#britt its time to stop

[fonkeloog]

❤️‍🩹

[astudyincontrasts]

Penance IX (redux)

Priest!Silco x Fem!Reader AU (nsfw)

A/N: Its my birthday! Last year everyone in this fandom and all the friends I have made because of it made today one of the most special birthdays I have had in a long time. I felt more loved and surrounded in celebration with sweet friends then I had in years, and the cup of that happiness has not stopped running over. There are not enough ways to express my love and gratitude for everyone I've had the joy of meeting here.

So this year, I wanted to offer a gift to all of you. Everyone has been exceedingly patient about my writing struggles to continue Penance, so I'd like to give you the alternate Penance XI chapter- blood I have managed to wring from that stone of writers block. The fate of the continuation of this story may still be up in the air until inspiration comes knocking again, but at least I can share this with you today.

To all my fandom friends, and everyone who has been so supportive of this silly little smutty story. You have my heart.

This picks up after Chapter VIII

“Girl, are you listening?”

Sister Marta’s sharply scolding voice brought you back down to earth with a little jerk, blinking as you turned attention back to the tall, thin, sallow faced nun to meet the exasperated gaze of her cataract-hazed grey eyes.

“Sorry Sister.”  You mumbled, casting about for a context clue of whatever it was she might have been speaking about while you’d been off daydreaming about the priest of her parish.  Nothing jumped out at you in the dusty old store room of the basement where you both stood in the dim light of one naked and straining lightbulb still swinging gently upon its cord from the nun’s yank of its chain a moment before.

You hadn’t meant to drift off, but it had been four days since you’d seen Father Silco last and that painful, sweet contrition you’d done across the desk of his office was still fresh in your mind as if it had just happened.  You ought to have been angry at the fact he’d left you such an unsatisfied mess, and the fact he’d spanked you like a wicked child, in spite of his promise he’d never hurt you as they had back in school.

Truly, he had not.  Those sharp little slaps of his open hand were nothing compared to the cruelty of a sharp ruler across knuckles or the backs of thighs delivered by an angry, bitter nun.  You smiled faintly at Sister Marta’s increasingly irritated, withered old face and privately thought perhaps she could teach the Father a few things about corporal punishment.

“The candles, girl!”  Sister Marta exhorted at last, the thin limit of her patience snapping.

Unlike the ‘my child’ diminutive that the other nuns like Sister Eleanor or Sister Angelica were so fond of using with you and other parishioners, Sister Marta had no use for any such hollow faithful endearments.  You hadn’t yet made up your mind if it was an honest gruffness about her you liked, or an insulting mein you did not.  You had the notion it would have hardly mattered to the old woman either way.

She nudged one of the pair of low boxes with the toe of her sensible black shoe from under her long, dark habit.

“Take them to the Father to be blessed and then kindly refill the votive stands.  You can remove the spent ones and toss them.”  She explained, slower this time as if she was speaking to a simpleton.

You bore it with a tight little smile and bent to lift the box on top, surprised by the weight of it, staggering a bit upon rising only to catch a smugly satisfied look on the wrinkled old pucker of a face before Sister Marta reached up to pull the chain of the light and leave you to struggle out the door of the closet and back up the rickety old stairs of the basement in the dark, save for the light from the open door at the top of the steps.

Quietly you wondered if you accidentally fell and broke your neck, if the church would have their endowment free of the burden of your presence that came with it.

Cold comfort, knowing you’d crush the brittle bird-boned old woman climbing up, wheezing softly behind you, and take her with you if you did pitch backward down the steps.

The real trial wasn’t making it to the top of the stairs with the heavy box full of candles, though.  No, that one still lay ahead once you’d reached the top without incident.  The real trial lay in taking that armload into the rectory to face Father Silco once more and ask his blessing.

You’d thought you’d be safe if you came on a Thursday.  You’d avoided the parish planning committee on Monday, as well as your usual Wednesday session with the Father.  You’d hardly doubted you’d be missed at the planning meeting, and Wednesday, well.  You’d chosen to skip it half in a little act of spite, half just to see what might happen.  When no scolding phone call or visit had been forthcoming after shirking both of those commitments the victory felt hollow.  

Turning up to make yourself useful to the nuns on Thursday seemed like a good way to cover for your failed gambit and to keep from looking as if you were avoiding the church.  Foolishly, you’d thought perhaps you’d manage to skim by with just catching a glimpse of Father Silco in passing.  

Unsure if it was because you wanted to see him, or wanted him to see you.

You’d been on rocky footing ever since your little transgression in the confessional, and you knew it.  

The door to the rectory lay open just across from the basement door in the open nave of the large narthex, and you waited until Sister Marta crested the steps behind you and shut the basement door to hobble off heavily upon her cane, before you started the slow walk toward his office.  You didn’t let yourself hesitate in the doorway, and didn’t have a free hand to knock on the open door with anyway.  Instead, summoning all the calm composure you could muster, you simply walked in and paused before his desk.

He sat there, scribbling away in an open book, papers and letters and other books opened in a slightly scattered mess about his work, dark head bent and eyepatch on.  He left you standing there until he’d finished what he was writing. Until your elbows and wrists had begun to ache a little from the weight of the box you held.  Only then he sat back, letting his pen drop upon the desk as elbows found the armrests of his tall-backed chair and he turned the cool glint of that duplicitously calm ocean colored eye upward.

The thin, scarred cut of his mouth tugged a hint of a smile at one corner.

“Lamb.”  He stated mildly, as if unsurprised in the least to see you there and only half interested as to what you might want with him.

Infuriating, how badly you liked hearing that little endearment again.  How flustered it made you feel to get hooked on the edge of that smile.

The box shifted heavily in your hands as you juggled its weight and stepped forward to set it upon his desk.  Damn his paperwork.  

“Sister Marta asked if you’d bless these candles so I could put them in the votive holders.”  Your attempt to keep your voice as even and disaffected as possible only resulted in it coming out far softer than you’d meant for it to be.

Leaning forward a touch, Silco flipped one of the flaps of the cardboard lid back to glance at the candles inside with a little hum.  One by one he folded each of the other three flaps back and rose to his feet.  Elegant fingers stroked absently along the edge of one packaging dividers hashed between the votives within before he plucked a single candle out and set it aside.

Letting that cool eye of his drift shut he made the sign of the cross over the open box of remaining candles before opening both hands before himself, palms cupped upward.

“Lord Jesus Christ, true light that enlightens every man who comes into this world, bestow thy blessing upon these candles, and sanctify them with the light of thy grace. As these tapers burn with visible fire and dispel the darkness of night, so may our hearts with the help of thy grace be enlightened by the invisible fire of the splendor of the Holy Ghost, and may be free from all blindness of sin.”  

His eye opened and fell upon you, and suddenly you were profoundly aware of how you just stood there, staring at the tall, lean lines of him in that dark cassock, soaking in the sound of his voice and very obviously not with your hands folded in reverent prayer or eyes downcast as they ought to have been. Something entirely ungodly flickered at the edge of Father Silco’s mouth as he continued on, holding your immobilized gaze. 

“Clarify the eyes of our minds that we may see what is pleasing to thee and conducive to our salvation. After the dark perils of this life let us be worthy to reach the eternal light.”  His eye closed once more and again he made the sign of the cross over the box as he finished, “Through thee, Jesus Christ, Savior of the world, who in perfect Trinity livest and reignest, God, for ever and ever. Amen.”

His hands lowered, one coming to settle over the glass edge of the candle he’d set to one side, and he considered you as you crossed yourself hastily and reached forward to gather the box back up again.  He stopped you lifting it with a touch of the fingertips to its lid.

“When you are through with these, perhaps you’d come back here?”  Couched so carefully as a question, yet all you could hear was the quiet order in it.  Come back here.  Your head was nodding before he even finished speaking and the thin, dark brow not covered by his eyepatch quirked slightly.

“Yes, Father.” Your correction of yourself came nearly automatically.

Another little humming assent and with a slow blink he removed the touch that had stopped you lifting the box, resuming his seat.  You hoped he’d resume his work as well, but instead he sat there, watching you go, fingertips drumming thoughtfully upon the little glass votive.

You took your time with the candles, mostly because your hands were shaking and the very last thing you wanted to do was drop one of the blessed things and have it shatter across the church floor.  But also, to give you time to scrape yourself together, collect calm and poise.  It was no good, heart hammering anticipation equal parts nervousness and excitement.  The part of yourself that had wanted so badly to keep up this little charade of wishing to avoid him had succumbed without so much as a whimper.

Again thoughts drifted back to Sunday.  To the stinging warmth of skin under his hand, to how he’d teased you to a sodden mess without once slipping fingers beneath the barrier of cotton that had separated you.  To how he’d left you wanting and writhing and nearly in tears.  A perfect act of contrition, indeed.

It was a struggle not to let yourself wonder what next punishment he could possibly have in store for you.

Spent votives replaced with fresh ones, and the box filled with the clatter of the empty candleholders, you made your way back to his office.  Dropping the detritus of other people’s prayers off in the dumpster out back could wait.  You had your own worship to attend to.  

Father Silco’s desk was far less littered with papers when you returned, open books stacked neatly to one side now and everything else put away save for the book he was still writing in.  And that little candle he’d taken.  His dark head didn’t even lift as you set the softly clattering box down upon the settee against the wall.

“Office hours are over.”  He intoned flatly as you wiped palms nervously over the skirt of the dress covering your thighs.  

It froze you, cold like ice water suddenly filling the pit of your belly.  Had he just dismissed you after ordering you to return?  

“...Father?”  It came out a strangled little question and you almost hated how needy the note of your voice made that singular word.

He glanced up and you realized with a start that he’d removed that eyepatch, the hellish orange-red fire of his darkened eye a constant little shock every single time.  Ruined eye and teal flicked from you to the door and back again as if in blatant explanation.

“Lock the door.”  He elaborated.

It should not have been a matter of pride that you managed to turn and do his bidding without falling all over yourself or scrambling in an embarrassing rush of eagerness, and yet.  Far more collected than you felt within, you managed to push the door shut soundlessly and throw the latch, pausing for a moment with your back to him, safely sheltered in the little alcove of the doorway, to breathe through the easing of that sudden cold panic that had surfaced at your earlier misunderstanding.

When you returned to him he’d shut his notebook and set it aside atop the others, and reached to slide that pilfered votive candle before himself as he watched you sidle up to his desk.  Watched you stop, smooth the skirt of your dress only to fist it again in fitful hands, watched the tight little press of thighs as he drew out the silence.

“Do you know what these are called?”  He asked, nudging the little candle forward with the press of one elegant fingertip before rising from his seat.

“Devotionaries.”  You answered, and watched him cross to the wall to the right of you, to a tall coat stand that stood near the door to his quarters.  

“Very good.”  

A child could have answered that question, but it did not stop the little smile of pleasure that tugged at the corners of your mouth.  His praise as euphoric as a drug and twice as addictive, even for the smallest of successes.

Your mouth went dry however, as he turned profile to you, tugged a button or two open upon the throat of his cassock, and then turned his back to undo the rest before shrugging out of the long, dark cloth to hang it upon the coat stand.  The black fabric fell in a long and shapeless mass without him, hem puddling ever so slightly on the floor.  

It put you in mind of Peter Pan hanging up his shadow, or it would have done, had you not been so preoccupied with the shape of him divested of the dark habit.  Of that petulant posture and taut lovely lines, proud set of shoulders and careless, dangerous beauty in how he moved.  It was patently unfair that a man sporting licks of sliver at his temples and etched crows feet at the outset edges of his eye should have the lithe shape of youth the way he did.  

Devoid of the cassock, he was left instead in the black roman-collared linen shirt and dark, sharply pleated trousers he wore beneath. 

He turned back to you and came wandering back toward the desk, unbuttoning the cuffs at his wrists.

“Do you have a lighter?”  The question was so casual it caught you off guard and you had to shake your head, tugging at the pocketless skirt of your dress on either side of thighs by way of explanation.  

His mouth twisted the merest fraction of a smile as he tucked the cuff of one of his sleeves back, began rolling it neatly toward his elbow.  Lean hips turned a fraction as he stepped closer.

“Left pocket.”  He instructed, helpfully.

Hesitation grasped you but a moment before you inched forward, stepped into his space and paused.  Glancing upward, you found his attention fixed upon meticulously still folding his sleeves back, crisp turn by turn.  The focus of those mismatched eyes not even flickering to you, to how every fine hair upon your bare arms stood on end like they were aching toward him, toward that magnetic draw of snapping static thrumming in the air between you both.

Easing half behind him, you reached for the little gap of the pocket and slowly slid fingers into the warmth of its silken confines.  Over the bone of his hip and down, wrist deep until you hit the bottom of the pocket and touched the smooth, rectangular shape of the lighter within.  Metal heated to body temperature from where it nestled.  

Fingers curled around it before you stopped.  Let it go, and moved just a little closer, pressed fingers flat to that join between hip and thigh his pocket lay against.  Pushed the delve of that pocket just a little deeper and felt his stomach tense beneath your fingertips as your cheek brushed the outside of his upper arm.

“The lighter, lamb.  If you please.”  His tone was darkly amused at least, though if you kept pushing your luck it would be at your own cost.  That much was clear.

You scooped up the lighter once more, but withdrew your hand slow, knuckles grazing softly along the cut of muscle you could feel running from his hip inward and down.  Air felt unwelcomely cold against your skin once you pulled your hand free, and before you could step back, he moved away for you.  Walked away to resume his seat behind the desk as he finished doing up his other cuff to just below his right elbow.

A small push of his foot made space between the seat and the desk, and you only needed the flick of his eyes from you to the room he’d made to set you in motion to come and stand before him, his lighter clenched tight in your closed fist, unwilling to relinquish the little bit of his heat you held in your palm.

Gazing up at you, his attention licked over the details of your dress, your posture, your hesitant composure, as he tugged at the give of trousers a little at the bend of thigh and hip and settled himself more comfortably.

“You weren’t here yesterday.”  He observed as he relaxed back against the tall chair, a flicker of a blink over that oceanic eye.  You held your tongue and his gaze fell to the candle upon the desk just beside where you stood, and you wondered if your absence had made him angry, filled him with regret, or perhaps just left him lonesome.  You wished there was a way to tell, any little crack in that stoic mask of scarred features and sharpness to let the truth of what he was thinking seep out.  Nothing there though but that calculating, penetrating gaze and a subtle shrug of broad, lean shoulders,  “I suppose we might make up for lost time, then.  Contrition may be an important facet of faith, but so is devotion.”

He reached forward to scoop into fingers the loose end of the bow that tied the wrap of your dress shut beside your waist.  His good eye narrowed, the fine lines of crowsfoot deepening.  He’d seen that dress before, yes– the same one you’d worn to catch him by surprise in the confessional.  

You allowed yourself the most innocent little smile you could manage when those mismatched eyes flicked sharply to your face, and willed breath to stay even, slow, no matter how skin had begun to sing his name in soft coursing waves of prickling goosebumps.

“I don’t suppose you have your rosary?”  He asked archly, letting the ribbon of the bow drop from his open hand as he sat back once more.

He’d every right to ask it of you so dryly, given your lack of pockets.  And you had every right to feel as smug as you did when you lifted a hand, reached into the low, criss-crossed neckline of your dress and drew out the strand of little purple beads from the nestle of your bra.  

The war between shock, dark delight, the struggle to keep his poker face, and perhaps even a hint of righteous outrage that overtook the sharply handsome ruin of his features was nothing short of spectacular.  You’d replay it, over and over again at night.  Reveling in how well you toppled the high and mighty cold ivory pillar he so often perched upon.

Out and out you drew the beads until the little cross popped free and the rosary hung, swinging, upon your forefinger.

His hand, resting upon his knee, tightened, fingers twitching slightly, before it stilled, then lifted, palm open in demand.

You dropped that little holy object into his hand and watched his fist close around it, knowing full well he now held a little piece of your heat as surely as you held his within your other hand.  There was a slight softening to the creases where thin brows met over that sharp nose that told you he felt it, too.

“Good girl.”  He murmured, and the flush that crept up to warm your ears was nearly as delicious as the thrill that both chased up your spine and tugged at the backs of your knees to fold, to kneel.  You rested the heel of your palm upon the desk behind you and let it take your weight so that you did not cave.

By the time he turned his face back up to you he’d mastered his expression once more, beatific calm singed at its hard edges.

“Turn around,”  He instructed, making the simple order sound heavy, dangerous.  Bringing thighs together from their slight sprawl, he patted the top of one, “Have a seat.”

Heart thudded hard in your ears as you did as you were bade, turning to sink onto his lap carefully, perched upon his knees.  He sucked chipped teeth softly at it.

“Have a seat,”  That grit velvet voice scolded gently from behind you as both his hands curled about your waist and urged you backward, until you sat comfortably fully upon him, back fitted to his front.  

A hand upon your hip skimmed over stomach and waist, back to the bow of your dress.

“Why do we say devotions?”  He asked, and you could feel the question purring through his chest against your back as he claimed the thick ribbon of the bow and tugged.  The knot gave with no resistance, and the part of it he held served nicely to pull the cross of your dress open, just enough to part the skirt of it and leave you bare from stomach to thighs.  

