for anything Damian might have left behind. First thing was that stupid record. The one with the song that would have been your first dance as husband and wife. You went over and tore it off the shelf. You ripped it from the sleeve and promptly lifted your knee and cracked it over the top without a second thought. From there, it was an Easter egg hunt- finding and destroying, finding and destroying. By the end of your rampage, you were in full blown hysterics, the tears seemingly never ending. That night, you fell asleep on the floor, exhausted and broken. 

It had now been a full 24 hours since Damian left his key on the counter and shut the door behind him. Tomorrow, you were supposed to become Mrs. Langford. What a difference a day makes. 

You were zoning out in front of the TV, not even registering what was on the screen, when there was a knock on the door. Your heart immediately leapt into your throat. Maybe Damian realized what a fucking asshole he was and came crawling back to beg for your forgiveness. It was a tall order, but you couldn’t help but get your hopes up just a little as you sat up. But then there was relentless pounding on the door and a muffled shout from the voice you knew belonged to your maid of honor. It was only a matter of time before she came to hunt you down, really.

“If you don’t open this door in 3 fucking seconds,” Kendra hollered as you slid the deadbolt and looked her in the eye. “Christ…” she mumbled to herself, her dark eyes turning soft and sad. “Baby.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, moving aside so she could come in. The place was a mess, you knew that, you just couldn’t be bothered to clean up. What was the point anymore? Kendra followed you to the couch and took a pillow in her lap, tugging at a tasseled end as she clearly tried to think of how best to approach you.

“How...Why…” Kendra took a breath to regroup. “What the hell happened?”

You let out a sad chuckle and idly spun the engagement ring still on your finger for some reason. “I don’t know. I don’t know when or how it started.” That much was true. Damian had given you only need-to-know information the other night. “I came home from work and went to go change into sweats or whatever and when I opened the closet, all his shit was gone. Then I went to the bathroom and all his stuff was out of there too. So I’m kinda freaking out at that point because Dame’s not home and like, everything is gone. He didn’t say anything about staying elsewhere before the...” You took a steadying breath. “I tried to call him and kept getting the machine. Probably on like the 10th try, I heard him come in.”

“It’s ok,” Kendra said, placing a comforting hand on your knee.

“He comes in and says ‘oh, I forgot to leave my key’ like that just explains everything!” Your voice steadily rose. “So I’m like, what the fuck where were you? Where is all your shit? And Dame looks me dead in the eye and says ‘I can’t marry you Saturday. There’s someone else. I’m sorry.” Six goddamn years and he gives me three stupid, little sentences.” Your voice broke and finally a few stray tears fell from your eyes. 

“Someone...someone else? Who!” Kendra shouted. “I swear to fucking god I’m going to cut his fucking balls out,” she added under her breath.

“I don’t know, Ken. He managed to leave that part out,” you said with a sad laugh. “He just...it’s like I never even mattered. I mean, did he ever even want me?”

Kendra was on her knees in an instant, kneeling in front of you and taking your face between her hands. “You matter so much. You are the kindest, funniest, hottest girl I know and I hope Damian fucking Langford chokes,” she said fiercely. “I’m so sorry babe,” she cooed and thumbed away your tears. 

“I don’t understand what I did wrong,” you whispered. 

“This is on him, not you. You understand that, right?”

“I mean, yeah, but…”

“No. No ‘but’. He’s a fucking piece of shit and there’s nothing in heaven or hell that could change that, ok?” Kendra moved to sit next to you. It felt good to have someone in your corner. Maybe you shouldn’t have turned off your phone so fast. “So after his bitch ass left, you destroyed what was left of his stuff?” she asked, surveying the rest of the condo. 

“Something like that,” you chuckled before sniffling. “God, what am I supposed to do?”

Kendra rubbed your back as she pondered the question in silence. She let out a little excited gasp and shook your shoulder. “We should go on your honeymoon!”

“What now?”

“You guys already paid for it, right?” You nodded. “So why don’t we get on that plane on Sunday, go hang out in a nice ass suite in Hawaii for two weeks, and charge everything to his card!”

“I don’t know, Ken,” you said. “I feel kinda weird about going, you know? I don’t know if I can stomach it.”

“Babe, you deserve it,” Kendra said, punctuating every word. “The money is spent, gone, goodbye! So if we don’t go, it’ll just sit there gathering dust when we could be drinking pina coladas and watching surfers and fucking...I don’t know! Getting massages!” Kendra took your hand in hers and squeezed. “There’s no one on earth that deserves a vacation more than you do right now.”

You sat with the idea for a moment. Kendra made a good point, after all. But could you really find it in you to sit on a plane for 12 hours, stewing over the fact that you should be flying with Damian, basking in the afterglow of a perfect wedding? The other option was to stay in Chicago and sulk in your condo still alone and still miserable.

“Ok,” you finally whispered, nodding your head. Kendra let out a breath and finally really smiled at you.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” She kissed your temple. “Let’s get you in the shower, ‘cause clearly you haven’t even thought about one since...then. And then we’ll pack and get in bed.”

You were so grateful she came over. At least someone was keeping it together.

---

Sunday morning came and you’d made it with plenty of time to the flight out of O’Hare. Now, Kendra had her head on your shoulder, snoring only loud enough for you to hear. You had hoped you’d be able to pass out on the plane, but your brain wouldn’t quiet for long enough to let you drift off. Instead, you were stuck looking out over the Pacific, stuck on how it should have been Damian pressed up to you. But he wasn’t. Nor would he ever be again. Now all you could do was hope that the hotel would have a tray of drinks waiting for you when you arrived.

[smol-and-grumpy]

Light My Fire - CH20 (FIN)

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: She always thought her boss was an ill-tempered man, but when he presents her with a proposition she can’t quite deny, she gets to know him better. It’s not bad, right? Because all she has to do is being fake married to him for six months, sounds do-able, right? Right.

Warnings: Angst but also teeth rotting fluff

WC: 4111

A/N: This is the end guys. I hope you had a blast reading it as much as I had fun writing.

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​​​​​ <3

SERIES MATSTERLIST 

BECOME A PATRON ~ BUY ME A COFFEE

Y/N wakes up to the sound of her alarm. It takes her way too long to realize where she is. 

She opens her eyes and takes a look around. Her room kind of looks small compared to the room she called her own in Dean’s apartment.

Today is Monday, which means that she’s supposed to go to work and she kind of doesn't want to. She hasn’t heard from Dean. He didn’t text her, nor did he call. Maybe it’s over before it’s over. Maybe today, he’ll say that she can get out if she wants. He and Sam have the evidence and they can build up their case around it. There’s really no need for him to fake it with her anymore.

Yesterday she had to go out and buy clothes because all her stuff is still at Dean’s, and she didn’t want to go there. She spent the rest of the day in her bed, buried in her novels. It would have been relaxing if she hadn’t  thought about Dean so much.

She’s so nervous about meeting him again that she has had an awful night’s sleep. She’s nervous, when it should be easy. He’s her boss. She’s his employee. It should have always stayed like that, she realized. She should have never let them talk her into crossing the line. 

Her anxiety peaks as she takes the subway to the office. She feels nauseous. It doesn’t help knowing that her period is a little late too. She hopes that she’s not pregnant. She’s been taking her pills regularly. It shouldn’t be a problem and honestly, she doesn’t need to add it to her pile of worries. 

Arriving in the office, she sees that Ruby’s already there but it’s awfully quiet. She sits down and starts her computer. 

“Psssst,” Y/N hisses at Ruby who’s engrossed in a paper.

“Oh, hey! How was meeting with the parents?” Ruby grins.

“Sam didn’t tell you anything?” She frowns, wondering why Dean hasn’t updated Sam on what happened. On how she walked out of there and left him behind to hole herself up in her own apartment. 

Ruby shrugs, “No?”

“Ruby, I’m late.” She says, because she wants to get that off her chest first. 

Her friend raises her eyebrows and she sees that Ruby’s eyes travel to the clock, “I’d say your early, Dean’s not even in yet.” 

“No, I’m late!” She hisses, her eyes widen as she tries to get Ruby to understand. 

Ruby’s mouth forms an ‘O’, “Ooooh, shit.”

“Yeah,” She sighs. 

“How many days?”

“Three.”

“That’s nothing, right? Maybe it’s the stress? You’re under a lot of pressure.” 

Y/N knows that Ruby’s just trying to cheer her up, “Yeah, maybe.” She says and types in her password.

“Lets work, alright, we can think about it on our break. I can go get a test for you. Now, I want you to distract yourself with work or else you’ll go mad.”

“Yeah, okay,,” She tries to smile at her friend. The last thing she wants is for Ruby to be worried about her and Ruby’s not wrong. If she throws herself into work, it’ll definitely help distract her mind from all of the things that’s making it hard for her to breathe.

When her computer starts up her email box begins to fill itself. She sees that she has an unusually high amount of emails. Half of them are from Dean. Sent during their fake honeymoon. She wonders why, as they were practically together all the time? 

She opens up the first email.

Saturday, [00:24AM]: I’m sorry that I’ve upset you.

Saturday, [01:12AM]: Do you think I’m crazy when I tell you that I can’t fall asleep without you next to me?

Saturday, [05:21AM]: You’re the cutest crankiest person I ever laid eyes on.

Saturday, [08:31AM]: You fell asleep right after take off. I’ve taken a picture of you. Sorry not sorry. 

Saturday, [09:23AM]: You’re sleeping again. You really do need a lot of sleep, don’t you? Or maybe it’s because you’re too nervous of flying. I’m sorry I didn’t even ask if flying would be okay for you. I never took it into consideration that you might not like flying. The thought had never crossed my mind. I’m trying to help you through it, though.

Saturday, [11:42AM]: You’re cute when you’re all giddy about being here and I’m happy that you let me bring you here. Can’t wait until I can show you our room. I have a feeling that you’ll like it.

Saturday, [01:12PM]: You didn’t need to ask if you can take a dip in the sea but you still did. That’s what I like about you. You don’t take anything for granted. 

Saturday, [02:57PM]: For god’s sake, you fell asleep on the lounger. You’re going to get sunburned!

Saturday, [04:32PM]: You’re still distracting me. But I kind of like it. Maybe I’m a closet masochist.

Saturday, [09:22PM]: You know what I absolutely love? I fucking love how you taste, how you want me to fuck you harder. How wet you are for me. I love how you look when you’re laying on the bed, spit slick and pink all over.

Saturday, [11:46PM]: Jesus, you’re laying there, pink pussy in full view. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.

Tears start to pool in her eyes but there’s more. 

 *

 Sunday, [11:21AM]: It was nice waking up to you beside me. I can get used to it. Would love for it to happen every morning.

Sunday, [03:42PM]: You really love snorkeling, don’t you? Don’t even want to get out of that water. You’ll be sunburned if you’re not careful, baby.

Sunday, [08:23PM]: You fell asleep before room service arrived. I had to take a picture. I don’t think you know how much you affect me.

 *

 Monday, [03:12AM]: I woke up thinking you’re not here, but you are. 

Monday, [09:34AM]: You locked yourself in the bathroom because I woke you up. Definitely the crankiest person ever. Wonder why you think that I’m the grumpy one here.

Monday, [02:22PM]: I’m working inside and you’re distracting me again. Stretching yourself half naked on the lounger. It’s not really fair. 

Monday, [11:43PM]: Would you think I’m crazy when I tell you that I have fallen for you? Because I think I have. More so than I already had.

Yeah, those are definitely tears that streak down her face. She tries not to make it obvious to Ruby but she has her nose buried in the paper, so she should be good.

 *

 Tuesday, [11:43AM]: You woke me up with a smile. I’m the happiest when I get to be inside you. I urged you to send a picture to Ruby. But in reality, I want her and Sam to see it too. Little do you know that I already have many pictures of you in my phone. By the way, I love how you get wetter when I talk dirty to you.

Tuesday, [12:01PM]: I think I might love you. 

Tuesday, [01:59PM]: Gearing up for my conference call but all I can think about is you in the pool.

Tuesday, [03:44PM]: I’m hearing your moans while you get massaged. This is torture.

Tuesday, [05:02PM]: I can’t stop myself from showering you with affection. I hope you don’t mind.

Tuesday, [07:23PM]: Waiting for you to come out of the bathroom. You take your sweet time but I don’t really care about it anyway. I’m sure you look stunning whatever you wear or put on your face. Prettiest thing if I ever did see one. I don’t know how I can make you understand that this is real. This is all me, and all of me wants all of you.

 *

 Wednesday, [02:11AM]: You looked absolutely stunning tonight. I’m sorry that she pulled your brother into this. That was never my intention. I was never going to hurt you or your family and I’m doing my best to help you protect him. And I try my best to protect you, too. You know, you managed to calm me down. I don’t know how you did that, but you did. I remember hearing your faint voice in my rage. And when I turned around, it’s only you that I saw. I told you that you’ll be able to go back to your old life soon. That’s true. I don’t want you to think that you can’t. I’d just prefer if you’d stay, but that’s not on me to decide. 

Wednesday, [03:02AM]: Yeah, it’s definitely love.

Wednesday, [05:34AM]: I’m up because I’m partly nervous about meeting your brother.

Wednesday, [10:27AM]: You looked so peaceful in your sleep. I might have taken another picture. You asked if we can stay in bed a little longer and honestly, all I wanted in that moment was to cancel everyone and stay in bed with you.

Wednesday, [03:11PM]: On my way to go fishing with Jack. He’s a great guy. I like him a lot. He reminds me of you. 

Wednesday, [07:18PM]: We’re back. We talked things through. He’s very protective of you. We both are. He knows how I feel for you. That’s all I want him to know. I want him to work at the company, he’s more than qualified.

Wednesday, [11:18PM]: Currently waiting for you to wash your face and come to bed. I love seeing you happy. It literally makes my day. Some might call it love. I think I do too.

 *

 Thursday, [02:24AM]: Can you tell why I’m always waking up in the middle of the night? Mostly it’s because I have to make sure that you’re still here. I meant it when I said that Jack could live with me. I hope that by that time you’ll still be living with me too. I’d love that, because I love you.

Thursday, [05:52AM]: I don’t know how I should feel about the new development. It means that what we have will be over soon, doesn’t it? What if I don’t want it to be over? Would you be game?

Thursday, [06:31AM]: I’ve made a decision. I want to keep you a little longer. Even if it’s only for two weeks. I know that I told you that you can go back into your old life. It’s because I’m a coward and can’t tell you the truth. If I had my way, I’d keep you forever but you make your own decisions.

Thursday, [10:34AM]: I lied about getting back and building a case. It’s only partly true. I want to take you to my parents, I want them to understand that there’s nothing fake about what we have. I want them to get off my case so I have one less thing to worry about. I’m sorry if that sounds selfish.

She has to pause to blow her nose. Ruby still doesn’t notice that she’s sobbing, because she’s on the phone now.

 *

 Friday, [04:21AM]: You’re still here. Thank god.

Friday, [04:21AM]: I love you.

Friday, [02:11PM]: I watch you splash around with Jack and Ruby. I can get used to seeing your genuine smile more often. I want you to be happy. You deserve everything good in your life.

Friday, [06:44PM]: You’re getting ready in the bathroom. I’m sad we’re going home tomorrow. I want you. I want you so fucking bad. 

 *

 Saturday, [03:03AM]: We’ve made love but I’m up and I want more. I want to stay inside of you. I want to show you how much I love you.

Saturday, [07:10AM]: The alarm has already gone off twice. I couldn’t bring myself to wake you up. I don’t even care if we’ll be late. It’s good like this. Waking up with you in my arms.

Saturday, [10:32AM]: You’re talking with Jack. I like that. I like to see you happy. Like to see him happy. It literally makes me happy seeing how you two treat each other. Jack knows that I only want the best for you. I hope he doesn’t tell you what we talked about, though. Because we would both have to kill you if one of us does.

 *

 Sunday, [02:01AM]: That backfired, didn’t it? You left and I didn’t hold you back. Not because I don’t want to. It’s because I don’t want you to think that I haven’t given you any options. I don’t want you to think that you’re not allowed to walk away, even when we have a contract. I want you to know that you can get out any time you want. I don’t care about the Amara case anymore. All I care about is for you to be happy. 

Sunday, [04:33AM]: I can’t sleep. You’re not here.

Sunday, [10:28AM]: I don’t want you to think that me not calling you is because I don’t care. I do. But I want to give you the space you need, even if it kills me.

Sunday, [08:47PM]: It’s weird around here without you.

 *

 Monday, [03:49AM]: I’m still awake because I don’t know if I should go into work. You probably don’t want to see me, so I’m taking the day off. Don’t worry about me. I’ll see you on Tuesday.

Monday, [03:51AM]: If you see your emails when you get to work, you’ll probably think that I’m crazy. It’s just… I’m not really good at expressing my feelings, and it’s especially hard when it comes to you. I get tongue tied and my heart does somersaults. I know that it’s unlike my work persona but that’s just how I am. That’s why I’m sending you emails, hoping that I can get you to understand how much you actually mean to me.

Monday, [04:00AM]: I wish you were here.

Monday, [04:01AM]: I love you.

 Y/N’s full on wailing and even Ruby notices it now, how can she not?

“Babe, are you okay?” Her friend stands up and walks over to her, sees her screen with all the opened emails and reads some of them, “Oh my god, the boss is such a fucking sap!” They both have to chuckle.

Y/N fishes her phone out of her purse and thumbs over a number, “Tell me what he told you, Jack. I need to know!”

Her brother sighs on the other side, “Fine, but don’t tell him I told you!”

“I won’t,”

“He made sure that I understood his feelings for you. That it was never a fake marriage to him. He was just too nervous to ask you out and when that thing with Amara happened, he saw it as an opportunity to do the right thing. He’s thinking about marrying you for real if you want that in your future. But I told him that he had to get my blessings first — which I gave him by the end of the finishing trip.”

“Jack!”

“I’m sorry. He’s good, Y/N. You know how I’m always overprotective and I was with Dean, too. But his intentions are good. He told me how you met. He knows every little detail. He could even tell me what you wore that day. Dean knows more about you than you think he does. Hell, he knows more about you than I do!”

“Well, then he’s a stalker.” She scoffs.

“Y/N, you wouldn’t know what’s good if it hit you in your face.”

“Did you talk to Ruby?”

Jack laughs, “I don’t have to talk to Ruby to know that about you.”

“Okay, thanks, Jack.”

“Anytime, sis. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She hangs up and stands up from her chair to look at her friend, “Ruby?”

“Yeah, I can manage here. Go get him!”

 *

 Dean’s on the terrace, his hands on the railing. He’s already dressed in trousers and a button up shirt even though he has taken the day off. Old habits apparently die hard.

She slides the door open quietly.

“I was wondering if you’d show up,” He says and he turns around, rests his lower back against the railing. He’s not smiling.

Y/N walks closer, takes off her suit jacket and leaves it on the ground, feeling hot from running here. She already took off her shoes by the door. She’s sure that she’ll have blisters tomorrow. 