The shudder that overtook you was sweet and slow, wringing from core to limbs, leaving a little shivering tingle rising over scalp and curling toes, that familiar little throbbing ache back with a hot and hungry vengeance.  Hips shifted in your seat as his fingertips ghosted skin to part fabric and push it aside, leaving your lower half bare save for the dark, smooth satin of underwear in the same shade of inky black as his habit.

“To remember the dead?”  You chanced, feeling halfway there yourself, pulse racing erratically.

“Sometimes,” He agreed, and you swore you felt the whisper of scarred lips at your neck.  Certainly felt the wash of warm breath plume over skin, “More generally devotions are an act of prayer or private worship.  Remembrance is one act, as are service, reflection, beseeching, prostration… your rosary, for example, is considered a devotion.”

His hands slid along your arms, touch warm, bringing your hands together to press in prayer before he began to wind the beaded strings around your wrists again to bind them together.

“I thought that was a penance.”  You exhaled in a shuddering little rasp.

“It can be, but not today.”  The tip of his sharp nose drew a long, slow line against the rise of your spine, above the neckline of your dress between shoulder blades and to the base of your skull, “although that can be a devotion too.”

The heel of his foot caught the floor and pulled the seat with you both in it forward towards his desk, so that he could reach around you and lift the candle from where it sat before pushing you both back again.  He held the votive before you.

“Light it,” he asked, free arm curling about you, fingers trailing the soft of your stomach from navel on down, “I owe you a devotion, lamb.”

Fingers bound in prayer fumbled with the thick golden rectangle of the lighter as you struggled not to simply sink back against him with a little shiver and beg that he stroke that little path across vulnerable skin once more.  A flick of your thumb sent the hinged lid open and the circular little flint struck on the second attempt, hot flame bursting to life.  Silco turned the candle so that you could light it and then pulled it away as you flicked the lighter shut and slipped it back between folded hands.

“Do you know the devotional prayer?” He asked, hand holding the candle coming to settle upon an armrest as his lap shifted beneath you, lean legs pressing together beneath your own and lifting before spreading wide, the hook of his knees beneath your thighs opening them in an indecent slow splay.  

It set you writhing; the kissing chill of the air of the room contrasting sharply with the heat of him beneath you, so very bare, bound in his lap, spread open like an invitation.  The door was locked, yes, you’d made sure of it but what if you were wrong?  What if someone had a key?  There’d be no explanation for the position you found yourself in, no way to hide.

The thrill of that little licking fear warred with the light caress of his free hand as it curled over the top of one thigh and smoothed toward your knee, only to hook it better in its drape over his own before it began the slow teasing, lazy circles that drew it back toward the little throbbing want hidden beneath the black satin gusset of thin panties.

“Bare legs.”  He murmured, and you gave another little squirm, folded hands pressing together tighter.  You’d not worn what you were coming to suspect was his favorite item of your clothing because you’d not expected to see him, and also to spite him if you did.  The move seemed to have backfired spectacularly.  When you had no excuse or answer, Father Silco simply carried on, a note of pleased amusement in his tone, “The prayer?”

“N-no.  That is, no I don’t know it.”

“Hmn.”  His little hum of disapproval at the gaps still existing in your liturgical knowledge colored your cheeks, and you could only hope that from his position he could not see the frustration that joined the embarrassment upon your face.  

You watched him lift the candle slowly from where he’d held it at your side, bring it to hover over your open lap.  His hand upon your thigh stilled its toying little strokes and instead closed in a taut grip of your leg, soft skin denting tenderly beneath his fingers.

“That’s alright,” he reassured you quietly, and you could hear the dark little smile in it, “This is my devotion anyhow.”

The flickering little candle he held hovering before you began to tilt, turn, and the inward gasp of breath caught in your throat as the clear melted wax welled at the lip of the red glass before spilling over, heat spattering in a little drip against the sensitive skin of your knee.  

He paused, and you could feel him shift under your restless hips, feel the little roll of his own and the way his breath strained ever so slightly for just a moment.

“Does that hurt?”  Low and velvet that voice mumbled up against the skin behind the fold of your ear and again he tipped a little burning drop of wax onto waiting skin.  

Your knee jumped the barest fraction, reflexive little jerk at the soft scalding that faded quickly into gentle warmth, and you nodded, folded hands pressing the knuckles of forefingers tight to your lips.

“A little.”  You breathed, raggedly.

“Enough to stop?”  He pressed, and the soft moan of a sigh that broke from you when the warmth of his mouth touched to the hard thrum of your pulse answered well enough for you before your shattered little ‘no’ eked out.

His fingers had strayed far up the leg they’d been casually toying across, toward the heat that he had to feel absolutely radiating from the apex of thighs.  One long forefinger drew a tracing line around the triangle of slippery black satin, up both edges and across your lower stomach slowly.

Air seized in your throat as his fingertips plucked at the smooth waistband.

“Lord, may this candle which I light illuminate all my difficulties and decisions.”  Silco began, waiting to feel the tension stringing through you begin to ease before he spilled another dollop of wax, and then a second and third a bit further up each time.  The soft sting of it had you writhing, the little shock of burning heat fading to a warm tickle as the wax rolled down in heavy drips, cooling against your skin.

Behind you, Silco’s breath caught in a little huff once more, a soft whistle between clenched chipped teeth on the inhale.

“May this candle be a fire,”  He continued after a beat, spreading the warm little shocks and sudden pinching stings to the tender inner thigh of your other leg, “that burns away all my pride, selfishness…” 

Writhing and shifting, you struggled in his lap, not wanting to escape yet fighting the way every fibre of you recoiled from the spattering searing sting of the wax in a reflexive, uncontrollable urge.  Several of these squirming jerks of your hips and the hand teasing at the edge of your panties caught suddenly in a taut cup between your legs as you felt Silco’s own hips give a hard little shove upward.  

Stilling breathlessly, he kept you waiting a long moment while he seemed to struggle to master himself, the fingers cupping you picking up an almost absent little up and down stroke over the satin covering the shape of your sex, unerringly finding the cleft between lips.  

Cooling wax flexed and tugged at skin as you tried to spread a bit further for him, to press into his touch, scared if you were to beg for more with words that it might stop the tease entirely, as it had the last time he’d had his hand between your thighs.  God, how he’d tormented you, brought you so terribly close… Hips rolled hard and slow against him in retaliation as you relived your humiliation.

As if reading your mind, his touch skimmed higher, and fingertips tucked themselves beneath the satin confines of the upper edge of panties, teasing little strokes at skin that tensed and trembled beneath his touch before they began to slip lower, “and all my other sins.” 

Wax was flowing freely, dripping to punctuate each word, taking his sweet time as you wriggled and bucked in his lap, swallowing little gasps and hisses as your skin sang.

At least one shift of your hips must have caught him just right because for a moment you could hear him choke on his words, feel him tense beneath you again.  Determined to give as good as you got you did it again and felt the rush of his breath fan against your neck.

His free hand tensed where it lay, fingertips so tremulously close to the cleft of lips, and delved to catch a second taut grip over the shape of your bare sex.  The sudden hard grasp of naked contact had you spiraling, arching hard back against him.  He was hard beneath you, you could feel it, and caught between his hand and that hint of hardness digging into the soft of your bottom you rocked slowly, only to be rewarded with a long pour of hot wax up your thigh that turned the gentle motion of hips to a wild little ride.

“May this candle be a flame,” He continued, and the broken rasp of his voice was nearly, nearly as sweet as the single slow caress of his finger that found the slick part of your folds and pressed between slippery skin to drag upward.  Unerringly found the proud, eager little swell of your clit and sent your lower back into a hard strung arch with one little nudge, “that warms my heart and incites me to love.”  He concluded, raggedly, and you swore you felt the graze of chipped teeth scrape over your shoulder.

Riding the light touch of his fingertip and behind you, the hard press of his cock through his pants and your open dress, you sprawled redolently back against him, let your neck find a home in a comfortable arch over his shoulder before turning your head, nestling forehead in the hollow of his throat before shifting to tuck a begging little kiss to the sharp of his jaw.

“Amen.”  You finished for him, and felt the sting of wax hit your hip and then your stomach that made you hiss and buck hips once more.  Your reward a groan of breath from him and another lingering stroke of his fingertips through soaked folds to flick caressingly at the sweet throbbing ache of your clit.

How long, how many bitter nights now had you wished for this, how many feverish and filthy dreams had you endured, just longing to feel his bare touch?  It had become so much worse after your last meeting, all that sharp longing redoubled after his heartless punishing teasing.

No more, no more thin cotton or sheer lace or anything at all between his touch and you.  The heat of his hand was nothing to the splashes of searing wax you’d endured, yet it was so much sweeter.  That little flicking touch came ghosting over the sensitive little nub of your clit and you writhed unashamedly, trying every which way to force his touch more, closer, deeper.

The prayer was far too short for your liking.  What good were hollow words meant to convey something as strong and fervent an ideal as devotion if they were over in mere minutes?  Grumbling a little whinging protest you pushed back against him with a hard roll of hips.

“Father…” You objected, voice cracked with pleading.

“Who?”  The grit dark velvet of his voice asked at your ear, delighted and tormented as the devil himself.

“Daddy.”  The word was out before you could even think it, like it teetered perpetually on the edge of your teeth ever since the first time he prised it out of you,  “P-please, please, daddy…”

The sharp blade of his nose shoved hard behind your ear, his ragged breathing a hushed tickling whuffle from narrow nostrils, and any further pleading you were on the verge of was stifled with a squealed little gasp as he spread the sodden petals of your pussy with the splay of three fingers, and the center one of those long, elegant digits found its way down between slicking folds, delving deep into the welcoming clenching grip of your want… only to withdraw his entire hand in a long, slow drag, tracing a line of accusatory wet all the way up to the dip of your navel.

It left you sobbing tearlessly, gasping and gulping and lifting hips in a wordless eagerness that only earned you another splattering of scalding wax across the strain of thighs.

Father Silco ignored your plight as steadfastly as any man of the cloth could ignore temptation, and began a new prayer.

“Earnestly I seek you;

I thirst for you,

    my whole being longs for you,

in a dry and parched land

    where there is no water.”

The psalm he recited washed over you like a slow caress while you squirmed fitfully on his lap and watched his hand lift, middle finger glossed to its base with your wet.  Vanishing in your periphery, the sound of him sucking that long digit thoughtfully clean acted perfect punctuation to the sacrilege of his misappropriated prayer.  

Guilt spiced the edge of half-denied pleasure and soft pain.  As his hand slid back down your skin and toward the clenching, shivering yearning of your core, you’d never felt so debased, so deeply wicked and wrong.  Burning wax hit your thigh once more in heavy, rolling drops and you arched, straining, hissing between clenched teeth; become more serpent in the garden of Eden than Eve.

“I have seen you in the sanctuary

    and beheld your power and your glory.

Because your love is better than life,

    my lips will glorify you.”

He teased the upper edge of soaked panties once more, tracing the pucker of their hem, slipping fingertips just beneath them, savoring the softness of skin and the way the taut of your stomach quivered beneath his touch.  Desire welled like a dark stone filling your throat, heart coated in the sticky sap of filthy blasphemous sin as his scarred mouth tickled at the hook of your jaw and tender line of your throat.  This was wrong, so wrong, so deliciously perfectly throbbingly wrong.

Heat flooded your face as you crushed the press of prayer folded hands to your forehead, eyes shut tight against the rushing high of mortifying lust.  Forbidden, taboo, illicit; whatever you wanted to call that gut-deep and undisputed knowledge that this was unforgivably wrong, it excited you in a way nothing else ever had.

He could see it in you, you knew he could.  He saw how horrible your deepest darkest thoughts could be and he just kept dragging them out into the light, smiling as he let you dirty yourself with the honesty of your predilections.  

The line of his arm tightened against your side as he reached to slip fingers back into your heat, another lazy circling tease to against clit that left you wrung out and breathless before he delved back inside of you and let you ride the slow pumping slide of one long finger.

“I will praise you as long as I live,

    and in your name I will lift up my hands.

 I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods;

    with singing lips my mouth will praise you.”

Your head rocked as he butted his forehead gently to your temple, words a warm, seeping whisper at your cheek, that stern, gravel worn seduction of his voice undoing you, taking you apart at the seams until you felt sure you’d fall open there in his lap like a ragdoll with the sin-like sawdust spilled out.

Inside of you, he was inside of you- and just that knowledge, just the wretchedly wonderful wrongness of it made the whole of you jerk in a taut little shiver of surrender.  That slender artful finger kept up its torment like he had no notion of your mortal struggle; curling, thrusting, buried deep.  It had you in a tailspin, hips working devoid of conscious thought, all sensation dialed down to the hard, hot, fluttering building to a crescendo within.  Greed, gluttony, lust… were they called deadly sins because you felt fit to die if you did not satisfy each one right this moment?  

The stinging pain of the wax he kept dripping in erratic little patterns jerked you from the sinking, seeping pit of ecstatic bliss over and over again, a cruel and wonderful see-saw that kept you gripping white-knuckled on the sharp edge of insensible pleasure.

“On my bed I remember you;

    I think of you through the watches of the night.

Because you are my help,

    I sing in the shadow of your wings.

I cling to you;

    your right hand upholds me.”

His right hand was all that stood between you and heaven; the grinding press of the heel of his palm to the throb of your clit, the smooth slow fucking his single finger was giving you, all of it an overwhelming agony of delight but just shy of what you needed to crest the rising wave of tense bliss he was intent on drowning you with.

Head tossed back, you groaned that little, broken, sordid version of his holy title once more, hands bound at the wrists with your rosary clenched in fervent prayer to your chest that he’d let you come, please God just let you come... 

And with that one word, beneath you Father Silco went suddenly still and rigid, something like a strangled gasp caught in his throat as hips pinned under your writhing ones jerked their own stilted thrust upward… and held for a long and breathless moment before you felt him sag with a rushing, panting release.  His hand cupped to you had gone quite still, and you could feel the ragged rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Had he… had he just…?  You shifted hips experimentally and heard him hiss a wordless scolding as his hand gripped the shape of your pussy hard.  Stilling obediently, you had to struggle not to smile sinful bliss.  

Just a little touch of you combined with the friction of your hips working in his lap and he’d cum those dark, well tailored pants of his.

In spite of being robbed of your own relief, for the moment you felt nothing but powerful, smug and heady with the evidence of how your infatuation was not one-sided, just as you had in the confessional, and it made you foolishly proud.

Proud, right up to the point when he withdrew his finger from within you and in the space of a half second, just before your mouth could open in complaint, caught a little pinch of your clit between thumb and middle finger only to assault that overstimulated cluster of slick nerves with his forefinger in such lashing that you pitched clean into the waiting arms of your release.  

It was hard and fast, unmerciful, the lovely strain nearly ruined by how long he’d kept you waiting and how hard he’d teased you up to it.  

“Amen.”  He was purring in your ear, voice near drowned out by the hard thrumming pound of blood rushing in your brain.  Thighs shivered in their hook over top of his own, gone weak as every ounce of tension bled out of you, leaving you lolling, warmly pliant and sighing devoutness far more fervent than any stale saint could have possibly understood. 

There was a little click of glass as he set the remains of the candle back upon his desk and turned your face toward himself where your head lay back upon his shoulder.  Fingers traced the curve of your cheek, and when he licked at the open part of your lips the faint taste of yourself mingled with him lingered.  Bless me father, for I have sinned.  

Profane and perfect, you felt his smile stretch against your mouth.  

“Do you doubt my devotion, lamb?”  He asked quietly, hands smoothing away the cooled and peeling wax in long strokes that left gently welted and red splotched skin stinging sweetly.  

Your head shook infinitesimally, not wanting to break the scant contact of his mouth to your own.

“Do you pray for me, Father?”  The urge to know felt crushing, the weight of guilt creeping in to gnaw at the edges of sordid bliss.

“Oh lamb.  You’re the only thing I pray for anymore.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 3: The House Of Soup, Salad, And Breadsticks]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, Nintendo, smoking, kids, parenthood, all-you-can-eat breadsticks, wedding planning, mentions of birth trauma and abortion, a brief Greek lesson, Audi Quattros have very tiny back seats.

Word Count: 9k (someone take this laptop away from me!! I am out of control!!).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @eltherevirr @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @aemonddtargaryen @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1

Thank you so much for your patience and encouragement, I was really not doing well for a while but all your kind comments meant the world to me!!! I don't know when Chapter 4 will be ready, but hopefully early next week. My posting schedule is super wonky now. We'll get back to regular Sunday updates eventually, besties. 🥰🧁

It’s Thursday, late-morning, sunlight bending in through the open windows and a flock of blue-winged teals toddling through the backyard on their clumsy webbed feet. From the little pink Panasonic boombox pipes Whitesnake’s Here I Go Again. Your steps as you dart around the kitchen are airy and effortless; you’re humming without realizing that you are. You can’t seem to stop watching the clock, the second hand ticking endlessly, revolving like a moon around its planet. Olive Garden tonight! Olive Garden with Aemond!

“Knock knock?” your guest ventures tentatively as the front door creaks. You hear her heels click on the ever-so-slightly inclined floor and the bright jangling of keys and bracelets. Her accent does not surprise you; you were the one who answered the phone when she called in a panic yesterday.

Jade Dragon is a European company. I shouldn’t be shocked that Brits are descending upon Napoleonville.

You greet her from the kitchen, sight unseen: “Hi! Come on in!” Amir rushes over to set the very last cupcake on the glass serving tray, key lime with cream cheese frosting peppered with zest like flecks of emeralds. You have scrubbed the counter meticulously to make a space for your guest to do her cake tasting. There is an open wooden barstool for her, a yellow legal pad for you to jot down her selections. She steps into the kitchen—click click click, jangle jangle—and she is a stranger, surely, and yet something about her face strikes you as familiar.

“I really must thank you again,” the woman says, wringing her pinkish little hands, glittering with rings; she’s flushed all over from the heat, which she isn’t used to. She wears what for many women would be their Sunday Best: a modest organza dress patterned with sunflowers, gold jewelry and heels, and (oddly) a khaki overcoat that runs to her knees. Her hair hangs in thick, glossy, auburn waves. She smells like perfume, amber and roses, a brand you don’t recognize. “I was so distressed when I called, I must have sounded like a madwoman. It’s all just been so fraught. I know this is very last-minute, and I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you making time to see me today. I’m sure you’re very busy.”

“We are delighted to help!” Amir croons warmly as he swoops in to take her coat, which she surrenders with some bewilderment, her large dark eyes clever but innately vulnerable, anxious. Again, you cannot shake the sense that you have met her before. Amir’s hands sweep down the overcoat as he peeks at the tag inside, and he mouths to you, grinning, eyebrows raised above the tortoiseshell rims of his glasses: Christian Dior! He’s delighted to help this lady, sure; but he’s far more enthusiastic about the prospect of squirreling away more cash for his imminent exodus to San Francisco. Amir hangs the coat in the tiny living room closet and then goes to the stovetop to check on the Kentucky butter cookies that are cooling there.

“Amir and I love baking for any occasion related to a wedding. Everyone is cheerful and excited…and hungry too, of course!” You give your guest a reassuring smile and wave her over to the counter. She’s still tormenting her own hands, still glancing uncertainly around the kitchen. Amir is using a spatula to transfer the cookies from the baking sheet to a cake plate. “Remind me, ma’am, on the phone you said your name was…Allison?”

“Alicent,” she corrects, taking a seat on the barstool beside you and clutching a camel-colored leather purse. She hesitates before she adds: “Targaryen.”

Targaryen?! Jade Dragon?! You gawk at her. Amir drops a Kentucky butter cookie on the floor. You exchange a glance with him and can practically see the bills flitting through his mind: Washington, Lincoln, Hamilton, Jackson, Franklin.

“Please don’t make any fuss on my account,” Alicent pleads with those sleek, imploring eyes. “I’m just a customer, just an ordinary customer—”

“A VIP customer!” Amir says, beaming. He won’t work on their rigs, but he’ll take their money in a heartbeat. He considers it compensation for the inevitable environmental catastrophe, for the souls of all the places their dynasty bleeds dry.

“Ma’am…Alicent…Mrs. Targaryen…” you sputter. “What on earth brought you here?”

“My son is getting married.” She squeezes her eyes shut, an infinitesimal frustration, a self-reproach. “Our son, I mean. Viserys and I, our son is getting married, and we’re hosting an engagement party for him and his fiancée this Saturday, as I mentioned when I called. We had arranged to have caterers fly in, but now there’s some sort of visa problem and they won’t be able to make it in time. I found a company based out of New Orleans that is very well thought of for hors d’oeuvre and lunch, but the cakes I sampled…well…they left a lot to be desired. I was desperate, I tell you, utterly bereft, you know we have family and friends and all these industry representatives who will be in attendance, photographers, journalists, and I can’t ruin it, I can’t embarrass the happy couple, it’s not as if people get more than one chance at a wedding!”

Amir rolls his eyes at you from across the kitchen. Listen to this idiot, he means.

“But then I asked around town, and I got the same recommendation over and over again,” Alicent tells you, smiling now. “Everyone said that I just had to stop by Hummingbird Bakery.”

And now you know exactly where you recognize her from. She looks so much like the drunk man from the holding cell; his hair was blonde and his eyes were that sad swirling blue, but nonetheless he was a Targaryen the same as Alicent, and they share so much of the same bones, blood, innate defenselessness. That boy is getting married? His poor goddamn bride. “Well I am thrilled that you found your way to us, Mrs. Alicent Targaryen. And I think you’ll taste at least a few cakes that you’d be proud to serve at the engagement party.”

“And you can have them ready by Saturday?” Alicent asks fretfully.

“Absolutely.” You won’t sleep much between now and then, but the business matters more. And if you can recruit the Targaryens and some of their associates as regular customers…well, you might actually be able to start saving up for that new house Aemond asked you about on the night you met. You gesture to the glass tray on the counter. “Amir and I have baked twelve cupcakes for you to sample today. I’ll write up a list of the flavors you like best, and we can make any customizations. You can choose one flavor and have multiple cakes made, or four cakes in four different flavors, or any other arrangement, you just let me know and we’ll see that your wishes are granted.”

“These are all for me?!” Alicent says, surveying the cupcakes.

“Yes ma’am. Vanilla bean, triple chocolate, coconut, red velvet, carrot, white chocolate raspberry, key lime, lemon, peanut brittle, cherry chocolate chip, blueberry jam and cream cheese, and hummingbird. But don’t get overwhelmed, you only have to eat one bite of each.”

“And whatever you don’t finish we’ll let Cadi throw to the gator,” Amir says.

“Gator?” Alicent is alarmed.

“She lives in the tree row,” you explain. “She doesn’t bother anyone.” And you almost add: Except Aemond, of course. He hates her.

“Oh. Fascinating.” Alicent blinks a few times. “And who is Cadi?”

“My daughter. She’s ten, she’s at school. She’s…” You glance at the clock. “Learning about fractions and decimals at the moment.”

“How wonderful! And what does your husband do for work?”

“Terrorism,” Amir says, and Alicent Targaryen’s jaw drops.

“He’s the sheriff of Assumption Parish,” you swiftly amend. “But he’s my ex-husband now.”

Alicent doesn’t know how to reply. She stares at the cupcakes instead of at you. After several long, awkward seconds, she says: “My, do these look delicious! Where should I start?”

“Wherever you’d like.”

“This one is hummingbird cake, you said?” She picks it up. Her hands are fidgety; she doesn’t seem to ever stop moving. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Did you name the bakery after it, or did you name the cake after the bakery?”

“Oh no, the cake existed first. It’s been popular around here since…what, Amir? The 60s? Something like that. My mom taught me how to make it when I was seventeen. Hummingbird cake was my favorite dessert for years.”

“It’s from Jamaica originally,” Amir notes. The Kentucky butter cookies are displayed on the kitchen table, and now he’s beginning to peel vivid green Granny Smith apples for dumplings.

“It has bananas, pineapple, cinnamon, pecans…”

“Mmm!” Alicent sighs as she takes a bite. “Oh, it’s fantastic! The different fruits add such dimension of flavor! And the texture too, so interesting. Very substantial, almost like a fruitcake. Yes, I think that is a strong contender.” She continues on to the next cupcake. As she nibbles on each one, she chats nervously, almost compulsively. “She’s a darling girl. Woman, I mean. My future daughter-in-law.”

You get up to pour Alicent a glass of sweet tea. “What’s her name?” you ask politely. You are actively trying not to let your thoughts drift to Olive Garden: soup, salad, breadsticks, Aemond licking blood-red marinara sauce from his lips as he smirks at you from across the table, acting like he doesn’t want to be there.

“Christabel.” Alicent sets down the carrot cupcake, opens her purse, and digs through her wallet for a photograph. It’s small and rectangular, and the girl trapped inside the frame—a girl, truly, if she’s twenty you’ll eat your white denim shorts—looks like Teri Copley: billowing platinum hair, squarish jaw, pink cheeks and red lips, large dollish blue eyes. She reminds you of Barbie; she reminds you of something that belongs in a box on a shelf somewhere. “Her father is a marquess.”

“She’s gorgeous! And is that…is that a job…?”

“It’s a title,” Alicent Targaryen says with a demure, apologetic smile as she tucks the photo back into her wallet. She has spoken of things she should have known were above you. “Like a duke or a baron. Christabel is from a noble family back in the United Kingdom. Milford Haven, more specifically.”

Amir gasps, elated, waving his paring knife around in the air. “She’s just like Princess Diana!”

“She’s very young,” Alicent says, a bit wearily. She takes a bite of the lemon cupcake. “But then again, I was even younger when I got married, seventeen. That’s just the way it was back then. None of my friends even thought of going off to school for years and years, or playing the field, or getting a serious job. In our eyes, there were no other options. You found a good man from an acceptable family and you settled down and started having babies.” Alicent sips her sweet tea, ice jangling in the frosted glass. “Oh, that’s dreadful! Cold tea!” She shudders. “I suppose that’s how you all keep from getting heatstroke down here. Cold drinks and no clothes.”

“Sorry.” You glance self-consciously down at your shorts.

“No no, it’s quite alright. I’m in your jungle, I can’t expect you to conform to my idiosyncrasies.” This is a word you don’t know, although you try not to show it. Then Alicent winks. “Now, if you ever find yourself across the pond…”

I’ll never visit another country. Nevertheless, you chuckle as Alicent expects you to. “I understand what you mean about not having options. I got married at seventeen too.”

“Did you?” she asks, somber now. Her large umber eyes are uneasy, searching.

“Yeah. I was way too young. And unfortunately, the only way to know you’re too young is to not be young anymore. And by then you’ve already made such a mess of things.”

Amir looks over at you; this is not recruiting-a-customer conversation. Alicent nods, slow and thoughtful, studying you with those vast eyes like a dark mirror image of that Targaryen boy in the holding cell. She nibbles on the peanut brittle cupcake to avoid having to respond.

You pivot. “How many children do you have?”

Now Alicent brightens. “Four.”

“That many! I can’t even imagine. They must bring you so much joy.”

“In between the chaos, yes,” Alicent says, sampling the key lime cupcake. “Daeron is my youngest, he’s so sweet-natured, so encouraging, always offering to help with my projects around the house. He never complains. He hasn’t been gobbled up by the company yet. My only criticism is his obsession with his godawful parrot. I’d have it murdered, but tragically Daeron already knows it’s supposed to live 50 years. Helaena reads a lot—about gardens and insects and other planets, all sorts of things I can’t make heads or tails of—but she’s kind and gentle, and she still lets me fix her hair and take her shopping once in a while.” You think, smiling: If I tried to touch Cadi’s hair, I think she’d claw my face off. “And then my son who’s getting married—”

The front door bangs open and heavy footsteps race across the floor. He appears in the kitchen: greased-back black hair, a single gold earring, tan skin, white suit, a bold Hawaiian shirt—sapphire blue water, green palm trees, hot pink flamingos—underneath. He’s breathing heavily and his forehead gleams with perspiration. Alicent appears stunned to see him.

“Criston? What’s wrong? I said you could wait in the Lexus.”

Amir asks the man: “You’ve been in the car this whole time?”

“Don’t feel too bad for me. The Lexus has air conditioning.” The man, Criston, turns back to Alicent. “There’s a lizard out there!”

Amir sighs impatiently. “It’s a gator. And she’s perfectly harmless.”

“I just watched her maul a duck to death! There’s blood all over the grass!”

Amir is unfazed. “To humans, I mean.” He resumes peeling apples.

You tell Amir glumly: “I might have to get Willis to shoot her.”

“Only if it’s a murder-suicide.”

“Criston, help me choose,” Alicent says. She has a gift for ignoring unpleasantness, you’re beginning to notice. “I suddenly feel so overwhelmed.”

He walks over to the counter and begins taking a hefty bite out of each cupcake, eating after Alicent without any trepidation. They confer in murmurs, nods, shrugs, their own language that is threaded with a distinct and curious familiarity. Alicent catches you observing.

“He’s my bodyguard,” she explains hastily, then titters. “And my personal assistant, and my driver…”

“And your babysitter,” Criston says, grinning, crumbs all over his face.

“Yes, they never seem to outgrow the need for that, do they?” Then Alicent addresses you. “Could you manage to have six cakes ready by Saturday, do you think? They’re all so lovely. I don’t think I can narrow it down to less than that.”

Amir casts you a petrified glance. Notwithstanding that, you reply: “I suppose we can handle six.”

“Brilliant.” And you think: Aemond uses that word a lot too. “Then we’d like one vanilla, one chocolate, one blueberry, one coconut, and one hummingbird. And a key lime. I just adore the color, don’t you? A gorgeous, vivid green. It reminds me of the moors back home.”

“Yes ma’am.” You scribble her order down on your legal pad.

“And how much do your cakes cost?”

“$10 each,” Amir tells her.

“$10!” Alicent exclaims, looking at Criston. “Can you believe that? We’re certainly not in Knightsbridge anymore.” She takes $60 out of her wallet and hands it to you. “And you can deliver it to the house if I leave you an address? Around noon on Saturday?”

“Of course, no problem.”

Alicent gives you an address to add to your notes—you don’t recognize the street name, it must be in a new development—and then checks the clock on the wall. “Oh, is that right?! Christabel will be landing at the airport any minute. I’ve got to rush back to the house to make sure everything is ready for her. I can’t be a subpar host.”

“Where’s your coat, Ali?” Criston asks.

“In that closet over there.”

Criston fetches her coat and drapes it over her shoulders. Amir flashes you a salacious smirk. You wiggle your eyebrows back.

As Alicent and Criston cross the kitchen towards the living room and the front door, they pause by the table where an assortment of baked goods, different every day, is displayed for walk-in customers. Criston points to a cake plate piled high with Rice Krispie Treats. “You know who likes those,” he says softly.

“They’re very popular!” Amir announces, ever the salesman. “And we can make them with any kind of cereal you could imagine. Fruity Pebbles, Frosted Flakes, Cocoa Puffs…”

Alicent says, a bit randomly: “Cap’n Crunch?”

Amir doesn’t hesitate. “Absolutely!”

“Alright.” She has a faraway look in those dark oil-drop eyes, always a little shimmery, always a little sad. “I’ll take two dozen of those as well.”

“I’ll add it to the list,” you say.

“Thank you. Cheers.”

“Cheers,” you echo, perplexed.

Criston and Alicent depart. You hear the front door swing open and then close again. Outside, Criston reminds Alicent to leave plenty of space between her and the gator. An engine rumbles and gravel crunches as the Lexus rolls out of the driveway.

“If they’re not fucking, I’m Tom Cruise,” Amir says. “Speaking of fucking, what time is Scarface coming to pick you up?”

“5:15.” You nod to where Alicent was sitting. “She’s not bad for a robber baron.”

“Oh, please. She would grind your bones into flour if that’s what it took to have cakes ready for her child bride engagement party. I hope that Christabel girl knows what she’s getting into.”

What is she, eighteen? Nineteen? “She doesn’t.” The phone rings and you scramble for it. “Hello?!”

It’s not Aemond. “Hey, sugar.”

Ugh. “Hi, Willis.” Across the kitchen, Amir mimes slitting his own wrists with the paring knife.

“Listen,” Willis drawls in his familiar, I’m-about-to-deliver-bad-news tone. You can hear noise wherever he is: sirens, shouting. He must be using his car phone. “I’m all tied up down here on Route 90, we got a hell of a wreck, ten cars and an 18-wheeler. Had to close all the goddamn lanes in both directions. I don’t think I’m gonna get home until late, really late, maybe not ‘til 9 or 10.”

“So you have to switch nights. You can’t pick Cadi up from school.”

“Tell her I’m sorry, will ya? And that I’ll take her fishin’ this weekend to make it up to her. I’ll keep her Saturday and Sunday, if that works for you.”

“She’ll love that,” you say distractedly. No Olive Garden. No Aemond. Not tonight, anyway. “Anything outside and with animals. Anything that lets her get filthy.”

“Thanks for understandin’. I gotta run.”

“Bye.”

“So long, sugar.” Willis hangs up. So do you.

“Oh no!” Amir waves his knife around threateningly. “No, not a chance, that gremlin does not get to ruin the first real date you’ve had in…what…ever?!”

You smile; you can’t help it. “It’s not a date. Aemond is fancy and kinky, I’m a mom covered in frosting, people like us don’t date. Besides, his personal ad was very clear: Single and not looking to change that.”

“He’s not acting very single.” Amir begins chopping the peeled apples.

“It’s fine. It happens. We can go to Olive Garden some other time. I’ll try to call Aemond, and if he doesn’t answer I’ll tell him when he gets here. Maybe we can at least chat on the front porch for a while or something. Watch the lightning bugs come out as it gets dark.”

“I’ll hang out here with Cadi,” Amir offers.

“What? Really?” Olive Garden might be back on the menu! “You will?”

“Yeah, ho. I can’t in good conscience just stand by while you are deprived of traumatized war veteran dick. I need a break from Grandma anyway. She’s gotten really into Unsolved Mysteries and that shit gives me the creeps. I don’t want to hear about missing or murdered people. I’m already scared I might end up like that.”

“I’d find you. I’d rescue you. My and my pet gator.”

Amir laughs, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “Sure you would.”

“I’ll give you $10 out of my share of the bakery profits this week. For watching Cadi, I mean.”