His eyes are on her as he watches her clutching the railing next to him. She’s looking out when he’s looking towards his penthouse.

“How could I not?” She says after a long while and she hears him exhale. 

“You’ve seen the emails.”

She nods, “I have,”

Dean turns around and moves behind her, places his hands on either side of hers and presses his body closer, caging her in. She feels him lowering his face, feels his lips on her throat. He kisses her and leaves them there. Her heart’s almost exploding.

“I don’t know how much you’ve heard before you left,” He’s talking about the dinner at his parents' place, she knows, “If you’d have stayed and listened longer, you would have heard me telling them that even though it’s fake, it feels fucking real to me. You would have heard me telling them that I wanted to ask you out properly and they would have to accept that I want you. That we were going to get an annulment and maybe one day I’ll get to pop the real question,”

“Would you want that?” 

He chuckles, “More than you know. I’d love for you to come back and spend the next two weeks here until this is all over. And after that, I’d love for you to stay. But also I’m not holding you back. If you want out, I’m gonna tell Sam to release you out of the contract.”

She turns in his grip and wraps her arms around his waist, places her cheek on his chest. Dean’s heart is beating as fast as hers.

After a while, she looks up at him, stands on her tip toes and kisses his cheek. 

“I hope that means that you’re coming back,” He smirks at her. 

“You want me to come back.”

“I’m lonely when you’re not here. I want you to move in, for good, if you want. Come on, tell me what it takes for me to get you to come back.”

She thinks about it. It would be too soon to move in with him and right into his room, no? She raises her eyebrows, “I still want my own room.” 

“It’s yours. You can have all the rooms you want.Maybe you want a room for your novels?” He’s laughing and she punches his chest.

Y/N gnaws on her bottom lip, “I want to take Fridays off occasionally because I want to see Jack more often,”

He purses his lips into a thin line and grins, “Granted,”

She looks at him, squints her eyes.

Dean chuckles, “Come on, what else? We’re negotiating. I like that,”

“Okay, when I say I want my space, you gotta give me that,”

“Of course,”

“No making fun of my books.” She’s pouting.

“I would never. At least not anymore.”

She looks at him to see him holding in a laugh.

“I don’t want you to treat me different to the other employees,”

Dean frowns, “You contradict yourself, because you basically just asked me for Fridays off.”

“That’s different,” She grins and he throws his head back to laugh, and she adds, “I don’t want you to wait for me every morning, because I don’t want to start as early as you do.”

“That, I can do. Try to be quiet so as not to wake up cranky — got it.” He winks, which earns him another punch to the chest.

“I might be pregnant,” She drops it like it’s fucking hot and Dean’s smile disappears. She goes on before he can utter a word, “And I know that you don’t want kids so I don’t even know what to think of it.”

Dean’s brow meets in the middle of his forehead, “Who said that I don’t want kids?”

“You? When you were telling it to Chuck and Naomi to excuse my outburst.”

He breathes out a weak smile, “That was just that, an excuse,” He kisses her forehead, “I would take full responsibility if you are. Maybe I’m hoping that you really are? Would it be bad?” 

“Well, yeah? I’m not ready yet.” She gestures wildly with her hands.

Dean pecks her lips, smiling before he digs around in his pants, goes down to his knees and she’s full on frowning.

“Do you wanna marry me, for real?” 

“No, Dean,” She says but she smiles, “I don’t want that. At least not yet.”

If Dean’s surprised by her saying no to him, he doesn’t let on. He stands up, takes her hand and slips the rings back onto her finger anyway because they’re still pretending for the next two weeks. His arms come around her and she hugs him in return, pressing the side of her face against his chest, listens to the staccato beat of his heart, “I won’t stop asking, though. You know I can be persistent.”

Oh yeah, she knows that. She buries her face into his shirt, breathes in his scent and mumbles, “Why do you want to marry me for real?” She has to ask. She’s too curious now.

“Because,” Dean holds her a little tighter, kisses the crown of her head, “You deserve good things and I wanna be one of them.”

She chuckles, “Jack told me what you talked about.”

“And he didn’t kill you?” Dean squints his eyes at her. He looks comical, it makes her smile, and then he adds, “That’s not what we agreed on, dammit, Jack!”

Dean’s laughing and she punches his chest, “Is it true that you know every detail of how we met?”

“Yeah,” He moves to kiss her forehead when she looks up, “When I told the reporters on our first social outing that I fell for you the moment you bumped into me, and I told you later that I fell for you when you smiled at me? That’s all true. It took me a week to go into that damn coffee shop, always backed out before I got to the door so many times. And then, when I finally found the courage and stepped in, you greeted me with a smile. However, the smile disappeared when you saw that it was me.”

She grins at the memories, “I was scared that you want me to pay for your ruined suit. I don’t have that kind of money,”

He chuckles, “That’s okay. I was going to ask you out then, but I chickened out. So instead, I offered you a job, thinking that if I’m too nervous to ask you out, maybe I can have you close and see you every day. Your smile is addictive. I thought that I was going to work on my courage in asking you out. Or maybe I thought that seeing you every day might put me off, maybe I thought that I’d see a side of you I don’t like, but that never happened. I liked every fucking thing about you. It had been a year and I still hadn’t asked you out.”

Dean lowers his forehead to her shoulders and her hand goes up to stroke his head.

“You’re so good with words, how come you couldn’t?”

“Because,” He looks up again, kisses her, “I had such a huge crush on you, and every time I was around you, I was angry at myself for not being able to ask you out.”

“‘S that's why you were so grumpy all the time?”

He lets out a huff of air, “Yeah,”

“You’re the worst,” She smiles.

“I know,” Dean says, “But I’m much more confident now,” He kisses her again. His lips feel familiar on her own, “What do you say. Reckon you can skip work for the day? I’m taking you on a date, I heard you like aquariums?”

Y/N really does. How does he even know?

Frowning, she looks at him, “I don’t know, my boss can be a dick sometimes. He probably won't give me the day off.”

Dean grins, licks his lips before they curve into a big and wide smile, he kisses her forehead, her nose, her lips, “Baby, I’d give you the world.”

FIN

EPILOGUE

[something-tofightfor]

Seasons to Cycles / 3

Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader

Word Count:  13,467

Rating: M (Mentions of drug use, sex with multiple partners, language, what happened to Logan in the park)

Summary:  After spending time at Juliet’s, is there any reason for you and Logan to see each other again - especially with Ariella coming in for a few days? The answer is yes... and the situation is a lot more interesting than it may seem. 

Another invitation to Juliet’s reveals a lot more truth about Logan, about his past ... and about his future. 

Author’s Note: Nothing really to say here, except that writing Ariella makes me feel physically ill. I probably made her a lot more terrible than I needed to ... but oh well.  The next one is where things really pick up. Thank you all for your feedback so far! 

When Logan called the following Thursday, it surprised you, though not as much as it should have. You’d texted back and forth throughout the week; nothing serious, just saying hello and catching up, but like with other aspects of your friendship with Logan, the replies were coming much easier than they had been.

 You’d looked the two of them up after spending the day with him at Juliet’s - finding out more about his relationship with Ariella, as well as more about the woman herself, and while she’d had a few high profile relationships before Logan, it seemed that their engagement had come out of nowhere. In between the text messages about your jobs, Juliet, and a TV show that you discovered both of you watched, you wanted to ask him about the woman, but at the same time, you didn’t. Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, you reminded yourself as you gathered your laundry from the dryer, phone pressed to your ear. Because I think he’ll tell you. “This might sound strange,” Logan said, without much of a greeting. “But I was wonderin’ if you wanted to come over on Sunday and watch the season finale of -” 

 He continued, but you could barely hear him over the sound of the alarm bells going off in your head. This is bad. But when you realized he’d finished speaking, you hummed, closing your eyes. “Is that a… Logan, is that a good idea?” You didn’t want to assume anything about his intention behind the invitation, but it still made you feel uncomfortable. “We’d know why I was there, but if anyone …” 

 “Who’s gonna find out? There are hundreds of people that live in this building, you could be visiting any of them.” He paused. “I’m not trying to make you … I just thought …” 

 “This would be three weekends in a row, Logan. I don’t know how I feel about the fact that I’ve already seen you more than your fiancée has in the last …” But you trailed off, putting down your laundry basket and grabbing for your phone. “Isn’t she supposed to be here this weekend? Why -” 

 “She is. She’ll be in tomorrow and then fly out on Saturday night to go to her meeting. I’m leaving Monday for the Mesa, and I just thought …” What did you think, Logan? “You can invite Jess if you want, I …” I could. 

 “She doesn’t watch. Can’t get into it, so that won’t…” You began folding towels, holding the phone between your cheek and shoulder. “Logan, why are you … I’m sure you have a ton of friends, so why …” Why are you questioning this? 

 “You get along with my sister.” He said it simply, but you understood the weight of the words. “And like I said, I lost a lot of my friends when I changed my lifestyle, so it’s nice to …” 

 “Do you consider us friends, then?” It was blunt, but you needed to ask. “I mean we haven’t really known each other for long, so it might be too soon to …” 

 “I do.” There was no hesitation. “And I know that it’s probably hard for you to believe, especially since we just met, but I like you, and I like that you aren’t intimidated by my history.” I don’t know a lot of it, Logan, but I … “So I’m inviting you over, and you can say no if you want, but I just thought I’d ask.” Pulling your phone away from your ear, you pressed the button for speakerphone, setting it onto the table. “I’m gonna take your silence as -”

 “I’ll come over, Logan. Just give me your address, and I’ll be there.” He let out a breath, asking if you were sure. “Yep.” Stacking the towels together, you smiled, even though you were angry at yourself. You’re setting yourself up for disappointment. “Besides, I’m pretty sure the neighbors will appreciate the fact that I’m not yelling out loud in my apartment for an hour and a half.” 

 --- 

 “So you’re going out to the Mesa Monday morning?” She was laying on his bed on her stomach, legs bent at the knee and joined at the ankle. “Clients?” 

 “Yeah.” I told you that three times. “Gonna be there about a week, give or take.” He looked over his shoulder, watching as Ariella propped her chin up on one hand, her eyes on him. “How long will you be in San Fran for?” 

 “Not even 24 hours, Logan. If I wasn’t seeing you, I would have just flown there, but instead …” She waved her free hand in the air. “Here I am.” You could act a little happier about it. “And then I’ll be back home. Nathan’s birthday is next week, so we’re going to Amsterdam for a few days, and than I’ll…” He tuned her out, eyes roving over her face and then moving back, taking in the sight of her against his sheets, stretched out on his bed. Another trip. Another … another story we’re going to have to buy to keep it quiet, another … 

 “Ari?” He shifted toward her, reaching out with one hand to touch her left, his thumb rubbing against the ring on her finger. “I can come see you in London on my way home from the Mesa, stop by for a couple days. Maybe we can meet with some of the -” She laughed, tossing her head to one side. “What’s so funny?” 

 “That’s why we have a wedding planner, Logan. So we don’t have to deal with it.” But I want to … 

 “Don’t you want to be part of the planning, Ari? Even a little? I know you picked out a dress, but -” 

 “Actually, about that.” She sat up, straightening her shirt., her hands smoothing it down her sides. “There are a couple of designers that are asking if they can make my dress, and I’m meeting with my publicist to figure out what the best option is, exposure-wise.” Is that all this … don’t you … “You could probably do the same with your suit … tux, whatever you choose. Maybe even the rings, too” 

 “Well, won’t we have to -” She rolled her eyes. 

 “You know as well as I do, Logan, that this wedding is going to be the only thing people talk about for months. It’s going to be good for us and for Delos, so we might as well get as much out of it as we can, don’t you think?” She was twisting a strand of hair around her finger, and Logan fought back a wince. “Call the planner again, figure out what they think will look best, and then have them give you options. It’s simple.” She was looking around, her lips pressed together. “And are you going to look for a house? I don’t want to live in an apartment in the middle of …” Logan gritted his teeth, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. 

 “I thought that since we’d be living there together, a house would be something that we could …” She stared at him, deadpan, and Logan cut himself off. “... find together, but I guess I can find a realtor when it gets closer. Maybe I’ll use Juliet’s, she found her -” 

 “No suburbs, Logan. If I’m leaving London and coming here, I want to live by the beach. Or at least somewhere I can see it.” That’s the most reasonable thing you’ve said all day. She said his name again, and Logan’s attention went back to the woman, who was climbing out of the bed and walking toward the bathroom door. “I’m going to shower, since I have to be at the airport in just under two hours.” He nodded, and she gestured to the open door. “Are you gonna -” 

 He forced a smile. “Nah. Wouldn’t wanna make you late.” The woman actually laughed, her eyes lighting up. “Go. Your stuff’s still in there from last time, so you won’t have to get on the plane smelling like …”

 “You always smell good, Logan.” She wrinkled her nose. “That wouldn’t be a bad thing.” As she disappeared into the room and closed the door behind her, Logan lowered himself onto the bed, rubbing his hands over his face. This just gets more and more exhausting. But maybe … He pushed himself to his feet, making his way out into the living room and sitting on the arm of his couch, eyes on the city stretched out in front of him. The sun was just beginning drop behind the buildings to the right of his balcony, and Logan chewed on his lip as he stared through the glass, thinking. 

 Ariella’s visit had been no different than the last time she’d been in LA, though much shorter. He’d picked her up from the airport in one of the Delos cars, waiting by the gate, and even though he thought that there had been a few paparazzi, there’d been no pictures of the two of them popping up. But they know she’s here, she posted a picture from the plane, and … He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. And we went out for dinner last night, so…  

 Logan liked the press at times, understanding the need to bolster the Delos image with being seen publicly, giving the photographers what they wanted every now and then. Especially after what happened a couple years back, and with Juliet’s divorce. We both kinda fucked that up, didn’t we, Dad? 

 Between Juliet’s public divorce, and Logan’s very public downward spiral, there’d been a fair amount of rebuilding for the Delos brand, starting with Logan’s trips to rehab and continuing with the introduction of the everyday tech line and his engagement. Ask which of the latter two I’m prouder of. Looking down and then back up and out the window, Logan sighed. It’s not that I don’t care about her, because I do, but … “Logan?” He looked back over his shoulder, seeing his fiancée standing in the doorway wearing a simple blue dress, her wet hair braided and hanging over one shoulder. “I’m gonna keep this here, alright?” She was holding a small tin in one hand, a lopsided smile on her face. “Not trying to take it on a commercial flight, and since I don’t have access to the Delos jet yet…” She shrugged, moving the tin back and forth. “That would be a story.” 

 Warily, he stood and walked toward the woman, head tilted to the side. What is it this time? “Ari, what -” But when he put his hand against her shoulder, the other one curving around the back of her head to tilt it up and look into her eyes, disappointment hit him like a freight train. “You gotta slow down with that shit, you know that.” He leaned down, lips finding her forehead, the skin hot beneath them. “Why’d you -” 

 She leaned into his touch, sniffling twice before she answered. “The shit’s better here than at home, and I…” She sighed, her lips against his throat. “You know that, Logan, you used to bring it -” Her heart was racing beneath his palm, but Logan stiffened, pulling away. 

 “Used to. Not anymore.” The woman opened her eyes wide, straightening up and staring at him. “You know I -” She ran her tongue along her lower lip, pupils dilated, and though eighteen months prior, the action would have caused Logan to grip her by the arms, pushing her back into the bedroom and opening the small tin for himself before he took her to bed, he wanted  to do none of those things. “I don’t do that shit anymore, don’t want it in my…” But the woman rose up on her toes, lips finding Logan’s and lingering. 

 “You know the deal, Logan. It stops when we get married. All of it. But until then?” She kissed his cheek, mouth moving slowly over his skin, and Logan closed his eyes, the hand at the base of her skull tightening, his fingers sliding down her bare arm toward her elbow. “Until then, I’m gonna keep doing what I’m doing. That’s what we agreed, right?” We did. It’s all there in the… He felt her teeth close around his earlobe, and Logan’s eyes closed, fingers of both hands flexing as his body reacted to the feeling. “Besides, you wouldn’t get in the shower with me, so I … improvised.” 

 “Ari.” He sighed her name out, pushing her away gently. “Look at me.” She did, head tilted up slightly, and Logan let go of her hand, reaching up to brush his thumb beneath her nose, removing a tiny spot of white from her pale skin. “Just because I know that doesn’t mean I wanna…” He drew his lower lip into his mouth, watching as the woman’s eyes followed the movement. “I don’t want to see you like this right before you go, especially since I don’t know when we’ll see each other again.” It’s the truth. “You never answered me, do you want me to stop in London when I -” 

 “Nah.” She gave him a lopsided smile and pulled out of his arms, shrugging her shoulders. “I’ll see you when I come back in for your dad’s party, that’ll… that’ll be good.” Will it? That’s another month. “I’m gonna put this in this drawer.” She stepped over to the kitchen, pulling one of the smaller drawers open and sliding the tin in. “I’ll get it when I come back, unless you …” She glanced up. “Unless you decide to use it before then.” No. I won’t. I’ll move that to the safe after she’s gone. She walked back toward him, her bare feet padding over the wooden floor and reached up, her hand cupping his cheek. “When I come back, Logan? We can meet with anyone you want. A caterer? Florist? Venues?” Really? “I know I should care more, but I’ve never really… thought about my wedding, Logan, and it’s just … overwhelming.” I didn’t either, I didn’t even have a steady relationship until… 

 Though he kept his expression impassive, Logan realized that he’d never been in a steady relationship. Yeah, we’re engaged, but … “I’ll look into it, Ari. I’ll let you know.” He reached up, covering her hand with his and squeezing. “Let me call you a car. You may not be usin’ the jet, but I can have one of the Delos drivers here in ten.” She agreed and he stepped away, pulling his phone out of his pocket and tilting it. As the screen lit, he was surprised to see a message from you, reminding him that you needed his address. Shit, I forgot to send it to her. I’ll do that… Swiping his finger in the same pattern as before, he opened the app to order the ride, typing in Ariella’s name as the passenger, which auto-selected her preferences. This shit is convenient, at least. “All done. It’ll be here in eight minutes.” 

 “Thanks.” The woman lifted both hands over her head, stretching as she walked back toward the bedroom. “I’ll get my bag, and then …” Her voice trailed off as Logan replaced his phone in his pocket, following her. Stepping back into the main room a few seconds later, a small suitcase trailing behind her, Ariella paused, one hand on the marble countertop. “Why haven’t you asked me about last weekend, Logan?” He heard a quiet clicking as she tapped her fingers against the surface. “I got the alert from my publicist that the story was axed, but…” Here we go. He was familiar with the mood swings, the changes in Ariella’s behavior, but what was new was the fact that she was trying to pick a fight with him immediately before leaving. It’s giving her ammunition. Giving her an excuse to… 

 “Because I don’t want to know.” His words honest, Logan looked straight into the woman’s eyes. “That’s three, Ari. Three times we’ve had to … catch things before they go too far. The deal was -”

 “I know the deal, Logan.” She snapped at him, all traces of affection that had been present only minutes before gone. “Just like you do. It’s not my fault I get followed more than you do, that people want to -” He laughed, reaching up with one hand to scratch one side of his face, nodding. So we’re going to go there? Alright. 