“Deal,” he says. “Now help me with these dumplings so we can get started on those six cakes for the motherfucking Rockefellers.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s 5:13 p.m. when Aemond arrives at what Cadi named the Fall-Down House when she was in kindergarten, toting in her Chewbacca backpack sheets of homework about shapes and seasons, things you could help her with. You wonder what you’ll say when she gets to her senior year of high school and starts asking about calculus, physics, Shakespeare, college applications. It’ll be like she’s trying to talk to you in a foreign language. It’ll be like trying to explain colors to a blind man.

You’re almost done wiping down the stove and counter; Amir and Cadi are singing along and dancing to Kyrie by Mr. Mister: the Moonwalk, the Electric Slide, the Wop, the Sprinkler. Aemond wanders in and hovers on the border between the living room and the kitchen, his neon teal duffle bag hanging from one shoulder, staring with this profound, childlike puzzlement on his face. He looks like he’s never seen people dancing before; it’s some exotic ritual, some rite of a religion he doesn’t practice. He wears dark jeans, a black button-up shirt, black Converses, and his trusty Marlboro jacket. His fists are buried deep in the pockets like he’s holding something precious there, treasure, wisdom, secrets.

“Wassup, Scarface?!” Amir yells over the music, pretending to be reeling Aemond in like a fish. “Show us your best moves! Do the Worm! Do the Robocop!”

Aemond raises an eyebrow, drops his duffle bag, and—after a moment’s hesitation—glides across the tilted wooden floor to you. He takes your hands, spins you around, something like a clumsy, out-of-practice waltz, something real and enchanting beyond measure. And when was the last time you really danced with a man? Willis’ senior prom? Aemond sings as Amir and Cadi do the Running Man:

“Kyrie eleison down the road that I must travel,

Kyrie eleison through the darkness of the night,

Kyrie eleison where I’m going, will you follow?

Kyrie eleison on a highway in the night…”

Aemond releases you, sweeps his blonde hair off his forehead, and guzzles your frosty glass of sweet tea that you left on the counter in an expanding pool of condensation. You are reminded of how Criston devoured the cupcakes with no concern for the fact that Alicent had already tasted them.

“Such a weird song,” Cadi says as it fades out, as the cicadas and nighthawks grow louder through the screens of the open windows. “What the heck is a kyrie eleison?”

“It means Lord have mercy,” Aemond tells her. “It’s Greek.”

“Willis got stuck cleaning up an accident about a half hour south of here,” you explain. “But Amir and Cadi are going to have some nice couch potato time together.”

“Can we watch Unsolved Mysteries?” Cadi asks Amir excitedly, clinging to his arm. Amir groans.

“I might have an alternative,” Aemond says. He returns to his duffle bag, unzips it, and produces—not blue silk scarves, fuzzy handcuffs, a riding crop, or any other tokens of depravity—but a Nintendo game console.

Cadi screams and sprints to Aemond, unable to rip it out of his hands fast enough. “No way! Really?! I can play it?!”

“You can keep it.”

“What?!” She ogles the tannish rectangular box, the two handheld controllers. “This is the most epic day of my life!”

“I’m glad I could deliver it in person. I was just going to leave it with your mum.” Aemond starts taking cartridges out of the duffle bag. “I have Commando, Super Mario Bros., Star Force, the Karate Kid, Kung Fu, Burger Time, Donkey Kong and Donkey Kong 3, Alpha Mission, the Legend of Zelda, and Golf, which I honestly would not recommend. I used to have Top Gun too, but my brother spilled Tang all over it.”

“This is better than Christmas!” Cadi shrieks. “This is better than my birthday!” She dashes to Amir and starts hauling him off towards her room. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

“I’m being kidnapped,” he tells you, feigning distress.

“Cadi, chill. Do you know how to hook that up to your tv?”

She reluctantly surrenders Amir’s hand. “Yeah, Michelle has one.”

“Okay. You can get it ready, I have to talk to Amir for a sec.”

“Fine,” she grumbles, and vanishes into her bedroom with the Nintendo and a precarious armful of game cartridges.

“Thank you,” you tell Amir quietly. “Seriously. I know I owe you.”

He grins. “Anytime. You’re helping to pay my way to San Fransisco, I really can’t complain.”

Aemond perks up. “You’re visiting San Fran?”

“I’m moving there,” Amir says. “And as soon as humanly possible! Sun, sand, and Speedos, here I come! Why? Have you been?”

“I have, actually. It’s a great city.”

You turn to Aemond; this is new information. “Did you go to school there?”

“No, I went to Imperial College in London. But I flew to San Franscisco to interview someone I was writing a term paper about.”

Amir squints at him. “Imperial paid for you to fly across the world for one interview?”

Aemond shrugs, hands back in his jacket pockets. “I got, uh, a research stipend.”

You ask: “Who did you interview?”

“I don’t think you’d recognize the name, but he was a really incredible guy. He was a nurse and the first person to ever come out publicly as having AIDS. Then he spent the rest of his life educating people about the disease. Bobbi—”

“Bobbi Campbell?!” Amir is awed. “Of course I know who he is! You actually met Bobbi Campbell?!”

“Yeah, we had lunch together. Wine and cioppino. His partner was there too.” Aemond is somber, reflective. “It’s probably the most worthwhile thing I’ve ever done.”

“Well you just get better and better, don’t you, big boy?” Amir says. “Have fun at Olive Garden. Don’t hurry home or anything.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You are beaming, serene, warm all over, bewitched by the magic of liminal spaces, doorways between realities that rarely touch. Frank Sinatra—Fly Me To The Moon—floats through the restaurant speakers. The table is cluttered with plates and bowls: breadsticks, salad wet with Italian dressing, zuppa toscana, minestrone, main courses. Families in nearby booths are chattering; wine glasses clink, stories are recalled. You always wonder when you see cheerful married couples surrounded by children: Are they really happy? Is it worth it? Or do they go home after these displays of fairytale adoration and ignore each other, argue, brawl, crack open the Bud Lights, crack knuckles, crack bones like glass? Does true love exist at all? Or is it a lie we’re taught so the species can live on? “I’m in Italy.”

“You’re not in Italy, Cupcake. You’re in Gonzales, Louisiana. I can glance out the window and see a Doller General and a Burger King.”

“I’m basically in Italy.” You gesture to your plate, large and oval-shaped. Your entrée is divided into thirds: chicken parmesan, lasagna, fettuccine alfredo. “I got the Tour of Italy. I’m now an expert in all things Italian.”

Aemond smiles at you, the way he usually does: amused, teasing, craving. “In Italy, the pasta is always al dente. And they use very little sauce, not like here where everything is drowning in it.”

“I personally love my ocean of sauce.”

“And in Italy the bread is served plain. No butter, no olive oil, no…” He scrutinizes a breadstick. “Whatever this is. Assorted soy products, probably.”

“Don’t ruin my dinner or I’ll tie you up next time.”

Aemond laughs: crinkles around his eyes, pure boyish radiance. “Go ahead. I dare you.” He eats a bite of his herb-grilled salmon. “I looked into your Saint Honoratus of Amiens. He’s the patron saint of bakers.”

You roll your eyes like this is obvious. You like knowing something Aemond doesn’t, Aemond with his vocabulary and his high-powered career and his petroleum engineering degree from Imperial College in London, England, a place you have never seen and never will, a city that might as well be located on one of Saturn’s rings. “Yeah, clearly.”

But you never feel like the clever one for long. “And of oil refiners.”

“Is he really?”

Aemond grins. “Yeah. So we’ll have to share him.”

“Did you ever think about doing something besides engineering?” You already know the answer. You saw it in the way he talked about Bobbi Campbell.

“I did,” Aemond admits. “The engineering thing…it was expected of me. It wasn’t really my choice. It’s fine, I’m okay with my job, I’ve come to terms with it. But when I was a kid, I wanted to be a historian.”

“People get paid for that? To study history?”

“Not a lot. But I love the stories. When I was at Imperial, I’d fill every extra space in my schedule with history and anthropology courses. I interviewed Bobbi for my Microhistory class.”

“Micro…history? Tiny history…?”

“You learn everything there is to know about one individual, or one town, or one product, whatever, and through it you can get a better sense of the bigger picture. Like…you could catalogue what specific pieces of furniture were in George Washington’s house to study 18th-century trade routes.”

“Or you could use Ketchikan, Alaska as an example of the dangers of oil rigs and the corrupt, greedy company policies of modern-day robber barons.”

Aemond stares at you. “Yeah. Sure. You get it.” He wastes no time changing the subject. “Where did you go to college?”

“College?” This is preposterous. “Aemond, I never finished high school.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not,” you say. “I dropped out. I don’t have a high school diploma. I definitely didn’t go to college.”

He’s utterly bewildered. “But…you aren’t stupid.”

“Yes, Aemond, a lot of not-stupid people don’t go to college. And I’d imagine the opposite is true as well.”

He sighs, long and deep, rubbing his scarred forehead with his fingertips. “I’m sorry. I could have worded that more sensitively.”

“Willis is a year older than me. I got pregnant the night of his senior prom. I never went back after summer break. I figured…you know…what was the point? I didn’t need Calculus or World History. I needed money. I needed baby clothes and a crib and a car. And my high school wouldn’t have let me in anyway.”

Now Aemond glares, though his wrath isn’t for you. “They kicked out pregnant girls?”

You smile wryly, chomping on a breadstick wet with marinara sauce. “They still do. They have to make cautionary tales out of us. The weak and the lustful.”

“Well then how the fuck is someone like you supposed to provide for yourself?”

“By marrying whoever got us pregnant and never leaving them.”

“Medieval,” he snaps. He stabs at his salmon, loses his appetite, slams the fork down on the plate. The waitress had just been approaching to ask about dessert; she does a 180 and vanishes again.

“Aemond,” you say gently. I don’t want to ruin tonight. “Please don’t be angry.”

“There are specific things that make me angry.” He rests his chin on his knuckles and peers out the window. Seconds tick by; Frank Sinatra sings about New York, another city you’ll never visit. Then Aemond looks at you again. “What is it like to be a parent?” he says, in the same reverent and mystified tone that someone might use to ask what it was like to flatline on an operating table before being brought back to life. Did you get a glimpse of the gates of Heaven? Did you feel the heat of Hell?

“I can only tell you how it feels to me.” You are wistful; you are painfully honest. You’ve never told anyone this before. No one has ever asked. “It’s…wonderful, and terrifying, and exhausting. You love them more than anything, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get tired, irritated, impatient, resentful. One minute you’re laughing hysterically with them, the next you’re begging them to go to sleep so you can have a half hour to yourself, or just ten minutes, or just five. And then as soon as they’re gone you miss them. You’re too strict or too lenient, never just right. You sacrifice—money, time, your body, your soul—but it’s never enough. You accidentally hurt their feelings and then tie yourself in knots to fix it, but you can never show them when you’re sad, or frustrated, or afraid. They can be so sweet and then so inadvertently cruel. They’re too young to understand that they’re being ungrateful. They ask you questions you don’t want to answer. They’re your reason for living, they’re a burden, they’re the best thing that ever happened to you, they’re your closest friend, they’ve trapped you somewhere you don’t want to be. There are all these emotions that come in waves, they go around and around and never stop. It’s like a tire spinning in mud.”

Aemond considers you for a long time before he speaks. “I think you’re doing a good job. Cadi seems happy. She’s…uh…spirited. But happy.”

“She’s a little wild, but that’s my fault. We grew up together. I didn’t draw many lines, and now it’s too late. And she’s getting old enough to notice things she didn’t see before. Most of her friends’ parents are still married. They might not be in love, but she doesn’t understand that part yet. What she understands is that we’re broke and her dad lives in a different house, and I’m the one who made that happen.”

“You’re doing a good job,” Aemond insists. He starts to reach across the table for your hands, then stops, reconsiders, grabs his duffle bag that’s squeezed next to him in the booth instead. He unzips the small pocket on the side and pulls out a toothbrush, a travel-sized tube of Crest, and a miniature bottle of Listermint. “I’m going to go brush my teeth in the bathroom, and then I’m going to fuck you in the back of my car. Okay?”

Your smile has returned. The magic has too. “Okay. You don’t want dessert?”

“I don’t need tiramisu. I already have a Cupcake. Unless…do you want tiramisu…?”

“No, I don’t like coffee.”

“I think they have other things too, cannoli, cheesecake…”

“Aemond,” you say. “I want to leave now.”

“Got it.” He leaves $30 for the waitress on the table—he always pays with cash, you notice—and bolts for the bathroom. Fortunately, you’d had the same thought; shortly before Aemond arrived at the house two hours ago, you’d packed your pink toothbrush and a tube of Ultra Brite in your Valerie Barad rainbow purse…just in case. By the time you get back to the table, Aemond is waiting and looking uncharacteristically anxious: biting his lower lip, clasping his hands together behind his back. He’s relieved when he spots you. “I thought you might have ditched me.”

“What, and walked 25 miles home?”

“Forget it. Let’s go.” And he shoves his hands into the pockets of his Marlboro jacket before he can reveal any more of himself with them.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re flying down Route 70 with all the windows down, warm twilight wind flooding through the gaps between your fingers, centuries-old southern live oaks and flowering dogwoods passing by in a blur, an Eddie Money tape in the Audi Quattro’s cassette deck. Under the bridges you cross, brackish bayou water ripples lazily, thick with cypress trees, duckweed, spider lilies, salvinia, wading great egrets and lurking alligators. The seats are tan leather and spotless. Aemond rests a palm on your bare thigh, just below the hem of your shorts. His blonde hair whips in the breeze. From the passenger seat, you can only see the right side of his face, the unscarred side. It’s almost like he’s whole again. He puffs on a Marlboro Red, smoke escaping through the open windows, tobacco and tar and nicotine, chemicals and earth.

“We better stop before we get into Assumption Parish,” you tease. “You don’t want one of Willis’ deputies to stumble upon us.”

But Aemond is particular; he wants the perfect spot. Just a mile before Ascension Parish gives way to Assumption, he finds an overgrown dirt pull-off used for fishing. He parks the Quattro just out of sight of the highway, rolls up the automatic windows, blasts the icy air conditioning.

“Get in the back,” he orders, unclicking his seatbelt. The intro of Take Me Home Tonight thunders through the speakers. You obey, climbing into the (very not-spacious) back seat. Just seconds later, Aemond follows.

You giggle when he pulls you into his lap to straddle him. As you toss away his Marlboro jacket and unbutton his shirt, Aemond yanks off your orange tank top, unhooks your bra, accidentally breaks the tab of the zipper off your white denim shorts with his strong, frantic hands. He needs you; he needs you all the time, everywhere, and he’ll never get enough. He’s kissing you deeply, roughly, nipping at your lips and tongue, breathing his smoke into you. His fingers slip into your shorts and under the silk that you bought for him, blue like his eyes, blue like the sky before heavy rain. You’re moaning, grinding, impatient; he’s helping you shimmy out of your shorts, he’s tugging down his jeans. And now you realize that he wants you to stay on top. “Aemond, no, I’m not good at it…”

“Shut up. You’re good at everything.”

That’s a lie, you know it is; still, Aemond makes you believe it. He grabs your hips and shows you exactly how to move them, and soon the rhythm feels effortless, soon you are wet and relaxed enough for him. At the last minute, he gets a condom from the pocket of his jeans, rips it open, and rolls it on. And again, you are struck by a strange but unmistakable disappointment that you cannot have all of him, that you cannot experience what it’s like to be as close to him as humanly possible, this man that you hardly know, this body that unleashes ecstasy in yours.

It’s quick: your arms linked around the back of his neck, Aemond kissing your throat and the slope of your jaw, his hands and murmurs guiding you, delicious fullness and friction. You’re amazed when he comes—I made that happen?? I did that??—and a tidal wave of extraordinary pride, lust, power surges through you. Aemond helps you finish with his fingers, only a few vigorous strokes, and then he drags you down onto the Quattro’s back seat with him.

“Careful,” you say as you lie on top of Aemond’s chest, both of you breathless and slick with sweat, goosebumps springing up in the chill of the air conditioning. You’re all tangled up in each other; there’s no room to get away. “You’re not going to be able to get rid of me.”

“I’ll accept the risk.” The last rays of sunlight fall across his damp skin, turning him to amber, tiger’s eye, gold. “What happened when you had Cadi?”

You turn your face to look at him. “Huh?”

“You said you were unconscious for a few days after she was born.”

“I told you that?”

“Yeah. The first night I came over. And you’ve been on the pill ever since. You never wanted more kids?”

“No,” you say quietly. “No, I didn’t. I still don’t.”

“So something happened.”

“It’s not a cute story. It’s not sexy.”

“I’ve surmised that.” Another word you don’t know.

“I don’t really ever talk about it.”

“Because you don’t want to, or because people don’t ask?”