 “No, but it is your fault that you’re getting sloppier, so that’s on you.” The anger he felt was real; bubbling over after months of reflection, and Logan reminded himself to take a deep breath, reining it in. “But that’s what the lawyers are for, right? Keeping shit like that away from the press?” She shook her head at him, and just as Logan was about to speak again, his phone pinged, letting him know that the car was only a few minutes away. “There’s your ride.” He gestured to the door. “Good luck with your meeting, Ariella.” The woman looked as if she wanted to speak but didn’t, instead walking past Logan and to the door. “And have fun with Nathan next week. Hopefully in Amsterdam, you won’t be followed as much as you are in London, so you -” 

 “Oh, fuck you, Logan. You act like you’re a goddamn saint.” She snarled the words, turning back to him and flexing her fingers around the suitcase’s handle, the diamond on her finger glinting in the overhead lighting. “Remember when we met? You were worse than me, and I didn’t judge you for it. Now you’re acting like… Jesus, live a little, Logan. Otherwise, the next thr-” She cut herself off, shaking her head back and forth. “We both knew what this was, Logan, so I don’t know why you’re giving me so much shit right now. Make the most of it - I sure am.” 

 “Yeah, I fucking know you are.” But he didn’t raise his voice, just watched the woman with a half smile on his face. “Have a safe flight, Ari. I’ll see you in a few weeks.” She didn’t say anything else, instead turning and pulling the door open after walking the final few feet toward it, Logan standing in the middle of his living room. It shut behind her, and though she didn’t slam it, Logan closed his eyes at the sound. This was so much easier when I was … His eyes opened and went to the kitchen, staring in the direction of the drawer she’d used. So much easier. So much less… But he looked away, taking a deep breath and stepping toward the balcony, sliding the door open and walking out onto it. 

 Logan’s fingers closed around the railing, gripping the metal as he leaned forward. He was only 17 stories up, but the view calmed him, his anger subsiding the longer he stood in place. She isn’t wrong. I did know. I do know. But as Logan dropped into one of the chairs, one hand covering his face, it didn’t make him feel any better. That could have gone much differently.  He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, thinking. I wasn’t even going to mention Nathan or last weekend, or … she knew that we had to pay them off, knew what they got pictures of, knew what … and she still… “Fuck.” He swore again, slamming one hand on the table before he lifted his head, looking down Grand Avenue toward the Convention Center. He felt his phone vibrate, and for one long second, he thought that it might have been Ariella, calling to apologize, but when he pulled the device from his pocket, it was another message from you, complete with an apology for bothering him.

 I know you’re busy, and I hate bothering you when Ariella’s there, but I thought I’d try again before it got too late. If you still want me to come tomorrow, I need your address. If not, I’m going to call my friend Kira and see if she wants to watch together. If you have to cancel, Logan, it’s no big deal, just let me know. 

 As he swiped up, he saw that your first message had been sent hours earlier, and Logan groaned. She was there when I ignored Ari’s call, so she probably thinks I’m… Logan scrubbed a hand over his face, swearing for a third time and then pushed the button to call you instead of just messaging back. She won’t answer. But you did, on the third ring, greeting him by name. “Sorry it took me so long, Ariella just left to get on her flight, and I just saw your first message.” 

 “Don’t apologize. I figured it was something like that, and I didn’t want … I shouldn’t have sent two messages, that looks …” No, it doesn’t. 

 “If you come over early tomorrow, we can get somethin’ to eat before.” He cut you off, resting his elbow on the table, fingers curled and tucked beneath his chin. “How’s that sound?” He heard you take a breath. Why does she second guess everything I say? 

 “I guess we’ve gotta eat, Logan.” He released the breath that he’d taken, smiling. “I’m not too picky, so whatever you want to order works for me.” 

 “We’ll just order when you get here, it’s fine.” Logan sat straight up, then leaned back in his chair. “That’s onea the nice things about living here - plenty of options.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “What time you wanna stop by? Show starts at 9.” 

 “I can get there at 8:30?” Logan laughed out loud, and you did too, but yours was nervous. “What’s so funny?” 

 “What’s the point, then? We won’t even have time to order or eat, and then…” He realized that he wanted to spend longer than that with you, and Logan stopped speaking, eyes going wide. Oh, that… “I mean, if you have something to do and can’t get here til then, that’s fine, but…” Your end of the line went quiet, and Logan was afraid that the connection had been broken when you finally spoke again. 

 “What time do you want me there, Logan? I have no plans, except going grocery shopping, and…” You sighed. “I have work Monday, and you have a flight, so…” 

 “Any time after 5 is fine.” That gave you a larger window, and Logan figured you wouldn’t get to his place until at least 6, but the earlier time appealed to him. Especially since after that I’ll be … gone for a week, at least. “Just let me know tomorrow, alright? I’ll let you go now, but I wanted to call you instead of texting, because I…” Why’d you call, Delos? “It was easier, and that way I didn’t have to wait for an answer.” And because I wanted to. The sound you made convinced Logan that you’d rolled your eyes, but when you spoke, you sounded happy. 

 “Why don’t… why don’t I shoot for 5:30? What’s the address? Where do I park? Is there a garage, or -” Shit, I didn’t even think of… 

 “I get two spaces in my name, plus a couple guest spots, so when you pull in, turn in off of Olympic, and give my name at the gate. I’ll let ‘em know you’re coming, so they’ll tell you where to go.” You repeated the information, and he was almost positive that you were writing it down. “I’m on the 17th floor, in 1703, so just take the elevator up, or I can come meet you in the lobby.” 

 “Elevator’s fine, Logan. I think I can manage.” He agreed, standing and walking back into his condo, eyes moving around the room. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” He agreed, saying your name and telling you to have a good night. “Oh, I’ll try. I’m about to run out and grab dinner, and then I’m going to watch a movie, so… thrilling Saturday over here.” It’s better than mine. 

 “What’s for dinner?” He couldn’t help asking, even as he stood in front of his own refrigerator, hand on the door. “That way I won’t pick the same thing for tomorrow.” 

 “There’s this place that’s right around the corner that’s a tiki bar. I can walk there, it’s so close, and it’s a hole in the wall, but they have like fifteen different types of tropical drinks.” 

 “That’s not food.” He grinned, imagining you with a frozen drink in your hand, twisting the tiny umbrella between your fingers. “And you’re drinkin’ alone in a bar?” You laughed again at that, and Logan was happy to hear that there was no hesitation or apprehension to the sound. 

 “No, I usually meet friends there. But tonight, I’m going by myself. And I know it’s not food, Logan, but they don’t have a kitchen, they just have different food trucks park on the side street.” You cleared your throat. “So, I’m going, and I’m gonna order a giant Mai-Tai to go, hope the taco truck is there tonight, and bring it all home to eat alone while I watch my movie.” That sounds great. He held back from saying it, though, just agreeing with you. “So I’ll see you tomorrow, Logan?”. 

 “Yeah. I’m gonna go pack, that way I don’t have to do before you get here, or after you leave.” Even though it won’t take me long, since I only need a few outfits. He said goodbye and then hung up, still standing in front of the refrigerator. Tacos actually sound really… “C’mon, Delos.” He rubbed at his beard, shaking his head. “You …” But the more Logan thought about it, the more he realized that after hearing you talk about tacos, nothing else would cut it.

 --- 

 When you parked in his garage the next night, you spent a few minutes looking around at the cars that were parked around you. Mine’s the least expensive one in here, by… You sighed. By far. Though Logan never made you feel as though you didn’t belong anywhere near him, the surroundings often did; the expensive hotel, Juliet’s multimillion-dollar home, Logan’s high rise, the talk of the parks and his traveling … it was all new to you, and much more extravagant than you were accustomed to. But there’s a first time for everything, right? Exiting the car, you saw Logan’s parked in the space next to yours, meaning that you weren’t in a guest spot - you were in one of his. I figured he’d have two cars parked here, but I guess… 

 You texted him as you locked your door, heading for the elevator, and even though he didn’t reply, you saw that he’d opened the message. Alright. It rose quickly, and when you stepped onto his floor, you took a deep breath, straightening your shoulders. It’s just a TV show. We’re just … But you knocked, taking a half step back, and waited for Logan to open the door. He did after only a few seconds, and you were happy to see that yet again, Logan was dressed casually, in a pair of black joggers and a white t-shirt, hair loose around his face. “Hey!” He grinned, gesturing for you to come in. “You’re early.” 

 “Not by much!” You walked into his apartment, glancing around. “It’s 5:30, Logan, I -” But he was laughing, following you down the short hallway and into the living room. “It’s so open. This place is…” Your hand trailed over the countertop, head turned toward the longer hallway. “Wow. That view.” He followed you silently, letting you look around, but when you turned back to face him, he had a smile on his face, eyes sparkling. “It’s gorgeous, Logan.” 

 “Is it?” He looked down and then back at you, tongue wetting his lips. “I guess I forget what it’s like to see this place for the first time, I’ve lived here for …” Furrowing his brow, he thought. “Four years?” His dark furniture was a stark contrast to the white walls and gleaming fixtures, large pieces of artwork adorning the walls, along with a massive TV  mounted to the largest one, directly across from the oversized couch. It’s not stuffy. It looks … it looks comfortable, not just … formal. “Wanna see the rest of it?” 

 “Sure.” Without hesitation, you agreed, Logan motioning for you to follow him down the hallway where he pointed out the first bedroom, which was being used as an office, and the bathroom before leading you into the master bedroom, where he’d opened the drapes all the way. Without speaking, you walked past a large painting hanging on the wall and over to the glass, raising one hand to touch it with your fingertips. “Damn, this would … not be a good choice for someone that’s afraid of heights.” You looked over your shoulder, seeing that he was just a few feet behind you, watching you. “There’s so much glass, Logan, it’s…” You searched for the right word. “Stunning.” 

 “Yeah?” You nodded. You sound like an idiot. “Thank you.” Logan raised one eyebrow. “You should see my closet.” A few seconds later, you were standing inside of it with him, one hand covering your face as you laughed. 

 “When did we leave your condo and step into a…” You opened your eyes, using two fingers to flip through some of the hangers. “Tom Ford? Burberry? Givenchy?” This rack costs more than my… “Was there a portal or something I missed? Did we -” 

 “You think you’re so amusing, hmm?” He stepped closer, reaching past you to straighten one of the jackets. “I run a company, remember? I have to look professional.” As he drew his hand back, it glanced off of your arm, causing you to freeze in place. “If you turn around, you’ll see the…” You did as he spoke, and laughed again. 

 “And we’re back.” Even he laughed at that, watching as you shook your head while you looked at the opposite side of the closet, filled with less formal clothing - jeans and button downs, a few jackets and hoodies. “I really shouldn’t joke, though.” You looked over at Logan, who was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. “You wear the hell out of a suit, Logan.” He seemed surprised at your candor, but you were just being honest. “And having options is never a bad thing.” Whatever he’d planned on saying, he abandoned it, instead leaning forward and staring into your eyes. 

 “Yeah, but have you seen me in a tux?” Snorting, you ignored the question and walked past him and back into the room. I have. I’ve looked at too many pictures of you in all kinds of … “Bathroom’s just through there, I think you’ll like that, too.” He was right, and as you stepped through that doorway, you stopped in your tracks, eyes straight ahead. Oh, that shower, it’s… I bet the water pressure is… and it’s huge, two people could easily… 

 “Wow.” You knew that he could see your expression in the mirror’s reflection and so you turned toward it, frowning slightly. “I don’t mean to be so …” He stood next to you, hands on the counter’s edge, and waited. “I don’t know what I was expecting Logan, but this …” 

 “Why are you apologizing?” He was frowning too, and despite the fact that you wanted to continue staring into the glass, you turned your head, facing him head on. 

 “Because it’s just an apartment, Logan. It shouldn’t … I told myself I wasn’t going to …” 

 “Can I tell you something?” He reached out, laying his hand over yours for a second before pulling it back. Sure, I … “Seeing you react to this place? Your genuine reaction to it?” He laughed quietly. “It’s better than all the people that are used to it, and don’t even… don’t even bat an eye.” It’s not, stop. “And it’s much better than the people that used to come here and not even see it.” You watched as his eyes wandered back toward the bedroom before coming back to you. “So thank you, for bein’ honest about it.” You stared at him for a few seconds, and then decided to lighten the mood. We need it, this is too… 

 “You know what else I’m going to be honest about, Logan? You bit down on the corner of your lip. “I’m really hungry.” His lips parted and then he laughed again, straightening up and reaching out to you, tugging on your elbow. He didn’t even think about that, he just … But you didn’t think twice before you followed him, either. --- 

 After looking over the menu, you’d given him the go-ahead to surprise you, and when the delivery was made, the two of you took the food out onto his balcony, talking over your meal. Within an hour and a half, the two of you had eaten most of the food that had been delivered from Katsuya, and you were more than content. He ordered almost the whole damn menu, I think. But it was … “This the first time you’ve had -” You nodded, watching Logan’s surprise. “Damn, this is a whole night of firsts for you.” 

 “Actually.” You took a long drink out of your glass, the ice water deliciously cool in the slightly humid air. “Since I met you, Logan? It’s been a lot of firsts.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table and watched you. 

 “Like what?” I shouldn’t have said anything. “Oh, come on, you can’t just say that and then …” 

 “Well.” You reached forward, picking up one more piece of edamame and putting it into your mouth. “First time having to remind someone that ice cream is frozen and does actually melt if left out.” He wrinkled his nose, the lines deeper than usual. “First time embarrassing myself by trying to play the piano next to someone that -”

 “Hey, you were really good for someone that hasn’t played in a while.” Ok, but still. 

 “Eh. Sure.” You eyed him, waiting a second. Do I keep this …  “First time meeting someone’s sister based on the fact that I didn’t try to break up an engagement and sleep with you after knowing you for five minutes and having some drinks.” He actually laughed at that, mouthing the word ‘wow’. “What? It’s true.” 

 “It is.” It was his turn to take a drink, though he didn’t take his eyes off of you. “Keep goin’.” 

 “We’re already to tonight, Logan. This is only the third time we’ve actually… well, fourth if you count Whole Foods, but …” You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “How many more firsts…” But you stopped, pressing your lips together as you realized what a dangerously loaded question that could be. Oh, no. He stayed quiet for a few seconds and then reached up, pulling his hair back from his face with one hand and using his tongue to lick at the corner of his mouth. I’ve never seen that look on his face before, he’s never done … 

 “Plentya firsts, actually.” Logan’s voice was low, but there was no hesitation. “But not ones … not ones that -”

 “Stop, Logan.” Suddenly feeling panic, you shook your head back and forth, eyes widening. “Don’t.” You can’t, because I can’t, because if I think about any of that, I … 

 “There’s somethin’ you need to know about me.” He said your name, and though your heart was still beating rapidly, you managed to look back at him, hoping that your eyes weren’t wild. “The most important thing about me, actually.” What? “I never lie. Ever. I told you that when we got to Juliet’s, but …  I can bend the truth, sure, and I do it, because I need to sometimes, for work. But outright lie? I refuse to.” He was still eyeing you, but you didn’t hear any indication that his words were forced. He said the same thing in the car. “And you can’t believe me, I know that, because anyone can say that they don’t…” He looked frustrated. 

 “Why are you telling me this, Logan?” You were still leaning back in your chair, arms protectively crossed over your chest. “What -” What does his honesty mean to me? It’s not … 

 “I don’t know. It’s not good business, I can say that for sure.” You had to chuckle at that, but cut it off quickly. “Call it a tell, call it a fault, call it whatever the fuck you want, but if we’re gonna keep seein’ each other like this, getting to know each other? You need to know that every single thing that I tell you is the truth, because…” His eyes clouded over for a few seconds, but then he blinked, refocusing on you. “Because it is.” 

 “Logan, what…” You took a deep breath. “I don’t understand where this is …” 

 “I like you.” He said it simply. “I like seeing you and talking to you.” You watched as his expression changed, the man sitting up straight. “You asked if I thought we were friends, and I said yes, and it was the truth.” Ok, but I already knew this, and I agree. 

 “And I like you, Logan, but that doesn’t …” Confused, you sat up too. “Why are you telling me this? What are you -” 

 “There’s so much you don’t… so much that …” He laughed quietly, looking down. “So much I wish I could tell you.” What the hell does that mean? “Forget it for now, alright? I shouldn’t have said anything, but you … you walked into it, with the whole “firsts” thing.” Though you wanted to know what he was talking about, you were content to let it go for the time being. He’s leaving for a week, and maybe he’ll have time to… and I don’t have to think about whatever this is, or what he… “I just want you to know that whatever happens, everything I say to you is the truth.” Logan stood, beginning to clear the table, throwing napkins and empty dishes into the delivery bag. “I know I gotta earn that trust from you, but maybe … maybe you hearin’ it will be …” This is strange, something … 

 You stood too, helping him, and within only a few minutes, you were both back in his kitchen, Logan sorting through the trash and you washing dishes. Say something. “So this truth thing.” You glanced over, watching as he stopped moving, meeting your eyes. “Has it been your whole life, or just since…” You made a face, realizing that you were walking into delicate territory. “Just since you got clean?” 

 “Both.” He answered immediately. “More now, because there’s nothin’ altering my thoughts, but … it’s been since I was a kid. Juliet used to know that she couldn’t get away with anything, because my mom would always …” His eyes filled with warmth. “I definitely didn’t get it from my dad, but honesty - and integrity - have always been really important, especially when it comes to Delos.” I get that. “And even with the people I’ve been with? Never lied to them, either. Never promised ‘em anything, or led ‘em on. When it was just sex, it was just sex. When it was just me not wantin’ to be alone? They knew it.” 

 As you stood in the middle of Logan’s brightly lit kitchen, listening to and watching him speak, you had to wonder if his truth with you was at the same level it was with everyone else. But this is so new, he has no reason to… “I appreciate that, Logan. It’s much easier when you know where you stand with someone. I’d rather have someone tell me in the beginning that they’re just trying to get laid instead of letting me get attached and then …” You lifted one shoulder, watching as his eyes moved with the action. “Leaving, or… letting me down.” 

 “Fuck ‘em.” He stepped closer, reaching behind you to turn off the water. “They do that shit, they don’t deserve you.” You don’t even know me. How can you … “D’you want a drink? We’ve got about twenty minutes, so we should…” He gestured to the living room. “Get comfortable.” That was an abrupt change. But it was … “Go ahead and get whatever out of the fridge, I’m gonna close the blinds and…” But you reached out, shaking your head as you touched his arm. “What?”

 “No, don’t.” Looking past Logan, you stared out the window. “I live on the ground floor, Logan, the view is …” I could get used to it. 

 “Alright.” He cleared his throat. “But if there’s a glare on the TV?” He leaned closer, head angled. “I told you so.” 

 --- 

 Even though the two of you were settled on the same couch, there was space between you. It’s better this way. He was trying to pay attention to the show - which truly was one of his favorites - but it was difficult. And this is a great episode, so… But Logan’s mind wandered, his eyes with it, and he found himself watching you more than he watched the TV. And that’s hard to do, it’s a goddamn 82 inch screen. You’d asked him for a blanket before the show started, explaining to him that you needed to have something to do with your hands when things got tense, and he’d obliged, pulling one of the extra ones off of the shelf of the front closet and passing it to you. 

 It hadn’t taken long for you to wrap it around your shoulders, covering up the exposed skin of your arms as you gathered it in front of your face, fingers gripping the material tightly. He found it incredibly endearing, the way you were engrossed in the show - commenting occasionally, turning your head to look at him when something shocked you, one hand shooting out from beneath the material to grip his arm at one particularly tense point. This is the most at ease I’ve seen her, and she’s more tense than … He grinned at the thought, eyes leaving you and going back to the TV. “Oh, shit!” He swore as one of the main characters began fighting another, Logan leaning forward, hands on his thighs. “Oh, that’s not…” 

 “I know!” You agreed with him, and he saw you moving out of the corner of his eye, shifting on the couch to lean forward too, shoulders hunched. “He shouldn’t -” But both of you groaned as the man tripped, flying forward and into the weapon the other was holding, a spray of blood erupting from the wound. “Fuck!” As the scene faded to black and then cut to a commercial, you yelped and looked at Logan, a pained smile on your face. “Sorry, I’m -” 

 “Don’t apologize!” He laughed, head moving back and forth. “If you could feel my heartbeat right now, it’s racing.” You moved before you thought it through, he could see it in your eyes after the fact, but only a second later, your palm was pressed against Logan’s chest, touch firm. “See?” He stared at you in the low light, watching as your eyes left his face and then focused on your hand before moving back up, slowly. Yeah, I know that look, I… Your name left his lips, but before you had a chance to reply, the show started again and you pulled your hand away, Logan feeling the tips of your fingers curl just slightly before they were gone. 

 Throughout the next twenty minutes of the show, Logan again tried to focus on the TV in front of him, and he found it easier. But why? The final commercial break began, and you spoke, voice quiet. “What do you think’s going to happen, Logan? I don’t think he’s dead, I think he comes back right before -”

 “Oh, definitely.” He moved, realizing at the last second that he’d scooted closer to you instead of further away, his left knee nearly touching your bent right one. “There’s no way they let that be the last time we see him, he’s too important to kill off-screen, and we need to know what happens to that other asshole, so…” You laughed, giving him a smile. ‘

 “Thank you for having me over, this was a lot of fun.” Yeah, it is. “Maybe next season we …” But you cut yourself off, lips pressed together. By the time the next season airs, I’ll be… married. “Well, we can text each other at least, right? Yeah. Yeah, we can. 

 Neither of you spoke for the entire last segment of the show, and by the time the credits started rolling, Logan saw that you’d pulled the blanket off of your shoulders, balling it up on your lap and leaning forward, eyes fixed on the screen. You’d been right - the character wasn’t dead, showing up at the last possible second to finish the fight, though bloodied and unsteady on his feet, collapsing at the last second before the screen faded to black. Figures. At least someone got to get even with … The image of William flashed in his mind, the man’s nose bloody after Logan’s punch, the single hit not even coming close to making up for everything that the man had done to him. But it’s what I could do. And he’s gone. He’s not in Juliet’s life anymore, or Em’s, or… “Should -”

 “Shhh, Logan, there’s always an …” You stopped yourself as the after-credits scene began, the only thing visible on the screen the bare feet and lower legs of a woman, firmly planted on the floor next to a hospital bed. “Oh, my God.” You leaned further forward, mouth open. “Oh, my God.” The woman stood, one of her ankles wobbling, and then the camera began to pan upward. “Logan, it’s…” I know, it can only be… The music grew in intensity, and the final shot revealed that the woman in the hospital was the main character that had just been potentially killed off’s sister, who’d been missing for nearly the entire season. I wasn’t expecting… Before the screen faded to black again, the woman spoke only one word - her brother’s name. “Fuck!” You said it. You turned toward him, eyes still wide, and before Logan could react, you had both hands on his leg, squeezing. “Logan that was…” Both of you looked down at the same time, realizing what was happening, and as you swore under your breath and began pulling away, Logan moved, too. Don’t do it, Delos. 

 But he did, swiftly grabbing for your wrists before you could pull them away, his fingers circling them easily as he said your name. You froze, and Logan could feel your pulse racing beneath his fingertips. Is that from the show, or from… But he had an idea that it was from him, and the proximity that the two of you had. We’ve been walking this line all night. I shouldn’t have invited her over, this isn’t… “Tell me to let go.” He watched your lip quiver, eyes closing and your lashes brushing your cheeks. “I will, and we can -” Your grip on his leg tightened and for one brief moment, Logan thought that you weren’t going to speak. 

 “You should let go, Logan.” He heard the finality in your voice, though there was a slight waver to it. “You’re engaged, and I don’t … I can’t let …” When you met his eyes again, he saw that you were torn. Oh, if she knew, if she knew what … “Please, Logan.” He released you immediately, and you pulled your hands away, sitting straight up. “I need to go, I need to …” He waited until you’d stood to rise, once again reaching out, but this time, only touching you at the elbow briefly. “Logan, what -” 

 “I said I wasn’t a cheater, and I meant it.” You looked up at him, waiting. “This hasn’t ever been about me wanting to get you into bed, to have … this be some big secret.” He sniffled, glancing up at the ceiling. “I don’t even know if I’m just way fucking off base here, but I -” 

 “You’re not.” You swallowed hard. “Logan, this is … you’re …”  I’m not? Despite outward appearances, Logan doubted a lot of things in his life, including the way people acted toward him - and their reasons for the behaviors. But then… “But it doesn’t matter, Logan. Because you’ve got a fiancée. You’re getting married, and I’m not going to be …” He watched you fighting to get the words out, your eyes slightly unfocused. “That isn’t what I want to be to you, Logan.” 

 “It’s not what I want for you, either.” But you don’t.. You don’t know, and I can’t… “I didn’t invite you here tonight because I wanted to fuck you.” He was blunt, but felt he needed to be. “There are parts of my life that aren’t … I told you, before, that you can’t believe everything you read, and I don’t know what you’ve …” 

 “Logan, I don’t care what the magazines or the websites say about the way you are with the other people in your life. I don’t give a shit if you slept with the entire population of California, but I would like to believe that what you - yourself - have told me is true. That you’re a good man, and that you’re honest and that you aren’t a cheater.” He heard your tone change as you spoke, each word coming out stronger than the last. She means it, she isn’t bluffing, and it’s not for show. “You’re a good looking guy, Logan. Really good looking. And you’re funny. You’re smart. You’re everything that people tick off on those little boxes in their heads when they think of someone that they’d want to be with - even just physically.” 

 “You -” But you cut him off, stepping closer to him and reaching up with one hand, letting yourself touch his shoulder. What is she doing? 

 “I’m guilty of flirting with you, Logan. And I won’t apologize for it, because you did the same thing back.” I did. “But now I think that I need to … not do that anymore, because I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me.” He watched you frown, lips pressed together. “That’s not why I answered your calls, or why I text you back, or … the reason I came over here.” Goddamn this fucking NDA, I could just … “I’m going to go. I don’t want to keep digging myself deeper into this hole that I…” You closed your eyes, composing yourself. “Thank you for dinner. Thank you for having me over to use that giant TV. Thank you for -” 

 But it was Logan’s turn to cut you off, one finger pressed against your lips to silence you. Stop. “You’re welcome.” He pulled his hand away, focused on the sight of your surprise, eyes widening and your fingers flexing against his shoulder. “And for the record, I appreciate the fact that you think I check off those boxes, because a lotta people would be more than willing to tell you otherwise.” That got a small smile from you, but he also saw that you were still confused. Me too. “I was out of line. I shouldn’t have ...tonight? I shouldn’t have grabbed you, but it … happened.” And I’d do it again if you gave me the chance. “It won’t happen again.” Unless I find out a way to explain this to you. “So don’t apologize. And don’t worry - I’ll keep my hands to myself the next time I see you.” 

 He watched a look of disappointment fill your eyes - but then it was gone, replaced with one of relief. So her reactions depend on mine. Interesting. “Deal, Logan.” You pulled your hand away from his body and dropped it to your side. “But I really am going to go, it’s getting late, and I’ve got to work early. What time’s your flight?” Like nothin’... 

 “Ten. But I’m not flying commercial, so they can’t leave ‘til I get there.” Your lips twitched back into a smile, and Logan was happy to see the expression on your face again. “Private planes?” You raised one hand so that he could see it, using your pointer finger to draw a check mark in the air. Oh, you … But laughed before you did, nose wrinkling. “Ariella’s a lucky woman, no more TSA lines and all the snacks and drinks she wants?” She hasn’t been on one of the jets yet, actually… “Have a safe flight, Logan. And a good trip. I hope you can close the deal.”  

 “Already done, the trip’s a formality to show ‘em what they’re buying.” Your eyes lit up, and you congratulated him. “Nah, I had nothin’ to do with it, it was all Juliet. But still.” He grinned at you. “A week in the park? Always a good time.” 

 “I’ll take your word for it.” You turned away from him and started walking back toward the counter, where your bag was sitting. “Hey, do me a favor.” You turned toward him as you slung your purse over your shoulder, reaching up to push your hair away from your face. “I looked it up, and I know you can’t take pictures or anything of the park, and you can’t bring anything back with you, either.” He nodded. “So when you’re out there? If you have time? Focus on one thing that you’ve never really paid attention to. And when you get back, if … when we talk again?” You smiled at him, as if the previous 20 minutes hadn’t happened. “Tell me all about it, and make me think I’m right there with you.” You could be, maybe. 

 “I can do that.” He stayed where he was, watching as you stepped to the door. But before you pulled it open, Logan called your name, out, taking two steps toward you. What are you going to say? “Let me know you got home, alright?” You assured him you would and then you were gone, the door closing softly behind you. He groaned and dropped down onto the couch, covering his face with his hands. “What are you doing Delos? She isn’t … you’re not …” With difficulty, he pushed you from his mind, standing and walking down the hallway and into his room. You gotta get sleep, you’ve got meetings while you’re flying out. 

 But by the time Logan climbed into bed a few minutes later, his mind was racing with thoughts of the upcoming trip - and of the first Host he was going to take to bed. It’ll be about goddamn time, it’s been over a month since I’ve… Thoughts interrupted by the quiet chiming of his phone, Logan reached over to grab it, blinking at the bright screen in the darkness. She made it. 

 Home. Thanks again for tonight. Can’t believe she’s alive … next season’s going to be B A D for the people that killed her brother. 

 He laughed at your message, typing a quick reply out and then setting the phone back down on his nightstand. It is. He let out a deep breath, rolling onto his side and closing his eyes again. Maybe Clementine? Or Angela … if she’s still at the Mesa intake hub. 

 --- 

 By Wednesday, you were no longer mortified by what had happened on the couch at Logan’s, and as you thought more about it, you realized that it had been for the best. He knows I won’t act on anything, and I know he’s… not a cheater. You hadn’t meant for the flirting to get to the point it had, nor had you meant to actually overstep and touch him the way you had, but you’d gotten caught up in the moment. Who wouldn’t… especially with someone like him?

 It could have been the show, the beer you’d had, or maybe simply the closeness you felt to the man you were barely getting to know, but you’d put your hand over his heart - and then against his leg - without thinking… and then when you had, it had been too late. 

 You were attracted to Logan - physically, emotionally, irrationally, because you knew it wouldn’t go anywhere, but for a few moments, you’d felt the same coming from him, too. It isn’t possible. It can’t be possible. Not from him, not with … not with me. 

 There had been a few stories about Logan and Ariella online; pictures of them in the airport and  then out at dinner, comments about their upcoming wedding, a closeup of her ring, glinting on her finger as they sat together at a table. He’s got her, so why would he… But Logan’s past wasn’t a secret either, the numerous times he’d been spotted out with different men and women, the stories that they told about him - sex in hotels and clubs, hooking up in private cars and rooms, drug use, Logan blowing exhausting amounts of money on meaningless bullshit - and a small part of you thought that maybe old habits didn’t die completely, and part of him was still looking for some sort of thrill before he settled down for good. But he said he wasn’t… 

 You sighed, spinning in your desk chair, eyes on the clock. I wonder what he’s doing right now. You didn’t know the exact location of the Mesa or the parks, but you knew that it was somewhere near the Philippines, meaning that for Logan, it was already the following morning. Bet he’s sleeping. Or… You’d also read - and seen - Logan do interviews about the Hosts and his interactions with them, and you knew that he took advantage of his time in the parks. Does he consider that infidelity? Interested, you glanced again at the clock and then turned to your desk, quickly clicking through your emails to make sure you had nothing to do. I’ll just … You pulled your phone out, opened Reddit, and started doing research. I know he’s not everyone else, but I wonder what other people think of sleeping with the… 

 Nearly a half hour later, you were floored by the fact that it was relatively evenly split between people that considered going to bed with Hosts cheating and those that didn’t care since they weren’t real people, and couldn’t form lasting attachments. But even though the Hosts can’t remember things, the people… Sighing, you put your phone back down, tapping your fingers on the desk. I wonder how I’d feel about my husband or boyfriend or...

 There were pictures on the subreddit that were taken from the original Delos and park sites, and you had to admit that all of the Hosts pictured were gorgeous - men and women alike. So it was perfect for him. You thought of Logan in the park - riding horses and shooting guns and hitting an unsuspecting Host with his full smile, and realized that they - unlike you - wouldn’t have told him to stop, wouldn’t have been able to resist him, because they were designed not to. So it’s not a challenge, then. You tapped your fingers again, narrowing your eyes at the screen and then standing, deciding to take your break.  I wonder how real those things are, anyway. Does it feel real? 

 Before you could stop yourself, you grabbed your phone, picking it up and unlocking it, navigating to Logan’s text messages. I know you’re in the park and won’t answer for a while, but … I’m sitting here and wondering: how real are they? When you’re with the Hosts, does it feel like a human? I could just wait and ask, but if I do, I’d talk myself out of it. Do people get pissed about what happens in the parks? It’s so strange to me. And I’m rambling now so I apologize but … I have to know, Logan. You sent the message and then laughed at yourself, wondering how many times he’d been asked. But I’ll never have the chance to find out, I’m just… curious. Stepping outside, you turned your face up toward the sun, smiling. Wonder what Ariella thinks of it. Or if she’s been to the parks with him. But after a few minutes, even that thought had disappeared, replaced with only more questions about the parks and the Hosts - and about the design and planning behind them. 

--- 

 You were surprised to get a text from Juliet the following day, the woman simply saying hello and asking how you’d been. Weird. I wonder if Logan asked her to message me? But you replied, not thinking anything of it, and were shocked to find that Juliet didn’t mention Logan once the entire time you spoke, trading messages back and forth for nearly an hour. She invited you over for lunch on Sunday, which you accepted, especially after she told you Emily would be there. I want to meet her, everything I’ve heard is … 

 It was less of a surprise that Juliet wanted to be friendly to you than it was that Logan seemed to want to get to know you, so on Saturday morning, you headed back over to the house, a small bag packed with your bathing suit just in case.Juliet greeted you at the door, a small girl with Logan’s dark, straight hair peeking around the corner of the wall that led into the kitchen. She’s got his eyes. “Come in!” Juliet stepped to the side, waving her hand. “Emily Grace, come and meet my friend.” 

 You watched as the little girl stepped fully into the hallway, dressed in a frilly green dress, a small stuffed horse in one hand. “She’s really cute, Juliet.” Crouching down, you smiled at the little girl, saying hello. “I like your dress, Emily.” She stopped a foot or so away from you, tilting her head to one side and staring. That’s … Logan does that. “And your horse, too. Does she have a name?” 

 “She might not say anything to you, it takes a minute for her to -” Juliet spoke quietly, but Emily interrupted her, holding out the stuffed animal. 

 “His name is Bubble.” Bubble? “He lives at Grandpa’s.” You looked up at Juliet, even as you felt the material of the horse bumped into your arm. “Bubble.” 

 “It’s nice to meet you, Bubble.” You took it from her, holding it carefully as Emily eyed you, and you had the sneaking suspicion that if you stood up too quickly, the girl would not have been happy. Well. “Thank you, Emily. He’s a very … I like his spots.” Handing her the stuffed animal back, you watched as she hurried out of the room and back toward the room you’d sat in with Juliet the last time you were at the house, yelling the words ‘thank you’ as she retreated. “Bubble?” 

Juliet laughed, closing the door. “Yes. Bubble. That’s the name of the horse that my dad bought her, and that one … the stuffed one? It’s from Logan, and he had it made to look like the real thing.” You felt a surge of affection for the man and it made your entire body warm, but you stayed quiet. “She’s still too little to do anything but pony rides, but my dad, he… he’s trying to be a better grandparent than he was a parent, so it’s something.” 

 “Your dad has a farm?” Juliet laughed as the two of you walked into the living room, the woman shaking he head. 

 “No, he lives in Malibu, on the coast. No room for horses. He boards them at a place in Calabasas, so it’s pretty close.” The two of you settled onto the couches, Emily quietly playing in one corner of the room. “Logan and I grew up riding, and he thought it would be something that Em and I could do with my … my ex, and…” She trailed off, her eyes on the little girl. “Do you know about William?” 

 “I know you got divorced, and it wasn’t a friendly split.” You chewed on your lip. “Logan hasn’t said much about him, just that they didn’t get along, and he was happy when you guys separated.” 

 ‘Logan was actually a big reason why we split.” She looked at you, keeping her voice down. “William wasn’t a good guy. I… I saw it, but didn’t see it, you know? Logan tried to tell me, but I didn’t …” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over now, and I was able to save my relationship with my brother, so…” Oh, I never would have… You stayed quiet, eyes on the woman because you were unsure of what to say. “And I have Emily, so it wasn’t all bad.” 

 “She seems like a good kid. Logan talks about her a lot.” She laughed, leaning back against the cushions and tucking both legs beneath her. “You’re on his lock screen.” 

 “Oh, you’ve seen his phone’s lock screen?” She arched an eyebrow at you. “Usually, he won’t let that phone -”

 “I put my number in it for him, before he left the hotel?” Don’t make this out to be more than it is, Juliet. “But after he handed it to me, I got distracted and we were talking, and it went dark, so he had to unlock it again, and it was you guys.” You shrugged. “No big deal.” 

 “I’m just giving you a hard time.” She called out to Emily, the little girl turning her head back toward the two of you. “Tell me when you’re hungry, alright?” With a solemn nod, the little girl turned back to her toys, and Juliet went quiet again. “He’ll be back tomorrow night.” 

 “Logan will?” Why is she telling me this? “He said he was going to be gone for at least a week, so I figured he’d -” Juliet shook her head. 