You’re amazed by how much he sees, like you’re a clean window, like your skin and skull are made of glass. “My water broke and I went into labor, but I wasn’t progressing fast enough,” you tell Aemond. “I mean, the nurses told me I wasn’t progressing. I didn’t really understand what that meant. It felt like something was happening. There was a lot of pain and pressure, and it was intense, definitely, but it was bearable, I still felt like myself. I was actually really proud of how calm I was. But I guess it wasn’t enough. So the doctor started me on something called Pitocin, and then the contractions weren’t bearable anymore. They were…I can’t even describe it. It was like this bone-breaking twisting, but also sharpness, razor sharpness. I imagined knots of barbed wire. It’s the only thing I could compare it to. And I wasn’t in control anymore. I wasn’t myself at all. I was this animal being trapped, being tortured, and there was no break between the contractions, they happened over and over and over again, one right after the other, and it went on for hours. I kept telling everyone that I couldn’t do it. I needed an epidural, laughing gas, pills, anything. I was begging them to knock me out. I was trying to rip the IV with the Pitocin out of my hand. But no one listened. The nurses acted like I was being dramatic. Women have babies every single day all over the world, why couldn’t I just shut up and deal with it? My mom was around, but she had pretty straightforward births, and I don’t think she could comprehend what it was like. Willis told me I was doing a good job. That’s all he could say: Good job, sugar, you’re doin’ just fine, sugar. But I didn’t want mindless encouragement. I wanted somebody to help me. I thought I was dying.”

Aemond’s hand smooths your hair. He’s watching you closely.

“When Cadi…when she was finally born, I wasn’t excited to hold her. I didn’t even care. I was just relieved the pain wasn’t so bad anymore. I told my mom to take her. I could hear the baby crying, and I remember thinking: Who is that? I almost died for that? I felt nothing for her, absolutely nothing. And then I heard…it sounded like someone had turned a sink on, because there was water running. But then the nurses were yelling and the doctor rushed back into the room. I was hemorrhaging, and it wasn’t water that I’d heard, it was blood, my blood, gushing all over the floor. I passed out and I needed transfusions and I woke up three days later. The very first thing a nurse said was that she was so happy to tell me that they’d been able to stop the bleeding without doing a hysterectomy, so I’d be able to have more children. Can you believe that? It was like I didn’t exist. I was just a vessel. As if I wanted to go through that again. No, never, no thank you. I got attached to Cadi, but it took months. Obviously, now I love her. But I was empty for a long time. Just empty, and sad, and in pain, and hopeless.”

“And your useless fucking husband named the baby you almost bled to death having.”

“He didn’t mean for it to be hurtful,” you say. “He thought he was helping. And it’s a hell of a name, I have to admit it. Arcadia Dove, like a Star Wars character or a superhero. It suits her.”

But still: Aemond shakes his head, incredulous, outraged on behalf of your long-gone teenage self. “When you found out you were pregnant, did you ever consider…you know…not having it?”

You give him a small, guilty smirk. What kind of mother could admit this? “Yeah. Yeah, I did. That was my plan, actually. I called a clinic in New Orleans and made an appointment. Cleared out every penny of my savings to pay for it. Cheaper than a life sentence, right? Amir offered to go with me, but neither of us had a car or a license, and I could never let my mom know. So I asked Willis.”

“And he wouldn’t drive you.”

Worse. “He told me that if I went, I’d be a murderer.”

Aemond jolts upright, furious. “He actually said that to you?”

“Aemond—”

“No, hold on, he actually said that?! He said that you could drop out of high school, you could throw all your dreams out the window, you could become a mum at fucking seventeen years old and marry some guy you barely knew, and if you wanted a way out that would make you a murderer?!”

You offer weakly: “Willis is really, really Catholic. A lot of people down here are, and—”

“He’s a coward, that’s what he is. He was willing to sacrifice your future to soothe his conscience. His life didn’t change. Yours did.”

“I love Cadi. I don’t regret her.”

“But you should have had a choice.”

You study Aemond: his glinting right eye, the deep stormy furrows in his brow. “Why are you so angry?”

“Because you deserved better. You could have been something more.”

Something more? Something more? “I’m not horrified by how I’ve turned out, Aemond. I made the best of my circumstances. I have a job I enjoy, I keep a roof over our heads, I have people to live for.”

“You deserved better,” Aemond repeats, soft and low.

“So did you.” You touch your palm to his scarred cheek and ask in a whisper: “What happened? Who hurt you?”