 “Nope. He got a message out through one of the park’s access points to let us know he was coming home a couple days early.” I hope everything’s … “One of the new clients got sick. It wasn’t anything to do with the park, so it’s not a problem, but he just wasn’t feeling well, so they all decided to head back to Sweetwater.” Sweetwater? “That’s the main entrance. Everyone gets dropped off there, because it’s really tame compared to other parts of the park. They were already close, so instead of spending a night there and then catching the train, they just …” She held up her hands. “Left early.” 

 “I don’t think I could imagine leaving a place like that up until the last possible second.”  You spoke without pause, wincing at the end of your sentence. “I mean, it seems like it would be so overwhelming, so much to see and do.” 

 “It is.” She eyed you. “But the more you’re there, the less… real it gets. You see the cracks, see the … truth.” She gave you a small smile. “I could get you in. It’s not a big deal. Send you off on a weeklong -”

 “Logan said the same thing. He asked me if I wanted to go, and I don’t…” You bit down on the corner of your lip. “I don’t think that’s a place to go alone, Juliet.” You shrugged. “And like I told him, my friends and I aren’t really your target demographic financially, so…” She smiled as you finished. “What?” 

 “He asked if you wanted to go to the park?” Yeah, why? It’s a huge part of his life, of course he’d want to know if I was … “He really does want to be your friend, then.” 

 “What?” But she didn’t answer, as Emily’d made her way over to the woman and put both hands on her leg. 

 “Lunch.” She paused, blinking twice. “Please.” Juliet wrinkled her nose and leaned down, her arms going around Emily’s waist and lifting her, standing in the same motion. 

 “Come on, we can keep talking while I make lunch.” 

 --- 

 You hadn’t gotten to continue your conversation about Logan while Juliet got everything ready, but you hadn’t stopped thinking about what the woman had said. Why does that mean… it shouldn’t… he’s just … 

 The three of you ate outside at the table on the patio, Emily devouring grilled chicken, avocado and fresh fruit while you and Juliet had salads with the same ingredients, and you were surprised at just how relaxed you were. As you ate, your eyes wandered over the yard, landing on the pool where you and Logan had spent the better part of the afternoon before moving to the fire pit, where you’d ended the night before he’d taken you home. We spent all damn day together, and it… 

 By the time Emily was ready to take a nap, you were slightly tired too, and instead of going back inside, you and Juliet stayed on the second patio in the bar area, stretched out on the outdoor furniture. “You going to ask me about it?” Her words interrupted your thoughts, and you turned your head toward Juliet, confused. “What I said about you and my brother?” 

 “About him being my friend?” She nodded. “I hadn’t planned on it, I -” But I want to know.

 “Logan and I grew up really … privileged. My mom had some money, but my dad worked really hard to build Delos from the ground up, and it paid off. He’s an asshole, and wasn’t always the best father - especially to Logan - but he’s a good businessman.” This has nothing to do with … “We had a lot of opportunities that other kids didn’t. Trips and clothes and cars and … and when we were old enough? We took advantage of it.” She eyed you. “Everyone knows about Logan’s teenage years and his 20’s, but mine?” Her eyes closed. “They were just as bad, I was just more private about it.” 

 “Really?” You laughed. “Juliet, I wouldn’t have -” 

 “I didn’t have a lot of the same problems as Logan.” She let out a breath. “He’s always been the better looking one, the … in demand one, the person that …” She fluffed her hair out, head moving back and forth. “Everyone wants Logan, and it’s been like that since we were kids, so he’s always been the focus, especially after our mom died. He’s a couple years older, so everyone paid attention to him, and I was just in the background.” 

 “You wanted people to pay attention to you.” She agreed.

 “I did, but it was exhausting. I had to try to be like him, and for him, it was just … that’s how he was. How he is.” Why does this … she’s… “So I had a couple years where I tried some things and dated some people, and it just … wasn’t what I wanted. I’d had enough of trying to get people to like me in the same way that everyone seemed to like him … so I just stopped.” She’d stood as she spoke, walking back behind the bar and emerging with two large bottles of water, handing one to you. “But Logan’s the opposite. He couldn’t turn it off if he wanted to - so if he was pushing people away, I knew there was something wrong.” 

 “I don’t understand.” She waited until you’d taken a large drink. “How does that -” 

 “You know about his... struggles, right?” She said the words slowly, as if they pained her, but you told her that you did. “So when that all happened? I saw the change in him before anyone else did. It was like he was a different person. I didn’t know what he was doing at first, but I knew something was up. He wasn’t… he was off, even with me, and …” She frowned, staring at the pool’s sparkling surface. “He just wasn’t Logan. It got a little better after William and I got divorced, but everything that he went through? It changed him.” 

 “Juliet, I’m sorry. I still don’t understand.” You wanted to - and didn’t want to offend her by not picking up on what she was saying. “I -” 

 “I know that Logan really wants to be your friend, because he’s treating you the way that he would have treated someone close to him before any of this happened - before William, before the park, before he switched from recreational drug use to … to not caring whether or not he’d wake up after going to bed.” Hearing her put it so bluntly made you gasp, one hand rising to cover your mouth. Oh, Logan. “He doesn’t lie. He always tells the truth and says what he’s really thinking. But that doesn’t mean that he makes an effort, if that makes sense.” She sat up, adjusting her position on the couch to face you. “And with you, he’s making an effort.” 

 “Juliet, we don’t… it’s only been a couple weeks. He’s not doing any -” 

 “No, that’s just it, though.” She licked her lips. “How do I explain this to you without making him sound like a …” Scrubbing a hand over her face, Juliet took a deep breath. “If Logan doesn’t want you in his life, he won’t make any effort to keep you there. He  doesn’t need to, because there’s always going to be someone else to step in, even now.” Even though he’s engaged, you mean. “He’s different now. And I know that I keep saying that, and you have no idea what it …” she swore, and for a second, you felt as though you were sitting outside with Logan and not his sister. “Can I be blunt with you? Like, really blunt?” You nodded, narrowing your eyes. “A few years ago, if you wouldn’t have slept with Logan when he got you and your friend back to that hotel room? You probably wouldn’t have had another chance to spend time with him.” 

 Sucking in a breath, you stared at her. Hearing it makes it sound … “Juliet, I -” 

 “And if you had seen him again? And you’d turned him down a second time?” She laughed, the sound carrying on the warm, dry air. “He would have forgotten about you before he’d even left the room.” She leaned in, her fingertips pressed into the cushions you were sitting on. “I can see it, even now, the way you’re reacting to how I’m… you like him.” 

 “Of course I like him, Juliet, he’s -”

 “That’s not what I mean.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean that you like him, as in you find him attractive and -”

 “He’s engaged, Juliet. It doesn’t matter how good looking I think he is, or how much I like spending time with him. We’re going to be friends, and … that’s it.” She watched you without speaking, waiting for you to continue. “So what changed him? Meeting Ari-” Juliet’s laugh was louder than you’d expected, her eyes closing before her head tilted back. 

 “No, Logan was still… Logan long after the two of them met for the first time.” So he wasn’t sleeping with just her, even after they...

 “But you said he was -”

 “Yes. But he was still my brother, still… himself, under all of the other bullshit. He did what he knew, what he was used to, and that didn’t… to tell you the truth,” she continued, moving closer. “It’s a little strange, even now, to see him so …” She curled her lip. “But sometimes, I think that this Logan? The Logan that we’ve gotten to really know since he got clean and involved in Em’s life? This might actually be the real Logan.” 

 “As opposed to… what?” You were confused, because you knew that in her mind, she was making perfect sense, but to you, she was all over the place. “You seemed to think that him being different was …” 

 “It is a good thing.” Her expression changed, Juliet growing much more thoughtful. “For the most part.” What does … “I love not seeing him trying to hide his arms, or… or not wearing clothes are are slightly too big to hide how much weight he’s lost. Seeing him back where he belongs - at the head of Delos - is something that I hoped for even when I was married to William, and not worrying about seeing him in the tabloids because of someone new, or a scandal  every other week is …” Juliet gave you a smile. “But at what cost?” Cost? What? “Seeing him with Ariella is …” Juliet paused. “You’ll see, if you ever meet her.”

 “Why would I meet his fiancée, Juliet? That doesn’t make any sense. I don’t need to -” I don’t want to meet her, I don’t want to… “From what he says, she isn’t even here often, so there’d be no …”

 “You’re right.” The woman relaxed against the couch cushions, her eyes moving over the yard. “Can I ask you something, though?” She met your eyes again, a serious look in them. “If you’d met Logan, and he wasn’t engaged, what would you …” Is she really asking me this? Is she… 

 You wanted to be honest with the woman. Her affirmation that Logan was, in fact honest - and her willingness to tell you about herself and her life gave you confirmation that the Delos siblings valued honesty above all else. But does it … “I wouldn’t have slept with him after meeting him at Whole Foods, I can tell you that much.” She snorted and you continued. “I knew of Logan before we met, so I would have put two and two together even without the magazines in front of my face, but … I don’t know.” You began picking at the fringe on the hem of your shorts. “I have no interest in being a one night stand, or doing something for a story, or for the … thrill of it.” 

 “So even if he was single, you wouldn’t have tried to -” Shaking your head, you drew your lower lip into your mouth, thinking. 

 “Not right away, no. And if that meant that I lost out on my chance to do more than talk with him?” Your shoulders rose and fell. “I don’t mean I need to be in a relationship with someone for things to be physical, but I don’t make it a habit of picking men up at the grocery store, or sleeping with them while my friends are passed out in the other room.” Taking a deep breath and holding it for a few seconds, you blinked. “And if what you’re saying, and what he says is true, if he’d been single, then he probably wouldn’t even have looked twice at me, because he would have had plenty of options.” You weren’t fishing for compliments, nor were you putting yourself down - it was the truth. “Everyone that Logan’s been seen with is -”

 “Using him.” She spoke plainly, her words surprising you. “He knows it, I know it, my dad knows it … they know it, too. Sure, there mighta been a couple of them that weren’t 100% doing that, but … it doesn’t matter how pretty you are, or how handsome if all you’re going to do is fuck someone for bragging rights. He’s a fucking person, and not one of the Hosts.” Is that really what it’s like for him? What it’s been like for him? “I appreciate you being honest with me.”

 “I have no reason not to be, Juliet.” You took a long drink from your water bottle, thinking. “Same with him. Why would I lie to someone just because I thought it would make me … that’s unnecessary.” You set the bottle down, holding your hands together on your lap. And I’m not a good enough liar. “I’ve got nothing to gain in this, not really. And I definitely don’t want to be another person that hurts him, or takes advantage of him, or …” 

 “I knew I liked you.” She reached forward, checking the time on her phone. “Em’s gonna be waking up in a little while, so we should go back inside, but …” Juliet watched you for a few seconds, her warm brown eyes searching your face. “You’re not like … you know what? I think you’re going to be good for my brother.” Though you appreciated the comment, you felt slight disappointment at it. If she thinks that about me, then what does that say about everyone else he knows? 

 --- 

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[pedros-mustache-main]

for reasons wretched & divine

summary: unfit: unfit for duty, unfit for a proper teaching position, unfit for you.

word count: ~14k 

warnings: ~inappropriate~ student/teacher relations, age gap (27 & 19), war related topics, mental illness related topics, some suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful), angst, innuendo, language

a/n: what can i say? i’m a hoe for period pieces. i have been laboring over this for an embarrassingly long time so i’m pleased to finally share it with you all! would love to hear your thoughts. also: big big thank you to @joemazzmatazz​ for being an extra set of eyeballs on this one and listening to me ramble about my insecurities every other day! love you long time, sis. xoxo.

(photo: @consumedbygwirst​)

snowshill, gloucestershire, england. 1917.

a deaf ear, that’s why they wouldn’t take him; a deaf ear. he’d tried—god, he’d tried—to convince someone on the medical board that he was fit for duty. he’d come dangerously close to offering a bribe; something, anything, to be able to go and fight alongside his kinsman. but in the end, they’d still slapped his file with a rejection stamp.

gwilym james lee: unfit for duty by reason of physical impairment necessary for proper military response.

the words are engraved on his very heart now. he can’t shake them.

unfit, unfit, unfit.

his hands shake as he gathers the papers littered across his desk. the tremor has plagued him since he left his review with the medical board. why he can’t say for certain, and he doesn’t like to probe the issue too deep, but it’s always there, fluctuating in intensity. a slight waver in his fingers one moment and a full-scale trembling the next. it makes him feel like an old man, his deaf ear, his shaking hands. he’s twenty-seven years old, in the prime of his life, not eighty.

it’s sunday, and the mid-afternoon sun warms him through the window. he’s been in snowshill for a fortnight now yet his students—all twelve of them—remain a mystery. it’s clear they miss their former schoolteacher, but, like most, jefferson lewis has gone to serve his country. the vicar, bless him, had proven to be of more harm than good during his brief tenure as schoolmaster for the last four months, hence, gwilym’s new post: a stone, one-room schoolhouse on the edge of a vast field; a community away from civilized society, away from his father, away from any place he could soil the family name with his failures.

materials gathered, he slips out the front door. he considers locking the place up, but if anyone does break in, there isn’t much to steal. he’d come by this afternoon on a whim. lodging with an elderly woman and her six cats is one of the many things about snowshill that grates on his nerves, and the quiet air of the schoolhouse is a welcome respite from constance’s inane titterings. it’s nearly time for afternoon tea, though, and she’ll be cross if he doesn’t show, so he heads down the dirt lane, hands in his pockets, head bent low.

his steps slow, but do not stop, when the sound of his name reaches his ears. it sounds muffled, far away, as most things do. still, it’s loud enough to give him pause. he throws a glance over his shoulder. two pupils—maryanne clouder and you—walk down the lane. you stroll arm in arm with maryanne, your hair tied back in a long braid. maryanne’s arm is raised in a motion meant to flag him down. begrudgingly, he stops.

“mr. lee!” maryanne is not coy in the way she grabs your wrist and drags you across the road. her cheeks are flushed when she reaches his side, her elbow still circled around yours. “we didn’t see in you sunday service this morning.”

he shifts on his feet, fingers curling around the strap of his satchel. “no, i didn’t attend.”

“any reason?” maryanne’s head tilts to the side, her lower lip caught between her teeth. he stifles a sigh. the girl is young, merely fifteen. she’s cute in a girlish sort of way; one might see her as a pesky sister. still, she tries to catch his attention each day, her eyelashes batting against her sun-chapped cheeks, her legs swinging back and forth at her desk.

“i... overslept,” he lies. 

his eyes flick to your face, which struggles to remain unamused. you’re the eldest of his pupils, nineteen and itching to capture whatever semblance of freedom is left in the world. maryanne is your closest classmate in age, and he rarely sees you without her on your tail. to your credit, you never complain, never seem to mind. he admires that. there had once been a day he’d been like maryanne—so eager to please whoever would give him the time of day—but those days are long gone.

“well, mother asked after you,” maryanne continues. “she’d like to invite you over for supper sunday next—as a proper welcome to snowshill.”

he’s quick to turn her down, as he has two other families since his arrival. “that’s very kind, maryanne, but i’m not sure it would be appropriate.”

“nonsense, sir!” he hopes his eyebrows don’t rise too much in surprise when you jump to maryanne’s aid. “i’ll be there with my niece and my grandfather, and mrs. coulder makes the best roast you’ve had this side of london. you must come.”

from behind his circular, wire-rimmed glasses, he wonders if you can see the way his eyes widen. since arriving at the schoolhouse, he’s known you only as the eldest, wisest, and least rambunctious of his class. you’re quiet, but well-spoken; authoritative, but not domineering. the way you carry yourself—shoulders held straight, chin extended outward, eyes soft yet purposeful—he could easily mistake you for a woman. but you’re not. you’re a girl, his student, and just because you insist he attend sunday supper does not mean you look at him as anything other than your teacher. certainly, he doesn’t look at you as anything other than his student.

he clears his throat. it’s been a long day. he’s tired, on edge. he shouldn’t be thinking about these things.

forcing a tight smile, he gives a nod. “it seems i have no choice.” maryanne claps her hands together as he says, “tell your mother i’ll be there.”

“oh, goody! you won’t regret it, sir, i promise. i’ll be sure to tell hastings not to pester you too much.”

a groan nearly surfaces as he remembers the previous week’s antics of maryanne’s brother. he bites his tongue to keep from retracting his acceptance. “hastings doesn’t bother me, maryanne.” 

her grin turns sly, and she pushes his arm in a playful gesture. “you don’t have to lie, mr. lee.” her tone is slow, drawling, and he has the integrity to blush. his ears feel hot, uncomfortable—and not at all pleasurable. 

you tug on maryanne’s arm. “come on, mary.” stepping away, you jerk your head toward town, a measure of concern hidden beneath your smooth features. “we should leave mr. lee be. we’ve bothered him enough already.”

he doesn’t refute your statement. even if he jogs the rest of the way, he’ll still be late for afternoon tea, and he’ll still bear the brunt of constance’s wrath. in truth, you have bothered him enough already. so he lets you steer maryanne away without another word. at the last moment, he thinks he’s imagined it when you twist to look over your shoulder, your eyes running over him with a modicum of interest. he shakes the feeling off; it must have been his untoward imagination.

by the time he reaches contance’s cottage, a light drizzle has wet the shoulders of his suit jacket. his hair is damp, his glasses foggy. he ducks to avoid smacking his head against the doorframe as he enters. the cottage smells of tea and scones, both fresh, both warm.

from the kitchen, constance’s shrill voice meets his ears. no matter his hearing loss, her voice will never be one he can ignore. “is that you, gwilym?” she putters to the kitchen arch, wrapped tight in her pink robe, tea kettle in hand. when she sees him standing in the doorway, she frowns. “you’re late.”

“yes, yes, i’m sorry.” he sheds his jacket and places it on the wooden banister. rolling up his shirt sleeves, he makes his way to the kitchen. “i was accosted by some of my students.” 

constance laughs, her fleshy cheeks taut with a smile. “oh, child, you make it sound like you loathe those students.”

he says nothing, simply brushes a few crumbs away from his place at the table. a fat cat jumps to take his seat before he can settle, and he sighs. constance chuckles at his misfortune, placing the tea kettle in the center of the table. she shoos the cat for him, and he sits.

“pour for us, won’t you?” she says, turning to gather the scones.

gwilym hesitates. his hand flexes on his thigh, but there’s no point in arguing with constance, so he lifts the kettle. heavy with hot water, the pot wavers in his hand. as he pours, his tremor grows stronger, the pot shaking so violently water makes it everywhere but the teacup. 

“dammit,” he mutters. he puts the kettle down with more force than is strictly necessary; enough that he can feel constance’s eyes slide to his back as he rises to mop up the spilled water. it’s hot as it drenches the napkin, and he takes the moment of pain as punishment. he uses both hands to pour on the second go around. there’s still an unnatural rhythm to the stream of liquid as it descends to the teacups, but it hasn’t ruined the tablecloth, and he supposes that’s all that matters.

“there we are.” constance places a scone—blueberry iced with cream; she always makes his favorites—before him, and she does not mention the spilled water. “who were the rascals that accosted you this time?”

between bites of scone and sips of tea, he answers. “maryanne coulder and [y/n] [y/l/n].”

constance replaces her teacup on its saucer with a knowing nod. “ah, i know the coulder family. good bunch, except for that son of theirs.” her smile widens as his face blanches. “it seems you know him too.”

“he put tacks on my stool this thursday.”

“did you sit on them?”

he shakes his head. “no, but i might’ve.”

“and it would have given all the children a royal laugh.” she takes another sip, challenging him over the rim of her cup. “[y/n] i don’t know so well.”

“she’s in her last year. bright girl.” he doesn’t know why he feels to need to say such a thing. he’s barely given constance any information about his students thus far, but there’s something about the way she’s watching him that makes him speak and speak fast. “she could go on to university if she put her mind to it.”

“nineteen, i think, yes?”

he shrugs. “i think so.” constance hums and reaches over to pet an orange tabby cat. “they’ve wrangled me into sunday dinner next week. the coulders, i mean,” he adds.

“oh?”

“it was impossible to say no.”

“well, i believe it’s about time you show your face around town.” constance lifts a barely visible brow. “you really much try and engage your students more, gwilym. no one likes a sour puss.”

heat rushes up the back of his neck, and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. she’s right, of course. he hasn’t always been this way, but since the war broke out and his subsequent service denial, he’s been nothing but a gray cloud in every room. he can’t help it.

constance changes the subject as her eyes move to the window at the back of the cottage. “did you know michael livingston went and shot a fox at four o’clock this morning?” she tuts her tongue. “that man! he really is the bane of my existence. a horrid excuse for a neighbor.”

gwilym’s gaze drops to his teacup, and he filters out what he can of constance’s prattle. she’s right. he should work on connecting with his students more. his father is a master at that. he has every student at the university eating out of the palm of his hand by the end of the first term week. gwilym thought he might have the capacity to do the same, but it seems he had been wrong. his students are respectful enough, but aside from maryanne and her silly crush, they are largely unattached. though, it isn’t as if he wants their affection or even their approval...

he’s fine without it. really, he is. 

still, it wouldn’t hurt to at least seem approachable. he’s in snowshill for the foreseeable future. he might as well face it and try to appear like he gives a damn.

at four o’clock sharp the following sunday, he stands outside the coulder household, his fist poised ready to knock on the dark green front door. only he can’t seem to bring himself make his arrival known. 

if he knocks, he has to be sociable. if he doesn’t knock, he can retreat to his attic room and spend the rest of his sunday in peace.

if he knocks, he might begin to chip away at the three-foot-thick barrier he’s placed around himself. if he doesn’t knock, he remains hidden, but protected.

his fist trembles in front of the door.

“mr. lee, are you alright?”

he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice. dropping his hand and readjusting his hold on the plate of muffins constance sent along with him, he turns away from the door. you stand halfway down the stone path leading to the home, one hand holding the chubby fingers of a toddler he doesn’t recognize. your other hand is pressed against the back of an old man, his shoulders bent with age, hands wobbling as he uses a cane.

gwilym swallows and looks away. “oh, hello. i just...” he can’t think of an excuse, so he, lamely, settles for the truth. “well, if i can be frank with you, miss [y/l/n], i was—am—feeling a bit apprehensive.”

you just smile and lift the toddler from the ground. with the girl on your hip, you come to stand by his side. he shifts when he catches a whiff of your shampoo. you glance up at him, your smile lifting, before knocking on the front door yourself.

“there’s nothing to be nervous about, sir,” you whisper in the lull between your knock and the door opening. “’s just maryanne.”

he isn’t certain, but he thinks you’re teasing him. the possibility makes his skin crawl in more ways than one. he hates that.

saved the duty of response, he pulls his mouth into a tight smile as the door opens. mrs. coulder, flanked by her daughter, stands in the threshold, brightly patterned apron snug around her waist.

“oh, mr. lee!” she stretches out her hand, and he shakes it, the plate of muffins tipping precariously in his opposite palm. “we’re so glad you decided to join us.”

“thank you for the invitation, mrs. coulder.” he waits until you’ve passed with your grandfather to cross the threshold. 

“please, call me vivianne. can i take that for you?” she nods to the plate of muffins, eyes sparkling all the while.

“yes, thank you. from constance pruder,” he adds. “she told me to tell you hello.”

“how kind of her!” vivianne takes the muffins from his arms and gestures toward the back of the house with her chin. “my husband, john, is out back. why don’t you go and chat until supper’s ready. he is ever so eager to meet you.”

gwilym fights to hold back his cringe. fathers—he doesn’t do well with them. not his own, not anyone else’s. it’s just another item on his long list of dislikes and annoyances. 

but he’s a guest, and he really does want to try. so he fixes his tie and follows vivianne’s directions to the back garden. 

john is sat on a wrought-iron chair, his hands braced against the arms, round face pulled tight in a frown as he watches maryanne play with the toddler on the grass. he stands when gwilym ducks to step outside. he extends a hand, his grip painful.

“lee,” he barks in greeting before dropping back to his seat.

the old man—gwilym assumes he’s your grandfather—twists from his place in a similar chair. “forgive me if i don’t get up, son.” the way his fingers waver in the air makes gwilym’s stomach clench; his own hand shakes slightly as he touches the old man’s palm. “name’s richard.”

“sit down.” john points to a bench against the house. “i’ve got questions for you.”

gwilym hesitates, caught bent at the waist as he goes to sit. his hands are firm on his thighs, and unwittingly, his eyes flick to yours. he’s surprised to see you already watching him, your fingers twirling in the blades of grass around your legs. when the moment has stretched far too long, he sits and smooths his sweaty palms against his trousers.

“i hope easy questions, sir,” he says. his tone is light, but his teeth are gritted.

“easy enough if you tell the truth.” john withdraws a silver cigarette case from his breast pocket. jamming a butt between his teeth, he offers the case to gwilym, who declines with a shake of his head. john puffs on the cigarette for a moment before saying, “why aren’t you off fighting, lee? all the other lads from gloucestershire are doing their part. what makes you special enough to stay away from the battle?”

to say gwilym is shocked by john’s pointed question would be an understatement. the force of the query, spoken in harsh, biting tones, is enough to tilt him sideways in his chair. he’s sure his face is red, his chest tight from forgetting to release the breath he holds in his lungs. his hands curl against his trousers, his knuckles gone white with rage.

“well, sir,” he drawls, careful to keep his tone even. more than anything, he wants to stand, leave, and slam the door on his way out for good measure. his ears burn with embarrassment. “i would certainly be fighting if i could.”

it’s an honest answer, the truth if ever he’s spoken it. what he wouldn’t give to be away from snowshill, rushing the battle field with his brothers-at-arms. what he wouldn’t give to be worthy of a moment’s notice when he returned from war. 

but he’s not worthy and he’s not fighting. he’s stuck in the back garden of his most precocious and love-sick student, the sun beating down on his brow with an undue heat, his muscles twitching with the restraint it takes to keep from decking snowshill’s most prominent lawyer. 

john narrows his eyes across the cobblestone patio. “if you could? what’s wrong with you?”

gwilym says nothing. red—the color of blood, ambulance sirens, and fire—flashes before his eyes.

“in my day,” john continues. “we fought no matter our delicate sensibilities.” he huffs around his cigarette, his chest ballooning like a baboon. “i’d say that i—”

“mr. coulder!” your voice is sharp, though not unkind, when you break into coulder’s soliloquy. gwilym’s eyes snap from john’s throbbing forehead muscle to you. you stand beside your grandfather, your skirt tangled around your legs in your apparent haste to stand. there’s grass pressed against your knees, and a faint tinge of red on your cheeks. “i believe i heard mrs. coulder calling for your just now,” you say, sweetening the blow of your interruption with a smile.

john looks to the open door, a pucker forming between his brows. “oh,” he mumbles, rising to his feet. “i’d better go see what that’s about.” he ambles on bowed legs into the house, and gwilym is left to pick of the pieces of his fractured dignity.

he dares glance at you. your eyes lift from the ground slowly, your fingers curling along the hem of your cardigan. when you meet his gaze, you look away first, as if you’re scared—scared to look at him, scared to admit you had to rescue him like a drowning puppy. he swallows hard and stands, though he isn’t sure why. he just can’t stay sitting anymore.

vivianne pops her head around the frame of the back door. “come come, everyone. supper is ready! mr. lee, you sit beside john. he has so much he wishes to discuss with you.” she grins and waves him inside, and who is he to refuse her?

later that night, when his back is pressed against his firm mattress, moonlight washing through the attic room, gwilym feels the overwhelming urge to cry. he can’t remember the last time he shed a tear. after his mother’s passing—god rest her soul—tears have seemed... pointless. they didn’t bring his mother back; they won’t cure his deaf ear or his tremor, won’t stop people like john coulder from asking questions.

still, his chest aches. there’s something in his lungs scratching to get out. it rises in his throat like a lump and bubbles forth in a broken sob. he presses his hand to his mouth, feels a hot tear slide down his cheekbone.

god, he hates it here.

really, he hates it everywhere. there’s nowhere he can go to escape from himself.

class on monday is disjointed. 

he didn’t sleep well, tossing and turning the whole night long, his dreams plagued with images of his mother, the war, you staring at him like a broken man. he woke several times in a cold sweat, his bedclothes drenched and sticky. 

his students bear the brunt of his poor night’s rest. he is tired to the very core of his being, and it shows in the way he waves hastings away after one-too-many attempts at the same arithmetic problem. it shows in the way he sits at his desk before the class, rubbing at this throbbing temples, the echo of the previous night’s supper ringing in his ears. though the sentiment is there most days, today he truly does not care if his students learn or not. he just wants a stiff drink, maybe a quick shag, something to take his mind off it all.

shifting in his seat, he withdraws the pocket watch snug in his trouser pocket. the gold around the clasp is worn with decades of use, and when he unlocks the face, the watch within is slightly obscured by a thin crack over the number five. still, despite its flaws, the clock ticks on. there’s a metaphor there, he knows, about himself: worn, broken, but still working. he’s too jaded to believe it.

he rises from his chair. the legs scrape against the floor. “it’s lunch,” he announces, breaking the heavy silence of the classroom with his deep voice. “take your things and go home. class is dismissed for the rest of the day.”

from her place in the front row, maryanne bats her eyelashes in confusion. “what’s the occasion, sir?” she sits straight at her desk, eager to please, panting for some drip of his attention.

gwilym doesn’t have any attention to spare for maryanne, for any of his students, really. his eyes flick from maryanne to the open window to you. he clears his throat and looks away. “it’s a nice day out, maryanne,” he says. “we shouldn’t waste it inside. don’t you agree?”

she grins and nods as she hastily gathers her things together. “oh, yes, of course!”

his jaw goes tight as he says, “thank your mother again for inviting me to supper yesterday. it was very kind of her.”

scarlet blush crawls over maryanne’s cheeks. she holds her books snug against her chest, her shoes dancing back and forth in nerves across the hardwood floor. “you are more than welcome any time, sir.”

he nods once, glancing toward the open schoolhouse door. she gets the picture; their conversation is through. grabbing hastings hand, she drags her brother out of the building and into the sunshine, leaving gwilym in blessed silence. he drops to his chair with a groan, cradling his forehead between his pointer finger and thumb. outside he can here his pupils laughing in the field. he removes his hands from his face and looks out the window-lined wall. hands crossed in his lap, he watches the children play, wonders what it feels like to live so carefree. 

had he ever been like that as a child: wild, uninhibited? he must’ve been—surely. his long-term memory is poor, brought on by a hard tumble he’d taken from a horse at an early age, but memory impairment aside, he wasn’t always this sullen, this removed. surely.

“mr. lee?”

he jolts at the sound of your voice, twisting in his chair to see you standing before his desk, a crease of worry between your brows. he frowns. “miss [y/l/n]? have you been there long?”

you shake your head, and a lock of hair falls out from behind your ear. you tuck it back, your eyes falling momentarily to the floor before you say, “no. well, yes. i was gathering my things, and you looked... pensive.”

he sits upright, and the urge to smooth his hair works its way to his fingers. he adjusts his glasses instead. “pensive? that doesn’t bode well.”

at his half-hearted attempt at levity, the corner of your mouth lifts. you step closer to his desk. “i wanted to be sure you were alright after supper last evening.”

his gut clenches at the memory, the shame of john coulder’s interrogation, at having to be saved by his own student, at that student being you. “i’m fine, truly,” he says, an edge to his voice he doesn’t mean.

still, you push further. “it’s just that mr. coulder... he’s not very diplomatic when it comes to asking questions. i thought maybe you—”

for the second time, gwilym stands from his chair with the intention of ending the conversation. he will not discuss sunday’s supper with you. the memory is still too raw, and his dream of you coming to his rescue is thoroughly and completely humiliating. yet when he stretches to his full height and sees you standing there, the most earnest expression of concern he’s ever seen on another face, he is powerless to stop himself from admitting the truth. he shoves his hands in his pockets, rolling his tongue over his teeth in thought.

“your concern is kind. mr. coulder’s questions were ill-phrased but not unwarranted. the men of this country hold a heavy duty right now. i suspect he was only asking out of patriotism.”

you blink, lips pressed together. he’d thought you’d be satisfied with his answer, but it appears you are not. the crease in your brow deepens. “sir, he was very unkind to you.” you speak as if he didn’t realize, as if he didn’t wet his pillow with tears of shame and hurt.

he nods. “perhaps.”

“it’s not fair, though. i’m sure whatever your reasons are for staying away from the front are valid.”

“again, your kindness does you credit.”

“i’m not trying to flatter you, mr. lee. i’m only speaking the truth.”

gwilym hesitates before saying, “i did not assume you were the flattering type.”

you shake your head. “i’m not.”

he’s not sure if it’s just the warm spring breeze drifting through the open window, but the air feels heavier than it did moments before. his eyes search yours. searching for what he can’t say, but he searches nonetheless. you hold his gaze until the faintest of blushes rises to your cheekbones. 

“i must thank you, though, miss [y/l/n], for coming to my aid last evening.” he’s surprised by his confession. it should drive him to his knees in embarrassment that he must concede to his student after they help him with a man twice his age. he is embarrassed, but something—manners, the desire to replicate your honesty, your doe eyes—makes him say it. “i am not sure i would have answered mr. coulder’s questions with a cool head, but you showed great tact. i’m indebted to you for that.”

he bites his tongue. too far, perhaps. a teacher should never be indebted to his student. least of all his oldest, brightest, and yes, he will admit it: most attractive student.

your chest lifts as you draw in a breath through your teeth. “well, i know a way you can repay me.”

his eyes widen, his throat seizing around his adam’s apple. he removes his hands from his pockets and shuffles a stack of unmarked papers on his desk. his hand wavers as he moves, though he’s not sure if it’s due to his tremor or an unwarranted image of you in his arms flashing through his mind.

too far. too far. you’re just a student. he’s just your teacher.

“what would you have me do?” it’s stupid to ask, to play along, but he can’t help it when your hands are clasped behind your back, the ribbon at the end of your braid falling over your shoulder. 

“there’s a benefit next week,” you say, and your face eases into a smile. “it’s for the wounded soldiers, and i’m in charge of the bake sale. my grandfather is too old to help and my niece is too young, so i thought perhaps you might like to help me? i’m sure more people will stop by if you’re there. everyone’s still curious about the new schoolmaster.”

gwilym stills, his eyes falling on you. not for the first time, he wonders if there’s something beneath your gaze, beneath your question. there can’t be; there isn’t. just like he is not interested in you, you are not interested in him.

unless...

he clears his throat and looks down at his desk. he brushes a stray pencil to the side. it rolls, rolls, rolls, stops against a heavy book. “i suppose i can make the time to assist.” he meets your eyes despite his gut telling him not to entertain this foolishness any longer. “for you, miss [y/l/n].”

your face clears in something akin to shock. you blink rapidly, your eyelashes fluttering against your freckled cheekbones. for a moment, gwilym imagines maryanne in the moments past, batting her own eyes. it hadn’t made his gut twist like this.

“it’s not for me,” you whisper, and the breathy sound of your voice sends a rush of blood from his head to his manhood. “it’s for the soldiers.”

“yes,” he replies. your gaze is locked on his, deep and probing. “the soldiers.”

a pebble hits the window with a sharp ting, and you both startle—you with a gasp, he with a muttered curse. turning, he stares out the window long enough to see a few of his male students playing a game of stickball with pebbles. a sigh shudders through his chest. no one had seen, had felt the thick tension in the room. thank heaven.

when he turns back to ask you how he can help before the benefit, you are gone.

the day of the benefit dawns bright and clear. it’s warm despite the month. april is generally cool and balmy, but gwilym breaks a sweat as he carries arrangement after arrangement of flowers to a little red wagon outside the cottage. constance sits perched on her portable stool, a cane between her legs as she watches him work.

“be careful with those, gwilym james,” she chides. “i spent all week and won’t have you breaking a single one.”

“i’m being careful, constance.” he huffs as he lowers a bouquet of blue hydrangeas to the wagon. the glass rattles as it squeezes between the dozens of other vases. the wagon is full to bursting of flowers of all kinds and where constance unearthed such of a treasure trove of flowers, he cannot be sure. “you truly expect to sell all these in one afternoon?”

constance draws in a sharp breath and whacks the butt of her cane against his shin. “how dare you!” he yelps, clutching his offended leg, but for once finds it easy to match her sly smile. “my flowers are sought after in the next three counties!”

“i’m sure they are,” he says, chuckling at her twisted features. 

she stands, snapping her stool shut with ease. with her chin tilted, she gestures with her cane to the road. “we’ll be late. you know i detest being late.”

rolling his eyes, gwilym grabs the wagon handle from the ground and gently maneuvers the vehicle onto the dirt road leading to the center of the village. the flowers jostle and clang as the wagon dips with the unevenness of the road, but the arrangements hold steady. constance’s steps are slow and small, so he shrinks his stride to match hers. a whisper of a breeze cools the sweat lingering on the back of his neck, and he glances at the cloudless sky. no one could have asked for better weather.

“i hear you are to assist miss [y/l/n] in her confection sale today?”

gwilym nearly trips over a rut in the road, but catches himself at the last moment. he adjusts his hold on the wagon handle, his hand trembling even curled against the cool metal. “yes—she had no one else to help her.”

constance’s eyebrows lift. “ah.”

“you did tell me to be more kindly with my pupils.”

“that i did.”

“then why do you look so displeased?”

“i’m far from displeased, child,” she says with a laugh. “merely cataloging this moment for later.”

gwilym doesn’t ask for further explanation. he doesn’t want to know. it’s bad enough that he spent the entire morning primping and preening over his own reflection. god, he’d felt like such an idiot. 

but he couldn’t deny the urge to at least try and put some effort into his appearance. he would be spending the day by your side, after all. not that it mattered...

by the time he rolls constance’s wagon into the village square, the benefit is well under way. snowshill is a small parish; only one-hundred-twenty-three residents, yet it seems every soul has turned out for the event. colorful streamers whip through the mid-morning breeze. a gaggle of musicians sitting underneath a shade tree amble through a litany of well-known tunes. the baker twins, annie and joy, race past gwilym, hand in hand as they head for the dunking booth. he pauses in his study of the square. there’s happiness here. despite it all—the war, the fathers and brothers and husbands so far away, the uncertainty of the future—the villagers have still found a reason to smile. surely, he can to.