“Stop,” Aemond says, flinching away from your hand. And that’s the safe word; you have to listen.

~~~~~~~~~~

At home, Cadi and Amir are chatting at the kitchen counter with a late-night snack of apple dumplings, warmed in the microwave, and Breyer’s vanilla ice cream. Blue Bell is cheaper, but Breyer’s tastes real; it’s one of the few things you won’t compromise on.

“Mom, guess how many levels I beat in Super Mario Bros.!” Cadi doesn’t notice that your tank top isn’t quite covering the brutalized zipper of your shorts. Amir definitely does notice; he mouths to you: Baby Jesus is so sad.

“Um, I don’t know…how many levels does it have?”

“Thirty-two,” Aemond informs you.

“Seven?” you say.

“Try ten!” Cadi grins triumphantly.

“Radical! Amazing!”

Aemond applauds. “No way! You’re a prodigy!” You don’t have to ask if he wants to stay. He scoops two apple dumplings into the same bowl and then pops open the microwave, like he lives here too. “How long should I heat these up?”

“About 45 seconds,” Amir says. He yawns and puts his dishes in the sink.

“Thanks again for entertaining Cadi.” You give him a tired, repentant smile. “I would tell you to take tomorrow off, but we both know that’s not an option. I’m going to set my alarm for 3:00 a.m.”

“I myself will most certainly not be awake at 3:00 a.m. But I’ll try to get here by 7:00.” Amir gives Cadi a hug that she pretends not to appreciate. “Goodnight, slayer of Bowsers.” Then he waves to Aemond as he breezes out of the kitchen. “Goodnight, destroyer of zippers.”

Aemond covers his mouth to keep from laughing. “Cheers, Amir.” He brings the bowl of apple dumplings from the microwave to the counter, adds several heaping mounds of vanilla ice cream and two spoons, and slides it over so you can share. Outside, you hear Amir’s Ford Escort pull out of the gravel driveway. “You have a lot of baking to do, huh?”

“Oh my God, I completely forgot to tell you. You’ll never believe who showed up—”

“Mom, can we go shopping tomorrow?” Cadi asks, derailing your train of thought.

Cadi? Shopping? This is an unusual request. “Shopping for what?”

“For my riding boots,” Cadi says brightly as she finishes her apple dumpling, and you think, sinking in ways you can’t let her see: Oh fuck. Here’s the conversation I’ve been avoiding for weeks. “Michelle and Erica are both going to that horse camp in July. Breanna and Sam are going too. Kristen might even go, and she’s a total freakazoid! I can go, right? I’ll need boots, and a helmet, and I want to ride an Appaloosa. They have all kinds of horses, but Appaloosas are my favorite, and if they don’t let me ride one I’m going to go nuclear.”

“Honey, I don’t think it’s going to be possible this year.”

“But I have to go. Everyone else is going.”

“I tried, I really did. But I just can’t swing it right now. Next summer I’ll have more money saved up, hopefully, and then you can go to horse camp, and maybe we can even go to Biloxi for a week too—”

“I don’t care about Biloxi.” And now she’s lashing out, because she’s realizing the answer might really be no. Aemond is silently picking at the apple dumplings, looking between the two of you but not knowing what to say. “I care about going to horse camp when literally all of my friends get to—”

“Cadi, I’m so sorry, I really am. But sometimes things just don’t work out, and that’s okay, that’s a part of life. We’ll still have fun this summer.”

“I’m not going to have fun if I’m just stuck here at home all day!”

Stuck here with me, stuck here in the life I built for her. “Cadi, please—”

“I’ll give up my birthday presents,” she pleads, her eyes turning misty. “You can just not buy me anything for my birthday, or Christmas either, and you can use what you would have spent on that for—”

“I’m sorry,” you say gently, a hand on her little shoulder, her tiny breakable bones. “I wish I could give you what you want. I really, really do. I’m trying to make things better for us.”

“Can’t you ask Daddy for more money?”

And you remember what Willis said at the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office: Tell her if she grows her hair back out, maybe she can go next year. “Daddy wants to help too, I’ve already talked to him about it. We just can’t make it happen right now.”

“Daddy always says he’d have more money if he didn’t have to send you so much every month!” Cadi blurts out. Aemond is watching you, but you shake your head. He can’t say anything. It’s not his place. “That’s why I can’t go to horse camp, isn’t it? Because we don’t all live together?”

“No, Cadi, that’s not what this is about—”

“Erica’s parents live together and she gets to go! Michelle’s mom and dad are always taking vacations!”

“Every family is different,” you say, fighting to stay calm while your throat is closing up and the blood in your face is hot enough to scald.

“Sam’s mom just bought her riding boots and gloves!”

“I’m not your friends’ mothers, I’m sorry, I’m just not.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have kids if you can’t afford them!” Cadi screams, tears streaming from her bloodshot eyes, and then she storms off to her bedroom and slams the door.

You and Aemond are left alone in the midst of humming florescent lightbulbs, long-eared owl hoots, the ambient shrieks of cicadas. The apple dumplings and ice cream have dissolved into a soup. Your lips are trembling; a single blistering tear escapes down your cheek. You refuse to break down. You learned years ago that there is nothing to be gained from it. Aemond studies you, seeking and worried. You avoid his gaze. His hand reaches for yours, stops short, retreats to drum his fingers against the counter.

At last, Aemond says: “How much is the horse thing?”

“Too much. Way too much. It’s over $300, I won’t be able to make rent.”

He sighs; not a frustrated sigh, you think, but a sigh of incredulity, maybe even of pity, which is the last thing in the world that you want from him. Aemond takes his wallet from his jeans pocket, leafs through it, and counts out $400 in twenties and tens that he stacks on the countertop.

You are mortified, horrified. “Aemond, no—”

“Look, next time I see you, we need to talk. We need to talk about my situation, and your situation, and what we’re going to do going forward. And it’s…fuck, it’s, it’s complicated. You’ll see. But we have to get it sorted out, because this is…” He gestures to you, to him, to what you’re building between you like a bridge linking islands. “It’s different than what I expected it would be. And that’s a good thing, but…there’s just a lot we have to discuss.”

“Aemond, I can’t accept this much money from you.”

“The money doesn’t matter. $400? That’s nothing. The money’s not real to me. But it is real to you. So please just take it. And next time I see you we’ll…we’ll decide what happens next.”

It’s complicated, Aemond said. You’ll see. See what? How bad could it possibly be? “We can’t talk now?”

“No, I can’t do it now. I just can’t.”

He’s not just uneasy or distracted. He’s fucking scared. “You’re married,” you say.

“No. No wife, no kids. I swear to God.”

“No girlfriend either?”

“No.”

“You’re divorced.”

“No.” He combs his fingers through his short blonde hair, stares blankly at the wall behind you. “You’re free Saturday, right?”

“Yeah. I think Cadi will be with Willis all weekend, actually. He’s taking her fishing on Lake Verret. If Jade Dragon hasn’t blown it up by then. I’ll be busy with work Saturday morning and early afternoon, but after that I’ll be around.”

“I’ll come over around dusk, probably,” Aemond says, hands in his Marlboro jacket pockets, thoughts miles away. “I have something going on Saturday afternoon too.”

And he leaves before you can thank him for the stack of cash on the counter, or for any of the rest of what he’s given you.

[thefallennightmare]

One Night-Three[end]

*credit to me(thefallennightmare) for creating the gif. feel free to use it, simply give credit*

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings: lots of smut(mask play, spit play, bondage, anal, fingering, oral(m/f receiving), chocking, unprotected sex), swearing, angst, fluff.

Summary: One night. That's what Noah and Reader agreed to. No questions, no second thoughts, and no regrets. But will one night be enough to fill the hunger they both craved?

Authors Note: I wanted to write another part of this mini-series but only if others wanted it. It's a long one so buckle up! Once finished reading this part, please go read NOAH'S POV because it shows more into the story!

Tags: @pluviophillics @catj422 @iknownothingpeople @yumikitten @circle-with-me @dsireland86 @a1ex-ba1ex @blackveilomens @iamdesolate @shaydayhere @tearfallpixie @nerdraging4point0 @laris-angels

I stared at the confirmation in my hand, my heart pounding loud and hard in my chest. The paper weighed heavily in my hand as I bounced on the soles of my feet, wondering what would happen in the future because of my haste decision. I’ve had this confirmation burning a hole in my purse for a while now, waiting for this exact moment to use it. I rested my hand on my stomach; the nerves eating their way through me from the inside out.

The crowd of people around me was taking up whatever little space of air I had but I paid no mind to them, a wave of nausea crawling its way up my throat, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. It had been like this for a while now; I think about Noah and that night, wondering how everything went so wrong at the end. I made a huge mistake that night and now I was paying for it in more ways than one. I shouldn’t have kissed him, it was my rule, but seeing how ethereal he looked leaning over me, pupils blown wide with his lust my mind went blank. The only thing I wanted in that moment was to have my body ignite with fire and that’s exactly what happened.

The marks he left on my skin stayed for days after, a reminder how wrecked I was physically and mentally because of him.

It’s been almost eight months since that night and ever since then, my life hadn’t been the same. Noah’s scent, voice, and touch haunted my dreams when I was asleep and my thoughts when I was awake. I was the one that said in the beginning that I wanted nothing to come out of that night and here I was, standing in a crowd of people, wondering if he would be happy or upset that I was here. I would have seen him sooner but with him being in Europe and then only having a short time off after the tour, I wanted to make sure he had the time off he deserved. But now that their next tour started, I couldn’t stay away any longer, I needed to see him to know if Noah felt the same way.

Which is why I bought a ticket to a Bad Omens show a few hours away from where I lived and made the drive by myself.

The mistake I made that night?

Walking away from Noah Sebastian.

Tucking the paper ticket confirmation back into my pocket, I took a small sip of my beer as I waited for the show to begin. The second opening band just finished their set and Bad Omens were set to go on within the next half hour. I found a decent spot a few rows back from the main stage, off to the side, and I’d be lying if I told someone I wasn’t excited.

Ever since I saw them that night, I became addicted to their music and lyrics. Over the last eight months, I listened to all of their albums religiously and my situation with Noah aside, Bad Omens were one of my favorite bands now. Every time I listened to If I’m There, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of Noah and I in the bath together, him humming that song to me.

There were plenty of times I wanted to ask Britt to ask either of the Nicks how Noah was doing but knew that it would appear creepy. Noah wasn’t mine to know what he was up to or if he was seeing anyone. It wasn’t any of my business.

I had no plans on telling Britt about the night in the hotel room with him but the next morning she came over and saw the marks littering my neck so there was no choice but to tell her. She, of course, was ecstatic for me I had found a good thing after my wreck of a previous relationship. That was when I had to tell her it was only a one-night thing. Britt said Noah, and I were idiots to stop something that was destined to happen.

“You’re insane,” I told her with a shake of my head. “We both agreed that a relationship isn’t what either of us need.”

“What’s insane is thinking you could have one night with him and be okay with that.”

In the eight months since, Jacob never contacted me. I think hearing Noah on the phone that night showed him I was moving on from him, which was the plan. So despite the pain my heart felt knowing Noah was all over the world the last few months, I was glad I never heard from Jacob again.

The lights dimmed while a deep voice echoed through the speakers of the venue, Bad Omens set beginning. My heart fluttered while my pulse quickened knowing that in a few seconds, I would see Noah again. My plan only consisted of seeing the show tonight. I didn’t think of what I would do after. There was a small hope he would notice me tonight in the crowd but now seeing how packed the venue was, that hope was dwindling away; even if I was close to the stage. I could hang out outside after the show to wait for him but was that too far? Would he think it was too much? Would he even come out to meet his fans?

Three bodies came out onto the stage and immediately recognized them as Jolly, Nick, and Folio. They took their spots on the stage, Jolly being on the side where I was standing, then a few seconds later Noah walked into his position, black jacket with the hood over his masked, covered face, their song Artificial Suicide opening up the show. As soon as I saw Noah, flashbacks to our night in his hotel room rushed in; him sitting naked on the edge of the bed, just adorning the ski mask. His tattoos were on full display as I kneeled before him, my hands tied behind my back, and his thick cock in my mouth.

Heat rushed between my legs, and I licked my lips with the want to taste him again.

For the next while, I let my mind forget about all of my problems and the memories of that night to let myself go. I sang and jumped along with the others in the crowd next to me, core tightening when Noah lost his mask and jacket.

During The Death of Peace of Mind, Noah came to the side of the stage where Jolly was to stand on the platform that was there. He sang the lyrics beautifully and as he move the microphone away from his face to take a deep breath, his eyes scanned the crowd until it fell onto me. My breath caught in my throat as sweat trickled down my spine, this time not from the warm bodies crowding around me. Noah’s eyes twinkled even under the dark lights, and jaw dropped. Before he could get a better look at me, the breakdown for the song hit and the crowd shifted, blocking my view from Noah as he nearly missed his mark.

I blinked a few times, not expecting him to catch me with how packed I was between the surrounding bodies. It was only a two seconds, and it was dark in here, there was no way he got a good look at me. Right?

I watched the rest of the show with excitement not only for the atmosphere but how the guys radiated their own energy onto the crowd. As they all stood in a row to thank everyone of us, something seemed off with Noah. His eyes scanned throughout the crowd, head shifting back and forth, almost as if he was looking for something. There was a hard frown pulling on his lips, almost a scowl, which unnerved me.

Fuck, maybe this was a bad idea.

With that thought weighing heavy on my mind, I slipped through the crowd and out of the building.

I should have left, should have started the long drive home, but no; I was waiting around with the dwindling crowd of fans who were hoping to glimpse the guys. It was me and three other people. Only my reason differed from theirs for staying. It’s been at least an hour of waiting and knowing I had a five-hour drive back home in the dark was the reason that I strapped my bag higher on my shoulder and turned on my heels to leave. I was halfway through the parking lot, turning the corner to leave when my name echoed in the quiet night.

“Y/N?”

Stopping suddenly, I peered over my shoulder and saw Folio leaning against the tour bus.

“Hey,” I smiled a little.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, walking up to the metal barricade that was being used to keep people away from the busses and trailers.

I was standing on the other side of it as I shrugged, words stuttering from my lips. “Uh, I-um.”

The thought of telling Folio why I was here, made my stomach churn and my tongue felt like it weighed five pounds. I didn’t know if Noah told him or any of the guys about our night together so I wasn’t sure what he knew.

Folio chuckled while stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Noah should be out in a minute. Some old friends from Virgina came to the show tonight, so he’s catching up with them.”

My stomach dropped. Was it that obvious?

“I’m not here for Noah,” I lied, eyes shifting away from his face down to my feet.

“Right,” Folio nodded. “Britt mentioned you were a terrible liar.”

Internally I scowled at my best friend. Of course he knew some things about me, since he was practically dating Britt.

“What else did Britt tell you?” I asked with a sigh.

We were standing in front of each other, the metal fence between us, and when Folio sighed, I could feel it deep in my heart. Whatever he was about to say either would break me or give me false hope.

“She may have mentioned that you and Noah spent a night together,” he trailed off.

I groaned. “This is so embarrassing. Why did I think this was a good idea? He’s probably going to think I’m a stalker. I should have left that night behind like he did.”

I muttered the last part under my breath but knew Folio heard because he grasped both of my shoulders, forcing me to look at him.

“Noah doesn’t think that, alright?” He said then dropped his hands back to his side.

I shook my head, regret for this entire night eating away at my insides, like the vulture that pecked away at Prometheus every day.

“You know what, this was stupid. Do me a favor and don’t tell him I was here?”

Before I could turn on my heels and retreat, the door to the venue opened and loud voices echoed in the air as a group of people dispersed into the parking lot.

His laugh burned deep into my heart, the familiarity of it causing my stomach to flutter, and for a second, time stood still as Noah, who was talking with someone, a small smile pulling at his lips. That was until his gaze turned slightly to the left, his eyes scanning the parking lot when it landed on me; a look of shock crossing over his soft features until the corners of his lips pulled up into a large smile.

Noah stood in place as we stared at each other, me marveling at how he looked with his white hat and white sweater that hung over his shoulders. His eyes, usually bright, now dulled with exhaustion from tonight's show and I would have worried that he was upset with seeing me if it wasn’t for the smile that was still plastered to his face.

“Hi”, I whispered, hands shaking with nerves.

"Hi,” Noah repeated, only his voice was louder, stronger. “What are you doing here?”

Neither of us made a move towards each other.

Folio, who was still on the other side of the gate along with Noah, watched our silent interaction with a lazy smile.

“She’s been waiting for you. You took so long she almost bailed and wanted me to keep it a secret,” he muttered to Noah while smacking his shoulder as he walked past him.

I narrowed my eyes at his back before calling after him. “Not cool!”

Folio responded with a wave of his hand before he disappeared back behind the building.

Noah still stared at me with a burning gaze and my skin felt like an inferno all over so I shifted on my feet.

“What?” I asked, feeling scrutinized under his eyes.

“I saw you tonight. In the crowd.”

I nodded with a sigh, no point in denying it. “Yeah.”

His voice was even and steady, not a hint of any emotion, and I hated not knowing how he felt about me being here tonight. The tension between us was worse, heavy and thick, and it was as if something was holding him back. Keeping him from doing or saying what he wanted. I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know the answer to the question that I’d been dying to ask.

“Why didn’t you reach out?” I wondered with a shaky breath.

Noah shrugged. “Why didn’t you?”

I pursed my lips, knowing I had no right to be upset about him not reaching out when I didn’t either; as much as I wanted too.

“Noah, I-.”

Someone from the group yelling Noah’s name cut my words off, and he turned slightly, giving whoever it was a quick nod of his head. Clearly they all had plans, and I was keeping Noah from them.

“You know what, I should go. The show was amazing but I’ve got a long drive back home.”

“Y/N.” Noah breathed.

I ignored the way my heart lurched at the way he said my name and turned to leave but felt soft fingers gently grasp my wrist. My eyes bounced from his hand up to his eyes, brows furrowed with slight confusion. Even this simple touch brought back the memories of our night together, of how his touch over my entire body brought every cell alive within me.

“Why are you here?” He asked.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I wanted to see the show.”

“Bullshit,” Noah scoffed. “You drove three hours to see us when next week we have a show that’s minutes from where you live?”

My teeth dug deep into my bottom lip when he saw right through my lie. Yes, I could have seen him when they came to my hometown next week but the thought of making the long drive out of my way called to the romantic part of me.

“Why are you here?” he asked again, this time with a slight squeeze to my wrist.

“I wanted to see you,” I admitted with a long breath.

There was no point in denying it anymore.

Noah’s face twitched as if he was trying to hide back the smile. “Why?”

Why? Why the fuck do you think?

I couldn’t speak, not wanting to say it out loud. I knew why I wanted to see him but suddenly in front of a group of his friends who were still within listening distance; I didn’t want Noah or them to know.

“Noah! Are you coming or what?”

I looked past him and saw someone waving Noah over.

“I won’t keep you, Noah. It was good seeing you but I’m going to go.”

This whole interaction with him and Folio was embarrassing, the last thing I needed was his other friends see how bad I fumbled in trying to get him back; although he was never mine to lose in the first place.

Noah shot me a look, one that rooted me right in place. “I swear if you keep threatening to leave, angel I’m going to bend you over and smack that ass in front of everyone.”

My lips parted, heat shooting directly to my core at his words. Every nerve in my body sparked with electricity as his hand left my wrist only for both of his hands to reach other the guard rail, gripping my hips.

“What are you doing?” I questioned.

Noah said nothing, simply lifting me up and over the metal gate, causing me to squeal in slight shock and slight delight. Now standing directly in front of him with no barrier between us, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and began leading me towards the group of people that were waiting for him.

“Noah,” I murmured trying to stop him.

He ignored me as we came to a stop, Folio giving me an amused smirk. I didn’t doubt he would tell Britt all about this later.

Hell, who am I kidding. He probably already told her.

“Hey guys, this is Y/N.” Noah introduced me.

I gave the strangers a small nod but when I saw Jolly and Nick; I gave them a large smile.

“We knew we saw you tonight,” Jolly laughed.

“Yeah, I wanted to see the show,” I did my best to shrug in Noah’s embrace.

Having his body heat wrap around me like a cocoon did nothing to stop my erratic heart rate.

“Right, that’s why you drove three hours when we’re in your hometown next week?” Nick chuckled.

My eyes darted to my feet where I shifted uncomfortable. Noah noticed because he pulled me closer into him.

“You guys go ahead. I’m going to hang back with Y/N.”

This caused me to look up at him through my lashes. “You should go out with them.”

He ignored me, only talking with his friends for a few more seconds before he turned us around to led us towards his tour bus. Noah went in first, his hand extended towards me, and I took it with a small amount of hesitation. As soon as we stepped into the main area of the bus, his scent stood out among all the different ones and the familiarity eased my nerves only a little.

“You won’t get in trouble for having me in here?” I asked.

Noah snorted his laugh. “Come on, there’s an area in the back that’s private and we can talk.”

Talk.

I don’t know why that word made my heart fall into my stomach. That’s why I was here tonight, hoping to catch his attention. So why did the realization that’s what we were going to do fill me with so much disappointment?

What, did you think he was going to fuck you?

I pushed the thought away as we stepped into a small room at the back of the bus. It was a lounge area with a long couch that ran along one side while on the other there was a television with an array of gaming systems. Noah sat on the couch with a huff of breath while I stood in front of him running my hands up and down my thighs.

“Nervous?” Noah raised a brow.

I growled quietly, almost forgetting how perceptive he was with me, and stuffed my hands in the back of my jean pockets instead.