“i’ll take this.” constance pulls gwilym from his thoughts as she pries the wagon handle from his hand. “you go over there,” she adds, nodding to a booth on his left. “miss [y/l/n] is waiting.”

he ignores the telling sparkle in her eyes. she can see right through him, the old bat, see straight to the part of his heart he so desperately wants—no, needs—to ignore. 

chasing the thoughts away, he turns to locate the corner set aside for the bake sale. it isn’t hard. in an uncomfortable but familiar sort of way, he’s drawn to you, and he finds you easily. at the base of the church gardens, you’re already hard a work. your hair is loose around your shoulders, and the sun glints off a pearl barrette clipping a portion of the strands back. stepping forward, he allows his eyes, for the briefest of moments, to run over your frame. your forest green dress is cinched at the waist with a wide gold band, accentuating your curves. the sleeves of the dress, which fall to your elbows, are sheer, and he can see your skin glistening beneath the sway of shadows and sun. you’re lovely, breathtaking even. he hates the way his heart gallops in his chest at the sight, like he’s a love-struck schoolboy. in reality, he is your teacher and a grown man. the thought alone makes him advert his eyes from the picture of you, dressed well and elegantly, smiling as you speak to a customer.

“there you are!” you twist away from the pie, cake, and cookie laden table to grace him with a brilliant smile. knowing you first and foremost as the level-headed student who rarely speaks save to impart pearls of wisdom, the sight of your wide smile is near blinding. “i was beginning to think you’d forgotten.”

he shakes his head. “never.”

“good.” you point up the hill to the church. “the rest of the pies are in the kitchen. bring them down, won’t you?”

he does so without complaint, returning to the booth with a cherry pie in one hand and a rhubarb pie in the other. he places them on the table with care before asking, “who made all these?”

you shrug and straighten the sign hanging from the makeshift portico attached to the table. “mostly the older ladies of the parish. though,” you say, your eyes sliding to his with mischief. “i did make those.” you point to a small plate of chocolate chip cookies. “you can steal one if you like. i won’t tell.”

gwilym narrows his eyes. “how do i know if i can trust you?”

you laugh—a clear, bell-like laugh—and it goes straight to his gut. “try it and you’ll just have to find out.”

you sit, your attention caught by the toddler scooting about on the a picnic blanket behind the table. gwilym hesitates before taking one of the cookies. it snaps in his hands, and he nudges your arm with his knuckles. you look over your shoulder, glancing at the half of a cookie melting between his fingers.

“take the other half,” he says. “that way we both get in trouble. if i’m going to go down, i’ll take you with me.”

your cheeks color, and he wonders where your mind has gone, but then you take the cookie and your fingers brush his palm. a jolt shoot through his arm, but he ignores it, sitting in the seat beside you. 

“it’s very good,” he says after swallowing the dessert. “chocolatey.”

you smile in thanks then reach out, your thumb nearing his cheek. he stills, uncertain if he should move back and risk offense or lean in and risk it all. you swipe your thumb across the corner of his mouth, your touch fleeting but like fire all the same. sitting back, your grin widens.

“you had a bit of chocolate on your lip,” you explain.

“oh.” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks the opposite direction. 

few villagers have meandered over to the bake sale booth, but the day is early yet. he dares relax and lean back in his chair. he unbuttons his suit-jacket, letting the breeze waft through his sleeves and around his torso. when he turns his head to look at you, he finds you already watching, your eyes trained against his chest which strains against his snug waistcoat. all thoughts evaporate until your eyes lift to his and you blush.

he clears his throat. “uh—the child?” he questions, pointing to the toddler on the ground. she’s chubby, her legs stumpy beneath a yellow day dress and bloomers. “who does she belong to?”

you lift the baby and set her on your knee. the little girl smiles at him and leans against your shoulder, her mouth gnawing around her fist. “my sister,” you say. “she’s away, so grandfather and i are left to take care of eliza.”

“and where is your grandfather?”

“he’s with his mates. they’ve set up shop outside the pub and are more than likely pestering anyone who will listen with their own war stories.”

“he seems like a kind man.”

“oh, he is!” you grin and return eliza to her spot in the shade. “after my parents died, he took me and peggy—that’s my sister—in without a moment’s hesitation.”

before gwilym can question you any further, a familiar voice hits his ears. he rises alongside you as vivianne coulder draws close to the booth. 

“oh, look how darling! [y/n], you’ve really outdone yourself!” vivianne eyes the sweets with interest. “however am i to make such a choice? there’s simply too many good things here to choose from.”

“you can always buy multiples, mrs. coulder.” you press your palms against the table, leaning forward to watch as vivianne surveys the array of food. gwilym’s eyes stray toward your backside, which is pushed out, until vivianne breaks his train of thought.

“mr. lee, how did you get mixed up in a bake sale?” she asks, dropping a few coins in your palm as she makes her purchase. “i might have thought you’d participate in the dunk tank like my john.”

as if to punctuate her question, a bell across the square rings followed by a cheer and a splash. someone hit the bullseye.

“mr. lee owed me a favor,” you say. “i had to watch the class one afternoon while he tended to a feral dog in the yard.”

the story isn’t a falsehood, but it’s certainly not why he stands beside you now. he’d almost forgotten about that dog, but perhaps the mangy mutt had been a godsend after all. it certainly kept you from having to admit the real reason for his appearance at the bake sale.

vivianne giggles behind her gloved hand. “how brave!”

your hand, ungloved and warm, lands on his arm. your fingertips squeeze the flesh of his bicep nearly imperceptibility but he feels the gentle pressure like a vice around his skin. “yes,” you continue, seemingly oblivious to the way your touch wrecks him. “he was quite brave.”

vivianne chats with you a moment more—something about maryanne and her sixteenth birthday celebration—but he can barely focus. he’s unnaturally hot under his jacket, despite the cover of shade protecting the table of sweets. he wants to shake your hand from his arm, loosen your hold around his gut, but he doesn’t want to appear rude. he doesn’t want to push you away.

so he stands still. he lives with your fingers against the curve of his shoulder like a man readying himself for execution. his jaw is tight, his eyes focused on the people milling about the square.

when vivianne finally ambles away, he feels free enough to step out of your grasp. he releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. his eyes dart from the ground to your face. you stare at him, your own eyes wide and lips parted ever-so slightly. god, he could kiss you. maybe it would quell the fire in his stomach and get you out of his head. maybe the simple touch would fix all the worn-out and tired thought swirling through his head. he would give into his desire but there’s too many people around and maybe that’s a good thing. he’s not sure he could stop himself if he started.

blessedly, a trio of older women approach the table. he jerks his attention away from you and finds a modicum of solace in auctioning off the bake sale items to whomever will purchase them. the faster the table is clear, the sooner he can go home and take a cold shower.

fate, it seems, has other plans for him because it is not until past-dusk that the charity benefit ends. the last of the pies have been sold off, your niece dragged home by your grandfather when the hour gets too late. gwilym helps you break down the table in silence, the only sound a bird twittering in its nest overhead and the rumble of the dunk tank being hauled away. you look tired, and he’s sure he does too. on the whole, he enjoyed himself. you are pleasant company and skilled at carrying on conversation. in truth, he finds himself wondering if he could spend every waking moment simply sitting by your side. the busy-bodies and children who came by the booth brought him small smiles, as well. the occasional woman called him handsome, even though her age well surpassed his own, and it buoyed his neglected heart. mothers thanked him profusely for his work at the school. he had not realized how much his students seemed to appreciate his efforts in the classroom. on more than one occasion, he’d left the schoolhouse under the impression the vast majority of his pupils were plotting his demise for being so sullen and boring. but perhaps not...

with your aid, he carries the booth’s table to the basement of the church. it is cool in the dark hallway of the building. his shoes sound against the stone floor as he searches for a light switch with nothing but his gaze. he hears a sharp bang followed by a muffled curse.

“you alright?” he asks, casting a glance over his shoulder. he can barely make out your form what with the dim hall and your form covered by night.

you adjust your hold on the end of the table. “yes, i’m fine. i bumped into the doorframe ‘s all.”

“where do we put this table then?”

“the vicar got it out for me early this morning. i suppose we could simply leave it by the pantry in the kitchen.”

“i’m afraid i don’t know where that is.”

he swears he can see you smile despite the low light. “perhaps i should have led the way.”

he mirrors your grin. “perhaps you should have.”

nodding to the left, you say, “that way. down the hall and first door on the right. i left it open.”

with some trouble, he manages to make it to the kitchen, though he too runs into the doorframe of the hallway and you giggle at his misfortune. together, you lower the table against the kitchen wall and step back. you brush your hands together with an air of finality.

“well,” you say with a sigh. “nothing like a good day’s work.”

gwilym turns to look at you in the darkness of the kitchen. a beam of moonlight filters through a single window in the corner of the room. it falls agains the back of your head, shrouding you in a halo of yellowy light. you’re looking at him, too; he can feel it. you look soft, and you stand close enough to touch. he keeps his hands at his sides; they tremble against the creases of his trousers.

“thank you, miss [y/l/n],” he whispers. “i needed a day like today.”

silence reigns supreme for the longest of moments. universes are born and wither in the space between his confession and your response.

but then your lips are on his. 

your hands grasp the material around his shoulders, your nails pressing through the fabric in earnest. he can think of nothing else to do—nothing else he should do—other than remain planted firm on the stone floor of the church kitchen. he itches to hold you, to weave his fingers through your hair, and move his mouth over yours. you taste sweet, like cookies, for the brief moment you claim him as your own. still, he is level-headed enough, rational enough, scared enough, to not react—no matter how much he wants to.

you pull back, swallowing hard. your fingertips skim over your mouth. you stare at him, starlight caught in your eyelashes, then run from the basement before he can say a word.

you do not come to class for several days. he calculates that it must be three days you’ve skipped out on him—no, on school. really, he can’t be certain how long you’ve been gone. since he felt the touch of your lips on his, he has thought of little else. the memory consumes him, threatening to swallow him whole. it distracts him when he turns around from the blackboard to see your seat empty and when he dismisses class at the end of the day and does not see you gathering your belongings with your elegant movements. he has lost track of time and of order. at night, he lays awake and stares at his ceiling, his hands clasped behind his head. he runs the moment over and over again, replaying and reframing how it could have gone different.

he could have pushed you away the second you moved closer. at least then he would be able to claim he tried to be a professional, that he tried to distance himself from his interest in his own student.

he could have kissed you back. he’d wanted to. he’d wanted to so badly. he’d wanted to so badly the mere thought of how he’d kept his hands still at his sides makes his brain clench with discomfort.

the thursday after the benefit, after yet another day without your presence in the cramped schoolhouse, he drags his feet to your home. he’s reluctant to go, knowing he should allow you to come back on your own time. whatever it was that possessed you to kiss him, he knows you probably regret the action as much as he regrets not seizing the moment for himself.

you live on the outskirts of snowshill on your grandfather’s sheep farm. the dirt road leading to the white farmhouse is clogged with tufts of fresh grass, revealing its lack of traffic. a handful of hens peck the ground beneath a sprawling oak tree. a flat swing hanging from a thick branch sways back and forth with the afternoon breeze. it’s idyllic—removed from the rest of the world, even as far as snowshill goes, but idyllic.

he’s out of breath from the walk by the time he reaches the front door, but gwilym is self-aware enough to know he would out of breath regardless of his mode of transportation. he’s nervous. his hands shake, and there’s an incessant ringing in his deaf ear. he waits, unsure if anyone on the other side of the bright red door has heard his knock.

“mr. lee?”

the sound, garbled by the blood rushing to his ears and the tilt of his head, comes from his right. he twists to see you standing at the corner of the house. there’s a basket in your hand; it’s empty, save for a pair of small scissors which catch the sun. your blue-checkered dress is faded, the sleeves bunched around your elbows. one of the pockets on either hip seems weighed down with an invisible object. he stops his perusal and notes the clear frown on your face.

he steps forward, huffing out a rushed “miss [y/l/n]”, and nearly topples off the rail-less stoop. he catches himself at the last moment, his hand darting out to press against the frame of the farmhouse.

you gasp, dropping your basket, and rush forward, but when you see he’s righted himself, you stop. “goodness,” you say. “that would’ve been a bad tumble. i’ve told grandfather dozens of times that we need a railing.”

gwilym chuckles in a lame attempt to save face. he takes the three steps to the safety of solid earth and crosses to stand before you. you blink up at him, your lips pinched. there’s a mysterious lack of sparkle in your gaze, and he wonders if he’s the cause of its disappearance. 

“you’ve not been to school,” he says.

you shake your head as you turn to pick your discarded basket. “no.”

“why?”

you lift a slim brow. “isn’t the answer obvious, sir?”

“no.”

you hold his stare, and he is the one to look away first. a chill settles around his spine despite the warmth of the day. he wrings his hands together as he looks over the field.

“if that’s all, sir—”

his eyes snap back to yours. “no!” he winces at the desperation in his tone and tries again. “no. i think we should talk, miss [y/l/n], about what happened at the benefit.”

this time you do look away, your cheeks tinged with blush. you gesture toward the meadow behind your home. “i was going to walk down to the river. i need to replenish our herb stock. you may join me if you like.”

“that’s fine,” he says, nodding. “you lead the way.”

the beginning of your walk is spent in silence. the meadow grass tangles around the hem of his trousers, staining them green with leftover dew. you trail ahead of him, your basket skimming over the weeds and grasses like a sailboat in an ocean of nature. he realizes you are without shoes, and the sight of your bare calves and ankles sends his thoughts elsewhere.

you lead him into a grove of cherry and birch trees. pink petals cover the ground and obscure the sky. it’s a haze of color here—cherry blossoms and green leaves, the flutter of an anxious bird’s wings, the clear but rushing waters of the creek. he stops when you do and inhales deeply. strangely, tears prick the corners of his eyes. he could stay here, he thinks, in this picturesque place—no one to bother him or question him or loathe his very existence. 

“i never knew snowshill boasted such a beautiful spot,” he admits.

from your place crouched against the ground, your voice is muffled. “yes. i keep it secret”—your voice is clearer when you rise and look over your shoulder—“from nearly everyone. it’s too special to share with the world.”

you lean down again and use your small pair of scissors to snip at a collection of herbs growing along the creekbed. gwilym dares take a step closer, and he points to the herbs in your hand.

“what are those?”

“mint. it grows well by the water.” you lift the bundle. “would you like some?”

instead of taking the offer, he squats beside you. his knee, bent as it is, almost brushes your elbow. he plucks a small leaf of the mint and puts it on his tongue.

you watch as he allows the herb’s flavor to coat his tongue. “my mother used to make very good lemonade with mint.”

“my mother too.” he clears his throat, glances at the trickling stream, then back at you. “miss [y/l/n], about the benefit...”

to your credit, you do not shy away from his pointed gaze. your jaw tightens, but you maintain eye-contact, and he wonders if you can see all the thoughts racing through his head as he looks at you.

“i’m sorry if you misunderstood my gratefulness for our interactions at the coulder dinner and at the benefit. my intention was not to give you any untoward thoughts or—”

“why are you not fighting? in the war?” you interrupt with ease and do not blink as you question him.

despite his initial shock at the change of topic, he finds himself rushing to answer, to explain himself—though to anyone else, he would balk and turn away. “my right ear is deaf.”

“oh.”

“has been for a long time,” he continues. “apparently, good hearing is the mark of a good soldier.”

“and your hands?”

“my hands?”

“why do they tremble?”

at this, gwilym does balk. he stands, running the hands in question through his hair as he turns his back to you. “my hands do not tremble,” he says, his tone close to seething.

you stand to your full height, which isn’t much next to him. “yes they do. i’ve seen them—in class, at the benefit. were you denied service because of that, too?”

he openly glares at you, but he answers truthfully. “no. it developed after my denial.”

“oh,” you say again.

“really, miss [y/l/n], this is not why i wanted to speak with you.”

“i know. you wanted to talk about us.”

“there is no us. there can be no us.”

“i disagree.”

“yes, you would because you are a child, and you don’t understand that you and i giving in to whatever is between us would mean disaster.”

the slap that lands across his cheek echoes in the small grove of trees. he whirls, clutching his face as he stares at you in disbelief. his ear is ringing again, and it’s painful this time, but he knows he deserves it.

your chest heaves when you next speak. “i’m not a child.”

he knows this. he’s seen you as a woman—dreamt of you as a woman—too many times to count.

dropping his hand from his face, he nods. “i know. forgive me.”

you’re quiet, thinking, then you open your mouth to speak.

“i don’t think you realize, gwilym, how good you are for this community.” the sound of his name on your lips is sinful, threatening to tear his focus away from your words. “in the short time you’ve been here, i’ve seen the children in that schoolhouse learn more than they ever did before you came. you’re truly teaching them about the world, not just maths and reading and science. why, even last week hastings actually apologized for pulling on my braids in the past. he told me that you taught him that.”

gwilym frowns. “how? i never told—”

“they watch you. he told me you apologized to mark after you were short with him one afternoon. he told me he wanted to be like you—not his father, you.”

“miss [y/l/n]—”

“and my grandfather? he so admires you. i think he sees himself in you, after he came home from the way. he told me you’re very brave. and constance swears you have the gentlest soul built for caring for others. you may hide it, but she knows that you—”

“that’s enough—please.”

you fall silent, unshed tears washing over your eyes before you say, “don’t you see, gwilym? you walk around with such a weight on your shoulders, but all anyone wants to do—all i want to do—is ease the load. you’re worth that.”

he shakes his head and swallows hard. your speech all but shatters his heart. more than anything, he wants to believe you, wants to believe that he’s good for something. but the pesky thoughts in the back of his mind grip him hard. he can’t shake them.

unfit, unfit, unfit.

“i kissed you that night because i think you are wonderful.” your face cracks into a smile, vibrant and gut-wrenching. “wonderful and smart and handsome and—”

he puts a stop to your words. winding his arms around your back, he pulls you flush against his chest, his mouth lowering to capture yours. you’re stiff at first, in shock by his sudden change of heart, but then you relax, your arms lifting to circle his neck, drawing him ever closer. his lips explore yours with desperation, the weeks he’s spent pining after you crashing to the surface in an explosion of want and need. he moves his hands to cradle your face, and your hands skim to his shoulder blades, your fingers pressed into the skin beneath his waistcoat and shirt. you taste like fresh mint. it’s all he can do to not lower you to the bed of blossom petals on the ground and ravish you until the sun dips below the horizon.

he pulls away, breathing heavy, his forehead rolling against yours. “[y/n]...” you suck in a sharp breath through your teeth, and he realizes it must be the first time he’s spoken your name aloud in your presence. “[y/n],” he whispers again. “we can’t.”

you fist your hands in his shirtsleeves. “don’t say that. you feel it as much as i do.”

nodding, he moves to hold your waist. the feel of your body under his hands is heaven. you are divine, like an goddess escaped from la primavera. “i do,” he admits. “i feel it.”

he bends his head to kiss you again. the touch is softer this time, more hesitant, but when he gathers the nerve to pull you closer, your hips against his, you whimper into his mouth, and the sound pulls him back to reality. he practically trips backward, breathing labored, thoughts muddled, and body rigid. 

the space between you swims with lust and desire and yearning. your lips are plump, your cheeks flushed. your eyelids flutter, seemingly dazed, but not at all confused. you know what you want; he knows what he wants.

“we must keep it secret,” he says.

you nod.

“i won’t be able to touch you or—or be with you in public.”

“i know.”

“i could get in a lot of trouble if anyone finds out.”

you flinch at this, briefly looking to the side. “i know.”

shaking his head, he mutters “god help me, it would be worth it even if i did” as he crosses the space between you and crashes his lips to yours once more.

there is no hesitation now. he moves with purpose and you follow his lead. gently, he guides you to the blossom-strewn floor, his fingertips discovering the valleys and contours of your body with ease. his lips graze the curve of your neck, a feather’s touch, a butterfly’s kiss. you shift beneath him and pull his face level with yours. you glance between his eyes, chest brushing against his with the labor of your breathing.

he removes a twig from your hair, flicking it away. “do you want this?” he asks.

“always.” you smile, and it sends his heart tumbling in his chest. 

you reach down and lift the hand pressed against the ground beside your hip. it leaves him in an awkward hunch overtop of you, only his left elbow propping him up, but he’s curious at your movements. holding his wrist, you touch your left palm to his.

“your hand isn’t shaking,” you whisper.

he looks at your joined flesh, at the way his fingers stand straight against yours. there isn’t the slightest waver in his hand. dropping his palm from your grasp, he melds his body against yours beneath the cherry tree as the sun inches toward the horizon.

it goes on like this for some time: you and he stealing moments throughout the week, in whatever privacy is available. for the first time in years, he is happy. he’d grown so used to his sullen state he forgot what joy felt like, but you’ve given it back to him in bundles.

he’s not exactly sure what it is about you that captivates him so. perhaps it is your whole being.

you are intelligent, easily tutoring your classmates when they fall behind. you are generous, often sharing your meals with the neediest of students. you are witty and lively in your silliest of moods and gentle and serene at your most centered. you listen to him when he speaks—truly listen—and you challenge him with your observations and questions. 

he enjoys holding you, caressing your soft skin, kissing your lips. the cherry blossom grove is where he holds you most. it is a safe place amidst an unsafe world. beneath the shade of the birch trees, he is untouchable. he is free to speak as he wishes, love you as he pleases. he is open and honest and everything he feels he cannot be in town.

and, yes, he thinks he loves you—even after such a short time. he would be a fool not to have fallen for you by now. despite the years between you, despite the complexities of his position, he knows he would chose you again.

the weeks bleed into months. spring edges into the beginning of summer. you will finish school soon and be out from under his tutelage, released to the frayed fragments of freedom to which britain still clings. neither of you have spoken on the topic. though it looms overhead, it’s still far yet. you have time.

you are cradled against his chest, the aftermath of your most recent lovemaking still lingering on your bodies and in the air. you hum into the crook of his neck, and your fingers swirl around the hair peppering his chest.

“gwilym?” you press a kiss to his shoulder before adjusting yourself to lean on your elbow, looking down on him.

he opens one eye. “hmm?”

“what do you think will happen after the war ends?”

he opens both eyes at this and moves his head to meet your questioning gaze. the blanket beneath him rustles, and the branches overhead sway with the warm breeze. he isn’t sure what question he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the one you posed. you surprise him every day in that way—always curious, always searching for answers.

“i’m not sure,” he says. “provided we win, i suppose germany will be forced to make reparations. with the americans in the fight now it won’t be long before the kaiser gives up.”

“will you leave us then? once everything’s back to normal?”

he answers quickly and honestly, surprised at the passion in his own voice. “no, never.”

your brow creases. “but you came here running from the war. won’t you go home when it’s done?”

he blinks and considers. months ago, he would have said yes. given the chance, he would have fled back to london without a moment of hesitation. now... now he’s not so sure.

“home is wherever you are.” the words tumble from his mouth before he can stop them, but once they hang in the air, he knows they are the truth. wherever you go, he will follow. he would forsake his entire past if it meant he could stay by your side.

your lips tug into a small smile, and you sit straighter, turning your face away. “you mustn’t say things you don’t mean.”

he runs a fingertip over the curve of your exposed shoulder, down the rise and fall of your spine. if anyone were to break through the line of trees, they would see you both and have no issue filling in the missing pieces of the puzzle, naked as you both are. still, he’s comfortable; he always is around you.

“i mean what i say, [y/n]. i’m not a flatterer.”

your head whips around, and your eyes twinkle with mirth. “don’t steal my words, gwilym,” you say with a laugh, pushing at his chest.

sitting up, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you against his side. “i can steal whatever i please. like this,” he says, punctuating his words with a kiss on the mouth. “or this.” he kisses the flesh beneath your collarbone. “or—”

you press a finger to his lips. “not everything.” your grin turns sly, and you coquettishly bat your eyelashes. “i’m a virgin, after all, and must remain so for my future husband.”

gwilym laughs, tossing his head back. “is that so?”

you nod. “my maidenhood is the most sacred thing about me.”

“oh, we’ll see about that!”

with an easy maneuver, gwilym has you on your back. your giggles—girlish but edged with desire—circle his head like a drug. you swat at his shoulders when he braces himself over you, his mouth like a tattoo on your skin. he could stay like this forever—just you and him, the cherry blossom trees, and the endless sky. he would stay, too, but after your picnic dinner and an argument over the smartest literary character of all time (he insists sherlock holmes; you insist portia from the merchant of venice), he must walk you home before your grandfather begins to worry.

he wonders if the old man suspects anything. he comes to your house multiple afternoons a week under the guise of preparing you for university should you choose to go further with your education. that study time always floats from the kitchen table to the back garden to the grove of trees, and you’re gone for hours. you always return looking rumbled, your dress askew, his tie undone, but the old man never says a word if he does know the truth. for that, gwilym is thankful.

tonight, he leaves you at the backdoor. the sky is a blanket of stars, and the moon shines bright overhead. standing as you are on the lowest stair leading to the door, you can meet his eyes with ease, and you seem to appreciate the change in perspective. you run your hands through his hair, your fingernails grazing his scalp. his eyes flutter shut at the feeling, his grip on your hip tightening.

“don’t do that, [y/n],” he breathes.

you smirk. “why? do you like it?”

he grits his teeth and opens his eyes to level you a dark stare. “you know i do.”

grinning, you kiss him hard, enough to leave him breathless when you pull away. “tomorrow? same place?”

“i have a meeting tomorrow afternoon with the vicar. i’ll come by afterwards.”

you shake your head and smooth your hands against his shoulders. the action is so domestic, so wifely, he can’t help but picture you as his wife, sending him away for a day of work. “don’t bother. i think i’ll pop around for tea with constance. perhaps i’ll run into you then?”

gwilym audibly groans at the idea of seeing you in his own home, sat across from his landlady, smiling and laughing, all the while making eyes at him from across the table. he shivers—but not because of the cold. “you’re gonna be the death of me, girl.”

you touch his cheek with such tenderness it makes his knees weak. “i hope so.”

maryanne is the one who ultimately discovers and reveals your affair. even so, gwilym blames himself and himself alone. he got too comfortable. months of loving you in secret—months of tasting you and knowing you and cherishing you—cannot be hid behind a sullen face. and his face is not longer sullen. 

he finds himself smiling more, asking his students about their lives instead of their assignments. he grades easier, waves his hand at forgotten homework, prolongs lunch break so he can eat with you. perhaps the change in his demeanor was what sent maryanne on the hunt. that—or the fact she caught him kissing you amongst constance’s prized hydrangea bushes.

he hadn’t been positive if the flash of pink fabric and yellow hair was maryanne, so he’d never mentioned it to you. he’d just kept kissing you, though his attention had slipped and his movements turned distracted when he heard the rustle of a bush. he’d opened his eyes long enough to see the out-of-place pink nestled within the green bushes and blue flowers, but then the color was gone and you were whispering something filthy in his ear and it made him laugh. he’d forgotten; he’d gotten comfortable.

now he wishes he’d grabbed maryanne and forced her to keep her mouth shut. with two weeks until your graduation, time is of the essence. he’d lose you if anyone found out, and he wasn’t about to let that happen.

he hadn’t caught maryanne, though, and she’d rushed home to tell her mother who had promptly told the idiot john coulder who had informed the vicar and the vicar had come to relive gwilym of his teaching duties—no questions asked.

“you do realize what a mess you’ve made, haven’t you?” the vicar had said upon his arrival. “there will have to be an investigation. we don’t stand for this sort of thing in snowshill.”

gwilym hadn’t said anything. he’d simply loomed over the squat man and summoned as much of a glower as he could. it wasn’t very hard, not with his entire world crashing down around him.

he lies down that night and wonders what will become of him. he will be a social pariah, an outcast, the man who seduced a child, the teacher who coerced a student. it isn’t like that; he knows it and you do too. he loves you, though he hasn’t said as much. he suspects you love him too.

he could take you away from here. you could both start over somewhere new, where no one knows your names. the idea is tantalizing, and it wouldn’t be hard, but he knows you won’t leave your grandfather and niece behind.

there’s a knock on his bedroom door, and he sits up, hitting his head on the slope of the attic ceiling. rubbing the offended area, he frowns.

“who is it?”

“who do you think?” constance says, her tone as unamused as his.

“i’m not really in the mood for visitors.”

he knows she knows. he knows she stood in the front parlor and listened to every word the vicar spat at his feet. he just didn’t have the guts to look her in the eyes before he fled to his room.

“you missed supper, child. i’ve brought you a bowl of soup.”

reluctantly, gwilym slides from bed and goes to open the door. constance stands at the top of the stairs, wrapped in a purple robe, the neck lined with feathers. she pushes him a bowl of split-pea soup and swishes into the room to drop in the single, hard-backed chair. it creaks beneath her weight. he turns to look at her; the heat of the bowl burns his hands, and his palms tremble.

“constance, i—”

“i must admit that i’d hoped you would find a friend in [y/n] [y/l/n], perhaps even something more.”

his jaw slackens. “i’m sorry?”

“when you mentioned you were going to the coulder house for supper and she would be there, i knew she would do you well. i knew her mother before she died, and that girl has her mother’s tender heart. both could heal even the sternest of wounds.”

he blinks, looks away. yes, you could. you healed him, after all.

“i simply wished you would have been more careful. my hydrangea bushes are not the most secretive spot in the world.”

“you knew?”

she nods, her painted lips tight. “mhm. ever since you came home that first afternoon smelling too much like women’s perfume and sheep’s wool.”

gwilym drops to his bedside, the soup in his bowl sloshing with the movement. “why didn’t you say anything?”

she laughs as if she’s taken offense by his query. “i may concern myself with everyone’s business, gwilym, but it is not my business to go about spreading the business which i know.”

“you are a strange woman.”

“you are a man in love.”

he looks down at the rapidly-cooling food in his lap.

“i shouldn’t tell you this,” constance continues. “it will only make you hope, but i know what it is you’re feeling.”

he scoffs. “do you?” somehow he doubted that. constance, having never been married, knew more of felines than she did feelings. at least, any of the feelings roiling through his person now.

“when i was seventeen i had an affair with my teacher. he was young and handsome and charming, and i was happy. but we were found out, and he was run out of town. i never saw him again.”

“how is this supposed to give me hope?”

“my xavier was not given the chance to explain himself before his accusers. you are being afforded that opportunity. use it.”

“they’ve taken my position already. they can do nothing more. this hearing is a farce, and you know it.”

constance smooths the wrinkles of her dressing gown and flicks away a spot of imaginary dust as she shrugs. “prides goeth before the fall. remember that come thursday.” she rises. “you have the chance to keep her, gwilym. she turns twenty next month and will graduate in a fortnight. even if you leave snowshill together, will you be able to live with yourself knowing you did not defend her honor before the people who know her best? sleep on that, won’t you?”

she exits the room before he can respond, and he falls asleep to growing pit of desperation in his stomach.

there’s a ping against his window some time late wednesday night. it startles him out of his uneasy sleep, and he sits up, rubbing his eyes. when it happens again, he turns to look out the window over his head. nothing but the black, starless night sky and open meadow beyond constance’s gardens. he huffs. perhaps it had been a bird or—

another ping.

teeth gritted, gwilym flings his window open and peers into the darkness, straining his eyes to see. what he doesn’t see, he hears, despite his deafness.

“gwilym!” the whisper is harsh and frantic, but a beautiful melody nonetheless. somewhere in the darkness, you stand, looking up at him. “gwilym, come down here!”

he doesn’t need to be told twice.

forgoing his shoes, he tumbles down the stairs and into the back garden. the night is brisk, chilly, a precursor of what is to come at dawn. he finds you in the darkness, or maybe you find him, but you’re there, in his arms, and that’s all that matters. you cling to him, your hands fisted in his bedshirt, ear pressed against his chest. he hasn’t seen you since maryanne revealed your relationship to the world; you feel like heaven amidst hell.

“i don’t have much time,” you whisper. “mrs. coulder is at the farm, watching over me to make sure i don’t come to find you.”

gwilym draws back. he holds your face in his hands and is struck by how large his palms are against the side of your head. your hair feels soft under his shaking fingers. the tremor is back; it has been since his world collapsed. 

“are you alright? have they done anything to you?”

“i’m fine. the vicar questioned me yesterday, tried to make me confess that you’d pressured me into being with you, but i only told the truth.”

“the fucker,” he mutters. “i’m sorry you had to do that. the blame lies entirely with me.”

“don’t worry about me. you have to speak before everyone tomorrow.”

“and it’ll be fine.”

“will it?” tears sparkle in your eyes as you look up at him. “no one will accept us even if—”

he silences you with a kiss to the forehead. “hush, [y/n]. whatever happens will happen. so long as you are well cared for, it will all be fine.”

“you sound as if you’re prepared to go away.”

“if they ask me—”

“gwilym, you promised you wouldn’t leave.”

he looks down at you. god, he loves you. with every fiber of his being, he longs to make you his. but he’s reminded of constance’s story every time he thinks of you now, and he’s been imagining a new sort of life by your side. one filled with dirty looks and whispers around every corner; of evenings alone, no friends to call on, no family to worry over; of a job in a far off village which takes him on the road and leaves you to yourself in that overly large farmhouse; friendless children; lonely in old age.

can he subject you to such a life? a life so similar to the one you’d pulled him from? he’s not sure he can—and he’s begun to wonder if constance’s xavier did the right thing by leaving her, by giving her a second chance.

“i know i did,” he finally says.

“then why are you talking like this? like you want to go?”

he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip and feels his gut wrench. “that’s the last thing i want.”

you chin quivers beneath his fingers, and he removes his hand from your face. “then tell me what it is you’re planning to do. please, gwilym. don’t you owe me that?”

in lieu of answering you, he wraps his arms around your back, lifting you so your feet merely brush the carpet of grass. he kisses you softly, savoring the touch and tucking it away in his heart for a future moment. he wants to memorize the map of your skin beneath his fingers and the feel of your mouth on his. he wants to commit the smell of your hair and the contours of your body and the feeling of love that crashes over him to memory. he’s not sure if he’ll have a moment like this again, so he prolongs the touch until he can barely breathe. he returns you to solid ground and pulls away.

“gwilym—” you’re crying, and he wonders how he didn’t taste your tears.

“don’t come tomorrow. i don’t want you to hear what they say.”

you set your jaw. “i’ll be there. i won’t leave you.”

he knows you’re bating him to reveal his plan, but he won’t. until his dying day, he will protect you from harm. tonight, he must protect you from himself.

because he can’t help it, he grabs your elbow and pulls you in for a last bruising kiss. you circle your arms around his neck and cling to him, even as he tries to pull away.

“let me go, [y/n],” he whispers. 

you hold tighter, your eyes screwed shut as you shake your head. “no.”

“let me go, angel.” with some amount of effort, he pries you from his body. a rush of cold fills the spot where you’d stood, pressed against him. 

he turns away, returning to the cottage, but not before he sees you hide your face behind your hands and hears you sob softly into the darkness.

you arrive at the hearing dressed in red. the sight of you flanked by your grandfather, wearing your boldest, brightest red dress, almost makes him laugh. you’re nothing if not brave. 

standing in the doorway of the church, you survey the room, which is full to bursting. everyone has turned out for the event of the year, and the air is hot with sweat and summer and scandal. when your eyes meet his from across the room, he can’t help but offer a smile. you smile in return, and the softness around your eyes is a balm to his soul. you point to an empty pew in the back of the hall and take your seat. though your face is obscured, he can make out the shoulders of your bright dress from his place in a chair on the dais. 

he sits before the entirety of snowshill, the weight of the world pressed down on his shoulders. he feels close to vomiting, but he knows what he must do. he’s ready.

when the vicar begins the proceedings, outlining your entire affair in torrid detail, gwilym keeps his face set firm. his hand bunches the fabric at his thighs and his teeth press against his tongue but he’s calm to the untrained eye. it’s only when the vicar asks him to say his piece that his facade begins to crumble.

he stands too rapidly, and his chair crashes to the floor. he leaves it lying against the cobblestone. he opens his mouth and releases a squeak. heat rushes up the back of his neck, and he clears his throat. from her place in the front pew, constance leans forward, her brows knit tight in concern. his gaze skips to you and, standing now, he can see your face. 

you’re beautiful.

gwilym opens his mouth to speak. “everything you have said about me here today is true, vicar.” there’s a muffled gasp throughout the crowd, but he continues. “i did enjoy an illicit affair with my own pupil and, though i admit i should have perhaps waited to court the girl in question until after her graduation, i will not concede that what we did was wrong.”

the vicar’s hands curl around the pulpit, his face ashen. “have you no shame, sir?” 

“no shame in partaking in what the lord intended us for: communion and fellowship with one another.”

“how dare you!”

gwilym ignores him and returns his eyes to yours amidst the crowd. “if i am guilty of anything, i am guilty of doing as the lord commands us: loving my fellow man—or, in this case, woman. the greatest of these is love, i believe, yes? so yes, i am guilty, but guilty only of loving a woman whole-heartedly.” he pauses and feels the overwhelming urge to laugh bubble in his chest. “i love you, [y/n], and that is the truth. if that is my crime, i will bear it with honor.” 

tears blur his vision as he extends his hand to you. a beat of silence and then—

you stand, your red dress a spotlight among the sea of browns and greens and grays. you step into the aisle, smile, and he notes as you walk forward that his hand does not shake as he waits for you to reach his side.