Noah motioned to the spot next to him. “You can sit. I’m not going to bite, well unless you want me too.”

Now the heat crept over other parts of my body remembering everywhere he bit me that night and eventually, I sat next to him leaving some space between us.

“Why didn’t you go out with your friends? Folio mentioned they were old friends from Virgina?”

“The thought of spending time with you sounded better,” Noah said without missing a beat.

I bit my tongue, not sure how to respond to that, so silence fell between us once again. My eyes were staring down at my intertwined fingers while his were glued on the side of my face, assessing my every movement like he was studying me.

"You're staring," I said.

“You look good, angel,” he mused.

Heat crept over my face in a blush and I tucked a piece of hair away from my face. “Thank you.”

His nickname for me woke the butterflies that lay dormant in my stomach the last few months. It still made my heart flutter into my throat and head spin with warmth.

"Has he called you at all?" Noah asked.

Even though he didn't say his name, I knew who he was talking about.

I shook my head. "Jacob hasn't bothered me since that night. I think he realized I wasn't going to take him back after he heard us together."

He gave a curt nod. "Have you called him?"

My eyes snapped over to him, anger slicing through him. "No, I haven't. In fact, I haven't been with anyone since that night. You kind of ruined the idea of being with anyone else."

This caused Noah to break out in a grin. "Good."

I scoffed, mouth falling agape. The fucking audacity of this man, saying that it was good he messed up my future dating life because I was too held up on him?

"You're unbelievable," I said with a slight edge to my voice.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I haven't been with anyone else, either."

"Congratulations, I bet that must have been so hard for you. Do you want a medal?"

I laid the sarcasm on thick in hopes he couldn't hear the excitement in my voice hearing his revelation. I was ecstatic Noah hadn't been with anyone else. Which meant he had to have some feelings for me, right?

Noah hummed. "Such sass coming from that mouth. Do I need to stuff it with something else?"

That shut me up as I sat back against the cushions of the couch with my arms over my chest. My knee bounced in anger, not at Noah but because he said things that not only shut me up but set my entire being up in flames. It seemed like no matter what I said to him, he would barley react. How do I know how he's feeling about me while he's basically reading my mind?

"I didn't hear a no," he said.

I cocked my head to the side. "Is that why you invited me on your bus so you can tease me?"

Noah raised a finger to brush a strand of hair away, tucking it behind my ear. "Believe me, Y/N. I want to tease you in so many ways."

I audibly gulped, something I knew he heard, because now his fingers were trailing down the side of my neck before resting his hand over my collarbone.

"You can say no but with how hard your heart is beating, I know the truth," he whispered.

This wasn't where I wanted our conversation to go. Even if my body was coming alive with his touch, I needed Noah to know how I felt about him. We had sexual chemistry, that was pretty clear, but was there a chance there could be more between us?

"Noah," I licked my lips. "I need to tell you something."

"You're not pregnant, are you?" He joked.

I stared at him dumbfounded. "If I was pregnant, don't you think I'd be showing by now?"

Noah shrugged with a chuckle while leaning away from me, back in his previous spot. "I know you're not. I'm just trying to lighten the mood."

When I didn't laugh, he sighed while running a hand over his face. It was late and after the long day he had, I suddenly felt guilty for keeping him awake.

"You're tired," I noted.

"Yeah, it's been a long day. We're only four shows in this tour but I'm already exhausted."

Noah's eyes locked with mine as he pointed to me. "If I didn't want you here, angel, I wouldn't have invited you. I want to spend time with you, no matter how exhausted I am."

The corner of my mouth turned up in a smile.

"When do you guys have to leave for the next city?" I asked.

"Tomorrow morning. Everyone wants to get on the road by 9 but depends on how hungover they are," Noah laughed a little.

"Oh," I nodded dissapointed.

I didn't expect him to stay back because of me, forget about his job for me. But knowing that yet again we only have less than twelve hours together made my stomach fall. I dared a quick peak at the time on my phone and groaned when I realized it was nearing midnight. The drive back home was daunting, especially in the dark, and I was regretting not booking a hotel room.

"Are you driving back tonight?" Noah asked.

I nodded. "Yeah so I should probably get on the road soon."

When he said nothing, I peered up at him to see his jaw was clenched.

"Why did you come here tonight, Y/N?"

I sighed, not wanting to explain myself yet again but before I could, Noah's started up again.

"We both agreed to have one night together, one of the best nights I had in a long time. It killed me to have you walk away. Ask any of the guys, you leaving wrecked me."

I blinked, taken aback by his confession, but my mouth had ran dry like the desert. Words felt foreign on my lips as I tried to say something.

"Then eight months later you show up, out of the blue, expecting what?" Noah questioned.

"No-nothing. I wanted to see you," I stumbled over my words, not expecting him to get this upset about me showing up tonight.

The more I thought about how angry he was suddenly made my anger burn low in my stomach and I raised to my feet, hand clenched into fists at my side.

"If it wrecked you so bad, why didn't you stop me or called me?" I accused.

Noah stood to his feet, closing the distance between us and due to how tall he was, I had to raise my chin up at him.

"You walked away, Y/N!"

"It's what we agreed on!" I yelled while raising my hands.

Noah tossed off his hat, throwing it to the couch behind him then ran a hand through his hair.

"We also agreed on never seeing each other again but here you are," he motioned towards me.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, almost hard enough to taste blood, and took a deep breath. I never expected us to get into a fight about this but knew that if one of us didn't calm down, it would get even uglier. Plus, I wasn't sure if anyone had come back from the bar and was sitting on the bus listening to our conversation.

"Fuck, you don't make any sense, Noah! You tell me you're happy to spend time with me but then in the same breath complain that I'm standing in front of you," I shot back.

Noah took a small step towards me. "Why did you come tonight?"

"Oh, here we go again," I pinched my eyes shut. "I already told you, I wanted to see you."

Another step towards me and I felt the heat radiate off of Noah. We were so close now, if I tilted my head up half an inch, our lips would touch. I didn't, though, no matter how bad I wanted too.

"Why?" He pressed again.

All the anger was gone from his voice. The only thing I could hear was slight desperation.

I slowly licked my lips, something Noah watched with intense eyes, and as much as I wanted to tell him the truth, the fear of what would happen if I did made me falter.

"It doesn't matter," I shook my head. "You're leaving in the morning and we'll go back to where we were before I came here tonight."

"Come with me."

I blinked a few times at Noah, wondering if I heard him right.

"What?" I asked.

He stepped closer to me invading my personal space and I could feel his warm breath fan across my lips. Noah's fingers brushed up against the exposed skin of my thigh at the edge of my shorts and I shivered, goosebumps covering my skin.

"Come with me," he repeated.

"I can't," I shook my head. "I have work and-."

"I thought you were an author and worked from home," Noah said with a furrowed brow.

He remebered that?

I told him what I did for work when we were taking a bath together that night

"We barley know each other, Noah. We might get annoyed with each other after the first night," I said.

Noah's hand moved from my thigh to my hip, giving it a squeeze.

"It's a big bus, plenty of space to have some time apart. We could use the time to get to know each other. Nobody know's their partner when they first start dating," he shrugged as if it wasn't a huge deal.

My heart skipped as all the breath caught in my throat but I held my face stern, not letting him know how excited I was at his words.

"We're not dating, though," I pointed out.

The corner of his lip turned up in a sly smirk, hands now sprawled over my lower back.

"Not yet."

"You seem pretty confident that I'll say yes," I somewhat joked with a laugh.

Noah leaned closer to my lips but didn't press his against them. "You came to see me tonight, angel. It's safe to say that I already have you."

I whimpered as one of his hands wrapped around my throat, thumb tilting my chin away to expose my neck. Noah's lips left soft kisses along my jawline before trailing down to that one spot on my neck that made my knees weak. They would have buckled under his kisses but Noah's free hand wrapped around my back keeping me upright.

"Come with me," he breathed into my neck in between leaving marks.

I did my best to shake my head in his grasp, a small moan falling from my lips betraying my denying him.

"What would the guys say?" I asked.

"They won't care."

The invitation sounded amazing; on the road with him and getting to watch a Bad Omens show almost every night. The thought of getting to know Noah made my stomach do that weird butterfly flutter. To be honest, I had no reason to deny his invitation, but I didn't want to accept without knowing how he felt about me.

Even if his actions right now were pretty clear.

I swallowed thickly, trying to gain the courage to ask my next question, knowing this could make or break the rest of the night.

"What if we realize that all this relationship is just sex?"

Noah briefly pulled away from the mark on my neck to look into my eyes. His grip was still on my chin so he held it tighter.

"I can promise you, it's not just that. I want to get to know you, angel. I could wait until tour's over to spend time with you but I don't think I can let you leave again. Not when I have you this close to me," Noah said.

His name came out in a hushed whisper as I leaned into him. The desperation and hurt in his voice told me that when I walked away from him eight months ago, it really wrecked him.

"I can't," I tried again to make him realize that this was a bad idea. "Being with each other every day could push us apart rather than bring us together."

It was true.

There wasn't denying that I had strong feelings for Noah and I feared that if I were on the road with him, we would slowly get sick of each other. And when he would drop me off at some random city, it would fucking break me.

How do you know he would? He treated you like a queen that night. Noah wouldn't throw you away like that.

My mind was reeling with the constant back and forth of my thoughts that it surprised me I didn't have whiplash.

"Why are you so against coming with me?" Noah asked while pulling away.

I scoffed. "Can you blame me? I barley know you and you're asking me to spend weeks with you."

"You barley know who I was when you let me fuck you that night," his eyes narrowed.

A heat flushed over my cheeks as I tore my gaze away from him and let out a deep breath.

"This is different," I murmured.

"Is there someone else?"

My eyes immediately snapped back over to him as I sternly shook my head. "No, I've already told you; I haven't been with anyone else since you. You're all I can think about, Noah."

His hand reached for me but I took a step away from him, knowing that if I felt his large hands engulf around me again, it would shatter whatever resolve I built within me. And the longer I stood this close to him, the worse my walls would disintegrate.

"I should go," I sighed. "It's late and I hate driving in the dark."

It looked like Noah wanted to say something but his lips pulled in a tight line while his hands were stuffed deep into his pockets. With one final longing glace, I stiffened my shoulders as I walked past him, the pain of leaving yet again muted by the burning sensation I felt in my throat; tears gathered in the corners of my eyes but I refused to cry. I barley made it to the door of the room when Noah muttered something under his breath before I felt my body being pushed up against that door.

Noah's gaze bounced between my eyes then down to my lips. My own drifted up to him, and it was over. Sparks shot through my entire existence when I felt his lips press hard against mine in a soul shattering, earth ending kiss. His tongue pushed past my lips almost instantly, finding mine in a fight for dominance. I didn't fight it because despite me declining staying with him; I wanted this so fucking bad. I missed the way he tasted, the way his lips molded perfectly against mine, and the way heat shot to my core, clit throbbing with the need for more.

He broke away to take a large breath before his lips found mine again in a hard kiss, driving them apart with the force of it. There wasn't anything gentle about it. I felt the door behind me rattle as Noah shifted his body, thigh pressing between my legs and against my pussy. I moaned into the kiss which made his grip on my hips tighten. Every thought in my head exploded to a pure, pounding, white light, and I felt the tight curl of desire burn low in my belly while I rubbed my swollen clit against Noah's thick thigh. The sensation made my toes curl in my shoes. It twisted inside of me, bending all of my rules, and snapping that last little of restraint. I tried one last time to stop this, stop Noah from consuming every single cell of my body.

"No," he said, bringing my lips back to his.

It was just like how it was before and I slid my hands under his shirt, skin ablaze with his own desire, to pull him closer to me. The low groan at the back of his throat, a small pleading noise that set every inch of my body on fire.

"Come with me." Noah almost begged this time against my lips after he pulled away.

My orgasm was on the verge of tilting over the edge, cresting to a high crescendo, as he pressed his thigh harder into me. My hips were moving in an ugly rhythm at this point but I didn't care, I needed this orgasm like I needed oxygen.

"Noah," I choked out as my orgasm plowed through me with an earth shattering scream.

"Fuck, angel," Noah cursed while covering my mouth with his large hand. "You need to be quiet, okay?"

Suddenly, the noises on the other side of the door filled my ears, and I realized some of the guys had returned from the bar. I breathed through the last bit of my orgasm against Noah's hand as he swiftly picked me up and laid me down onto the couch. Our eyes locked as his hands when to the waistband of his shorts, pausing for my answer. It wasn't to his earlier question. I should say no because this could further confuse things for us but I didn't care; I wanted Noah.

I nodded feverishly. "Please fuck me, Noah."

He made a low noise in the back of his throat before quickly stepping out of his shorts and briefs and made fast work of tossing his shirt away from him. I couldn't stop the way I hungrily stared at him, his tattoos shadowed by the moonlight from outside. That was the only light on now because Noah shut off the one in this room, afraid that if someone was lurking outside the bus, they could see us inside.

"Safe word?" He asked.

My heart did that stupid fluttering it always did when I was around him. With those two simple words, it was as if we piked up right where we left off.

I nodded. "I remember."

"Take your clothes off then get on your knees."

I did exactly what he demanded, and soon I was kneeling, naked, in front of him. Noah's fingers pulled at my hair, forcing me to look up at him. His dark eyes were blown wide with his desire and I felt my arousal pool between my legs.

"I told you I would stuff this pretty mouth with something," his thumb brushed over my bottom lip. "Now, choke on my cock."

Yes, sir.

I moaned at how delicious he tasted as I took his entire length between my lips, the pre-cum staining them. His head hit the back of my throat and I choked out a gag, Noah groaning at the tension it caused on his cock.

"Good girl, take all of it," he praised, hand brushing the soft strands of my hairs away from my face.

I preened at his praise while my fingers dug into the skin of his thighs, needing to hold something to keep my steady. Noah's pace as he fucked my face was relentless and drool fell from the corners of my mouth onto the floor beneath us.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned when my tongue massaged the large vein underneath his shaft. "Just like that, angel. Yes."

I looked up at him just in time to see his head fall back, lips parted in pure bliss. The muscles in his stomach were tense and taut, his orgasm rising with each suck and pull of my mouth. My jaw was sore and my lips numb but I didn't stop. I wanted him to fill my mouth with his cum. Pulling almost all the way off of him, I wrapped my lips around the head of his cock, tongue lapping up the pre-cum that spilled onto my tongue.

"I'm going to cum, angel. Take it all again, please."

Oh fuck. Hearing him beg for it almost made my orgasm plow through me.

With his whole length in my mouth again, I kept my head still as Noah's grasped on the side of my head tightened, his hips slamming into my mouth. He came with a silent cry, warm cum spilling into the back of my mouth and down my throat; I swallowed every drop.

"Kneel on the couch with your back to me," Noah helped me to my feet before positioning me like he said. "Hands on the window."

Once positioned how he wanted, Noah stalked behind me and brushed the head of his still-hard cock against my wet folds and I moaned while letting my head fall back into his chest. I felt his warm breath against the shell of my ear before he left a kiss there.

"You need to be quiet. I don't want anyone to hear how pretty you sound when you fall apart on my cock."

My eyes rolled to the darkness of my head, our shared desire making my stomach coil with so much fire it was almost unbearable waiting for him to sink into me. The faint voices on the other side of the bus had grown in volume, laughter breaking its way past the door.

Noah's fingers grazed over the lips of my pussy and I groaned, bucking my hips against his touch.

"So needy. How bad do you want my cock?"

"So bad," I breathed.

"Then beg for it, angel," Noah bit down on the skin between my neck and shoulder.

I nearly hissed in pleasure and pain.

"Please, Noah. I want your cock," I begged with a whine.

Both of us moaned when he pressed deep inside of me, his cock stretching my walls around him.

"Keep your hands on the window," he ordered.

I was too far gone in how his cock felt inside of me I barley nodded as his one arm wrapped around my stomach while the other tighten around my throat. Noah squeezed until I felt the air being ripped away from me, his cock slamming into me with no reserve. He didn't hold back, and I didn't want him too. I wanted it to hurt, wanted it to burn, that I wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow. And this position he had me in made him hit the exact spot that made my vision blur.

When I felt the darkness cascading over me due to how tight he was gripping my throat, Noah eased his grip and I swallowed a large gulp of air. My orgasm was so close, I just needed a little something to have it wash over me. As my hand moved to my clit, Noah smacked my ass, the sound echoing throughout the small room.

"Noah," I groaned, wanting to feel the sting again.

So he smacked my ass again, then a third time, and a fourth then after the fifth strike, he palmed the heated skin. I was writing in his embrace which made him grunt in frustration.

"I need to go deeper," he said while lifting me off of the couch, cock still buried deep inside of me.

He set me down in front of the wall next to the door of the room and kicked my legs apart while pulling my hips away from the wall. I had to brace my hands against it so I could keep myself balanced. He had us perfectly hidden behind the door that if someone walked in, they would only see Noah's bare chest.

"Why won't you come with me?" He questioned again, hips now moving in slow languid strokes.

"Noah," I whined while pushing my hips against him. I needed the fire that he brought on by his erratic thrusts.

"Answer. Me." He enunciated each word with a stroke of his cock.

I shook my head. "I can't."

"Yes."

Thrust.

"You."

Thrust.

"Can."

Thrust.

These thrusts were hard, and I cried out in pain, biting my lip when I realized how loud I was. Almost instantly, there was a knock on the door and Noah's hips stilled for a moment then leaned his body over mine to whisper in my ear.

"Not a sound, angel."

With a quick run of his hand through his messy hair, Noah opened the door just far enough that whoever was on the other side couldn't see past him.

"Everything alright?"

Jolly's accent flowed through the room and I froze in Noah's bruising embrace, his hands digging into the skin of my hips.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Noah answered.

I couldn't see Jolly but I'm sure his brow was raised. "We thought we heard someone scream."

A small whimper crawled its way through my throat when Noah began moving his hips again and I bit down on my lip tasting blood so I could keep quiet.

"It was Y/N. She was watching something on her phone and it scared her."

The way this man easily lied was almost shocking.

"She still here?" Jolly asked.

As I peered over my shoulder, I saw Noah nod. "Yeah."

Jolly hummed before rapping his knuckle against the door. "Use protection."

The door had shut so fast I nearly jumped in Noah's hands with how loud it slammed. I saw a tattooed hand wrap around my throat to haul me up against his warm chest.

"I told you to be quiet," he hissed low in my ear.

"I'm sorry," I said and tried to make him move his hips again, missing the friction.

"Did you want him to know I was fucking this pretty pussy, hm? Does the idea of being caught make you wet?"

Oh, lord. This man knew exactly what to say to make my pussy gush with my arousal.

"Yes it doesn, I can feel the way your pussy grips my cock," Noah groaned in the crook of my neck.

"Noah, please. I'm so close," I said breathlessly.

His finger pressed on my swollen clit and rubbed in fast, short circles, while he thrusted into me over and over, the pace bone shattering.

"Cum for me, angel. I'm right behind you."

We both groaned out our release as Noah fucked me through the aftershocks, my knees buckling from the intensity of it all. Noah fell to the ground with me right after him, his arms wrapping around me as I leaned into his chest. I wasn't sure how long we lay there tangled in each other, but the solace of it all made my eyes heavy with exhaustion.

"Y/N?"

I hummed in response to Noah, unable to speak.

"I won't ask you again to come on the road with me. I told you in the beginning I won't force you to do anything you don't want too but can you promise me that when the tour is over, we can give this a shot?"

Looking up at him, I left a soft kiss to the array of tattoo's on his chest. "I don't know, Noah. My last relationship fucked with my head so much I don't know how to be in something so normal."

"You don't even want to try?"

I sat up with a sigh and ran a hand through my messy hair, trying to tame it. "Like you said, maybe once the tour is over we can talk about things."

Noah sat up after me and gave me a curt nod. "Sure."

Now after the sex haze had faded, the tension returned, and I hated how fast a good thing between us was ruined all because I couldn't commit to something so perfect; someone so perfect because of my own fucked up brain. Why did I even come here tonight? All I ended up doing was messing with Noah's heart even more.

I hastily gathered my clothes and got dressed, not once meeting Noah's gaze.

"I should really leave. It's late and I have to drive home. I'll see you later?," I said once dressed, eyes still glued to my feet.

Noah nodded while resting his elbows on his knees. "Bye, angel."

I was going to be late; so fucking late.

With the coffee clutched tightly in one hand, I dragged my suitcase behind me after I waved off my Uber driver and looked around the almost empty parking lot of the hotel. An ungodly loud yawn crawled its way out of my throat as I checked the time on my watch. It was almost ten in the morning and I was running on no sleep, well besides the half hour I got on the long car ride here. But the nerves of what I was doing woke me up. All night and early this morning, my brain had fought tooth and nail with my heart about my decision.

He's going to hurt you. You can't trust him, you barley know him-brain.

I don't care. No one has ever made my body come alive the way he has. The way I flutter every time he talks or laughs. The way his eyes light up whenever he looks at me tells me everything I need to know-heart.

In the end, my heart won and here I was standing in the parking lot of the hotel Folio sent me looking for their tour bus hoping they hadn't left yet. I didn't tell Folio why I needed to know what hotel they were staying at but I'm sure he knew. Also, Noah must have gotten my number from Britt because he called me halfway through my drive and when I didn't answer, he left me a four worded voicemail.

"Please come with me."

After leaving Noah last night, about a half hour into the drive home, I knew I would turn back around almost as soon as I returned. The thought of breaking Noah's heart for leaving again made my stomach churn with something so sour, I knew I couldn't do it. He was ready to give us a shot, so why shouldn't I? Noah was nothing like Jacob, he's already shown me that.

"I might have blown the best thing that could happen to me," I grumbled to myself as I reached the back of the hotel parking lot.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I saw the Bad Omens tour bus parked with their lower doors open, suitcases littered around it. Jolly descended from the bus and when he saw me walk up, he crossed his arms over his chest, an amused smile on his face. Thoughts of last night when he almost caught Noah, and it made my cheek blush red. Thankfully, I didn't have to face any of the guys when I left the bus last night since I assumed they all retreated to their bunks.

"About time," he chuckled while taking my bag from me and tossing in the bus's underpart.

I stared at him. "What?"

"The Nick's and I were wondering when you were going to show up."

"Did Folio say something?" I asked, worried the surprise was ruined.

Jolly shook his head. "Noah's been in a mood all morning so we figured it was because he thought you weren't coming with. But we knew you'd end up changing your mind."

I scoffed and took a large drink of my now cold coffee as Nick and Folio exited the hotel, their own bags slung around their shoulder. When their eyes landed on me, Nick smacked Folio's shoulder while the latter chuckled.

"You're late," Folio commented.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I'm running on thirty minutes of sleep, Folio. I didn't get home till almost five in the morning and had two hours to pack and get things in order before finding an Uber that would drive me three hours back here."

He ruffled my already messy bun and tossed his bag along with the rest of them. "Noah's on the bus, why don't you head up there."

"Are you guys fine with this? I don't want to impose."

Nick gave my shoulder a light shove, pushing me towards the bus. "His bunk is the third one on the bottom left."

Following his directions, I stepped onto the quiet bus and when I stopped in front of Noah's bunk; the curtain was drawn, and a soft snore echoed in my ears; I let my purse and laptop bag drop to the floor quietly and set my coffee next to it all. The curtain made no noise as I peeled it back seeing Noah's sleeping form curled underneath a blanket. Kicking off my shoes, I climbed into the bunk with him and wrapped my arm around his bare chest, leaving an array of soft kisses against the tattoos there.

Noah stiffened with my touch and slowly opened one eye, staring down at me. I gave him a lazy smile and pulled the blanket over me, cuddling closer into his warmth.

"Fuck, I'm so tired. Can you scoot over a bit? I'm about to fall off," I joked.

Suddenly realizing I was lying next to him, Noah had me pinned to the bed, hips pressing hard into mine. I could feel the outline of his cock through his sleep shorts against my leggings and a soft moan fell from my lips. I was too exhausted to change into something nicer and knowing I would be lounging on the bus called for something comfortable.

"You came," he breathed into the crook of my neck.

I ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair and left a kiss on his forehead. "You called."

[qserasera]

parallax {a yoo joonghyuk/kim dokja fanmix}

songs 1-10 mostly for kim dokja, with some appearances by yoo joonghyuk; songs 11-20 for yoo joonghyuk throughout ORV

{{LISTEN ON SPOTIFY HERE}}

Song list below 'The Incarnation Kim Dokja will be killed by the one he loves most' {01 Black Crown - Kingdom [instrumental] | 02 The Story - KANGDANIEL 'Paradise that feels like it's going to me / As we get closer / That's just how / That's just how the story goes' | 03 Nine Lives - Stella and the Storm 'Because i've got nine lives, nine nine lives, baby ' | 04 Bring Out the Devil - Black Math 'While everyone is shooting for heaven / I've been planning on storming the gates' | 05 Scenario - SF9 ' I will decide a new story that will change’ | 06 Gambit - Park Jihoon, Bang Yongguk 'Oh, shall we play a sweet game? / It's dizzying, as if I'm about to reach the precipice' | 07 Pretender - July Talk 'I lean in real close as an informer / What if you're just a performer?' | 08 Soul is a Star - Jagwar Twin 'She said Papa was a sinner / Playing God behind the scenes' | 09 The Lovers Dancing - innerpartysystem 'The love still moving through my hands / I'm building and making a beautiful thing / that will never be made again' | 10 Kneel Before the Crown - Audiomachine [instrumental] }

[The Story 'Life and Death Companions' is continuing its storytelling] {11 Heart Memory - Extraordinary You OST [instrumental] | 12 When I Watch the World Burn, All I Think About Is You - Bastille 'The world is ending / on the news / But here in my head / I'm drunk on you' | 13 Lost in the Dream - MONSTA X 'Every night, I look for you / wandering in the same dream / I want to stop, but can't escape' | 14 Rewind - twlv 'Time is no medicine / the wound is growing bigger' | 15 Desire in Silence - The Glory OST [instrumental] | 16 Chained - machineheart 'I've been saying things about you in my deepest sleep / I want you back, I want you back, I want you back' | 17 Cracked Open - Lawless, Britt Warner 'You lose your mind to find your heart in the dark' | 18 Good Love - Zola Blood 'Always, I'll take a good love / or anything that might save our place a little longer' | 19 Fools in Love - Yeju 'And all I can see / is how my future holds you, my dear' | 20 love story - Jhove [instrumental] }

[brittscafe]

Hii britt! Your fr my fav bleach writer on tumblr💗 this request is a bit weird but how about the tybw captains reactions to a fem! space princess reader landing in the soul society? Im so sorry if its confusing😭

Hi, thank you! 🫶🏻

Jushiro Ukitake: He's definitely the first one you meet and he's super nice and welcoming. Jushiro offers to show you around and introduces you to everyone.

He even makes you tea and or treats that you like. Jushiro overwhelms you with gifts.

Shunsui Kyoraku: He's super respectful and gentle with you. Of course, he makes remarks about you being a space princess and he always a ton of questions.

He never seems to stop talking to you or asking questions. He's obviously attracted to you and even invites you to come over to his place later ;)

Byakuya Kuchiki: He's suspicious of you and always keeps an eye on you. He's a gentleman to you though of course, slowly starting to trust you over time.

He'll escort you in the Soul Society, he's basically you're protector.

Kenpachi Zaraki: My man does not like you at all. He literally tries to fight you at least and you curl up into a ball. He starts to laugh at your tactics and he finds everything that you do funny.

Although, you are still scared of him.

Shinji Hirako: Man does not leave you alone nor does he get hints. He's stuck by your side, teasing you and poking and prodding at you like you're some sort of alien.

You two develop a playfully friendship or relationship :)

Rojuro Otoribashi: He's super friendly and even plays his guitar for you. He's the one you go to when you need help or just a friend or even a shoulder to cry on.

It's safe to say that Rojuro becomes one of your good friends.

Sajin Komamura: He sympathizes with you and truly understands you. He listens to every word that leaves your lips and you truly have his attention.

Toshiro Hitsugaya: He shoots you icy glares and huffs or scoffs when you make eye contact with him. He tries not to like you, but he ends up falling for you.

He tries to denies how he feels, but Rangiku eventually spreads his secret across the soul society.

Mayuri Kurotsuchi: He steals you to do experiments on you and figure out what you are. It's safe to say that you're definitely creeped out by him and have to be saved by Ukitake.

Soi-Fong: She sees you as a weak person and she wants you to be stronger. So, she teaches you how to fight and defend yourself. There are plenty of inside jokes shared between the two of you as you grow closer.

Restu Unohana: She's intrigued by you and is super helpful, kind, and gentle. She lets you watch as she heals others and even teaches you about medicine and how to bandage simply wounds. She's like your mentor.

[orange-catsidy]

Why should he be quiet? When I read the post, it seems a large part of is anger comes from being approached to work while injured, even if it was “just” a squash match, that’s unprofessional and its weird that people are ignoring AEWs track record with this (Matt Hardy’s concussion, Kenny’s shoulder, etc etc).

if what he said is true he's perfectly right to say it, i just think it extremely works against his own goal of wanting to work in aew again 🤷 just being realistic

i have never been a blind company defender im ripping on tony khan and aew's bad decisions all the time but i will push back on the idea that aew has a track record of forcing ppl to work injured - aew has a problem of not protecting wrestlers from themselves when they want to keep working injured and its a mindset that's ingrained in all of wrestling, literally all over the world. matt hardy wanted to keep going after the concussion bc he's matt hardy and they should have stopped him. britt should have been stopped from wrestling with a broken wrist. kenny literally HID how injured he was. punk's foot injury literally came from him wrestling on a fractured foot that he shouldn't have done.

[heartsoulspiritelite]

MJF x Adam Cole

summary-

Soulmates were a weird thing, Max didn't even think they existed

For the longest time Max was convinced he'd never meet his. Nobody liked him, Nobody trusted him and he just felt like nobody liked or understood him. That was until he was partnered with the person who changed his life forever.

Adam Cole.

Soulmates

Soulmates were a weird thing. Max didn't think they even existed- i mean it was a stupid term with a stupid meaning.

For the longest time Max was convinced he'd never meet his soulmate. Nobody liked him, Nobody trusted him and he just felt like nobody understood him. That was until he was partnered with the person who changed his life forever.

Adam Cole.

When Cole and Friedman became the tag team 'Better than you Bay Bay' Max became the happiest he has been in a long time. He knew Adam wasn't very fond of him obviously in the beginning. But now things feel different its been awhile and they've been working together quite a bit. Max thinks Adam actually likes him now and that thought warms his heart in a weird way.

Max was sitting in his locker room sitting on the bench scrolling through his phone until the door infront of burts open with a disheveled and heart-broken Adam walking in.

"Max what did i do wrong?, why do i keep screwing things up!" Adam asks teary eyed

"Buddy whats wrong what happened?"  Max questioned going into protective mode

"Britt fucking left me Max" He explains frusterated

MJF watches Adam slide down the wall by the door until he was sitting on the floor staring at Max desperately.

"W-what?" Says in a state shock

"I know, i dont know what the hell i did wrong! She never seemed upset with me i don't what happened.. Max im a good person aren't i? Why are Britt and Roddy mad at me?" He whines shoving his face into the palm of his hands.

"Im so sorry, You are a fucking amazing person, you've helped me so much man and honestly i think that might be the problem.. Im sorry, you know they don't like me. i never mean't to cause all of this"

Adam's head snaps up at this

"Max if you 're implying that i stop hanging out with you, that aint gonna happen no matter how hard you try" He states

"Why not you never liked me before why can't it go back to that?"

Adam stands up and walks over to Max until he is stood infront of him

"You know i never believed all the things people said about you. I always knew deep down you were actually a good person."

Max just stares at him a little confused

"I was just mad because i wanted your damn title. I wanted to prove to people that i was still something." He continues while staring Max in the eyes with a serious look on his face

"I know we lost the championship match and i know we're going to fight at All In but i dont care. We are going to continue being friends no matter what you or anybody else says. You snuck into my heart max i cant just let you go" He finishes

Adam looks away and sighs while Max blushes trying to hide a smile. Nobody has ever cared this much for him before so its weird, hes not used to it but it makes him feel warm inside.

"Adam you know you're my bestfriend right. But you can't sacrifice your friends and girlfriend who you knew longer than you knew me just so we can still be friends, i wont let you" He says sadly standing up about to leave the room

All of this was very out of character for MJF.

"Max please, I dont need them alright. I need you, I need you so bad" He pleads following Maxwell

This was also pretty out of character for Adam Cole Bay Bay.

Max freezes and turns around slowly. Theres no way?!..

"You need what?.." He asks unsure

"You." he states teary eyed

"Its always been you. i tried to stop it but i couldn't , i tried so hard Ma-" He gets cut off by Max's lips on his.

Adam's arms immediately go to Max's neck while Max deepens the kiss, wrapping his arms around Adam's back.

Max taps adam waists twice to tell him to jump.

So he does and wraps his legs around Max's waist while smiling into the kiss.

Max lightly breaks apart the kiss. "You dont know how long i've wanted his" He pants catching his breath

Adam reconnects their lips grabbing on to Max's short curly hair while Max runs his hands in Adams hair.

"you're coming back to the hotel with me and we're going to take a nice shower talk this out alright, i dont want to rush anything. Im not messing anything up" He informs the man in his arms.

Adam nods putting his head onto max's shoulder and gives him little kisses.

"Okay" he whispers

You know what.

Maybe soulmates do exist.

~Cross-posted on Wattpad & Ao3~

[gritsandbrits]

Nia & The Mystery Woods

An original tale by gritsandbrits Based on the television program created by Britt Allcroft and David Mitton

Based on  The Railway Series by the Rev. W Awdry 

Original characters belong to me everything else to their respective owners (Mattel) 

Note: mix of the show & Shining Time/TATMR 

Since her arrival to Sodor, Nia the Orange Engine grew to love her new home. One landmark that fascinated her was Henry's Forest. While she thought a heavily wooded area was an odd choice to put a branch-line in, she couldn't deny she loved seeing such gorgeous greenery and sparkling springs up close. 

One afternoon, Nia was on her regular run (trying her best to bear with the stench of raw fish) when she arrived in the forest. A sign told all engines to reduce their speed. Nia didn't mind slowing down, it gave her the chance to embrace the serenity Mother Nature had to offer. 

"I wish I could stay here," she sighed. "If not for being an engine I could walk deeper into the woods and see more of it."

"Perhaps another time when we're free," her driver replied. 

Wistfully Nia continued on her slow journey when suddenly, she heard nearby bushes rustle loudly. Before she could process it something darted out in front of her. She jerked to a stop!

"What in the world was that?!" She yelped. 

"Must've been a deer," her frazzled driver said as they checked to make sure she was alright. 

"Whoo! At least nothing spilled out. The last thing we need is sturgeon juice all over the rails," the orange engine grumbled. Her eyes then noticed something was on the rails. Faint shimmer. 

Once there was no sign of any more deer, the little crew went on their merry way. But Nia couldn't help but feel uneasy. 

That night at Tidmouth she relayed the encounter to her shedmates. 

"It could've been a deer like your driver said," Rebecca mused. 

"What kind of deer shimmers?" Nia retorted.

"It could be a fairy!" Percy exclaimed. "One of the delivery girls at the mail station always talks about them!"  

"A fairy? Percy you know magic doesn't exist," huffed Gordon.

Everyone stared at Gordon with blank expressions on their faces. Then he remembered, "oh yeah that's right Lady," he muttered in embarrassment.

"We could ask her but she's all the way on the other side of the world," Thomas sighed sadly.

"You could ask Edward," Emily suggested. "He should know all about the weird things that go on in Sodor; he's been here longer than any of us!"

If she had a neck Nia could've shaken her head yes. "I will tomorrow." Deep down she was nervous about speaking with Edward. She never could muster up the courage to, she felt bad for replacing him. But if she was to get a concrete answer she would have to hide her fears. 

The next morning Nia spotted Edward lounging in the yard.

"Good morning Edward," she greeted quietly.  

"Nia! What a surprise," the blue engine exclaimed. "Uh, how have you been this morning?" 

"Fine. And you?"

"Well I'm just taking the day off. I ain't as active as I used to." 

A brief silence passed between them. Then Nia asked, "Um, Edward, do you know anything about fairies?"

"Fairies?" 

Nia explained her encounter to Edward. Afterwards he mused.

"If I'll be honest I think you saw a nymph.

"A nymph?"

"It's a different kind of fairy one that roams the forests and lives in trees," Edward continued. "They protect the forest, you know. I haven't seen it myself, but it is said they're the reasons why this island still has its natural habitats."

"I see."

"Perhaps we should test our hypothesis," said Edward. "I'll go with you to Henry's Forest and see it for myself."

"Oh! You don't have to, I don't want to take up too much of your time," Nia began.

"Nonsense, it'll do me some good to work out my wheels," assured Edward.

Later that day the two engines made their way to Henry's Forest. During the trip they didn't talk. Not out of rudeness but because both were too nervous to talk to each other.

When they arrived they stopped. "Alright," said Edward. "Show me where it happened."

Nia gestured with her eyes. "I think when I passed by those patches of blackberries when I saw them." 

The engines trudged along the shaded path. Listening out for their magical friend. After a while they had found nothing.

"Hm, maybe it was a deer after all," she said. "Still doesn't explain the shimmer."

"Perhaps some naughty children," said Edward. "People can be disrespectful to wildlife, unfortunately." 

Just as they were about to leave, Edward felt something soft whip past him. "What on earth?" He could make out some dust faintly shimmering in the sunlight. His nose started to itch…

"ACHOO!"

Steam whizzed from his underbelly as he let out a huge sneeze. His whistle squealed, jolting Nia to attention.

"Bless you!"

The blue engine sniffed. "Thank you, just some pollen."

"We ought to get back, it's getting late," said Edward's driver. When he reached inside his pocket he groaned. "Oi! My pocket-watch! It's gone!"

"Maybe you left it back at the station?" The fireman asked.

"No, I could've sworn I had it on me!"

Edward was confused. 

Nia's crew were preparing her too. When her fireman reached to fix her hat she felt nothing but her own hair. "Hey my hat is missing!"

The humans looked around for the article of clothing but found nothing.

"Maybe it's been blown off by the wind?" Asked her partner. 

"Darn! I really liked that hat!" The driver crossed her arms and pouted. 

The pair left, but as they did, a melodious laugh rang out from the trees. 

The next couple of days were tizzy for the NWR. Crewmen reported missing their hats and tools. More engines were sneezing. It wasn't enough to delay routes. But soon everyone was getting annoyed by the invisible pranks.

Every day Nia's curiosity grew. But so did her anxiety. After that brief time with Edward she didn't speak to him. Only hurrying off whenever he stopped by to visit Tidmoth. She felt bad for ditching but she didn't want to remind him of being his replacement either. 

A couple weeks later, Nia was running her goods (thankfully no fish this time) when she went through Henry's Forest again. This time she was determined to catch a glimpse of the nymph. 

"Alright you rascal where are you?" She looked around only to be greeted by trees and the large pool on the other side of the curve ahead of her. 

Feeling a bit bitter she huffed and went on. So maybe it wasn't a nymph? But that still didn't explain the random pranks. 

 Suddenly she heard a loud rustling. Once again something large darted in front of her! 

"Oh dear!" Nia screeched. 

"Shoot!" The driver applied the brakes as a great buck lept out in front of them! 

Nia squeezed her eyes shut expecting the impact. Suddenly felt her wheels lifting off the tracks. Then the unfamiliar tingle of grass. Finally careening to a stop...into the very sparkling springs she admired so much.

"Somebody...help me???" Was her gargled request.

Edward was sent to her aid. When he arrived with the breakdown train he gasped. 

"Enjoying some cool down time I see?" Edward jokes in hopes to lighten the mood. 

"Gleb! mhhee owa hee!" Nia sputtered drearfully.

"I take that as a yes."

It didn't take long for Nia to get put back on the rails. She sputtered out, "It was a real deer this time!"

"I guess this means we have to be extra careful," replied Edward. "By the way I'm curious. Why do you keep avoiding me?"

Nia's blushed. She didn't want to tell Edward she felt bad for replacing him in the shed. He seemed quite a good sport but she didn't want to instigate possible jealousy. 

"Well I-I've been busy," she replied quickly. 

Before Edward could say anything else, their drivers returned with some items in their hands. 

"I see what caused it, someone put a bunch of rocks and sticks on the line!" Exclaimed Edward's driver. 

"Whoever could have done that?" Edward wondered suspicious. 

"Maybe we should wait and find out," Nia murmured. Then she noticed a trail of sparkles streaking back behind the trees. She had a feeling there was more than just deer that lived in the forest.

[opinated-user]

The only time Lily has dated a non-white person is Carousel, and I think it is worth pointing out that the way she treats Carousel is a bit different than how she treats her other exes, and I do think, as a black woman, that her race is probably why. Speaking to my perspective, she is simultaneously harsher in criticism to her implicitly (comparing her to Lizzy when she only has one example of any wrongdoing compared to the many allegations she has about Lizzy, only really talking about an incident with Carousel’s mother, who she then projects those actions onto Carousel) and doing these really gross reads on her mental health that often gets done to specifically our community. But then Lily pretends to be a leftist, and she is aware that she can’t call Carousel out directly because there is just no way she would come out looking good attacking a black queer woman with presumably no proof (because if she had it what’s stopping her) and no way to prove Carousel attacked her first, so rather than stop she finds these insidious digs but then also uses her as a gotcha against racism ‘I can’t be racist, I love black characters and dated a black woman!’ Its a real gross thing I’ve noticed. Of course to be fair, the other reason she likely gets spared is her friendships with Mikaila and Sketchy, and Lily doesn’t want them to call her into question, which they might if she doesn’t have any reason to call out Carousel the way she has done to Lizzy, Britt, etc.

.

[fonkeloog]

X

[forbidden-forest-witch]

Destiné à Être: A Remus Lupin Story

Chapter 11: A Comforting Touch

(Warnings: Smoking, drinking, language, sexual themes. 18+ only

... there is gore and mentions of blood in this chapter)

Word Count: 4.4K

"I wish I could take all this pain and sorrow from you, but for now I will offer my hand to hold and my shoulder to lean upon" -unknown

  Another week passes without any communication between the two. Brigitte awakens with the sun to write routine letters for her mother and Francesca before heading out, making sure to leave out her drama with Remus, and instead telling them that everything is 'fine and nothing new to share'. At this point, she's giving up on ever getting close to the older wizard ... so she thinks.

Brigitte sends off the mail in the drawing room fireplace and makes a stop in the kitchen, where she locks eyes with someone equally surprised to see her.

"Good morning, Britt", Remus says, nervously holding onto a coffee cup. He's leaning against the counter with hair messier than usual and heavy, dark eyes.

"Remus", Brigitte replies flatly, trying not to look at him. She grabs an apple from the fruit bowl and starts for the door when he reaches out for her hand. Bri jerks her head around, startled by the contact. His hand is warm, rough, and she's been missing his touch.

"I'm sorry", Remus blurts out. Regret is written all over his tired face. "Everything I said. It's just- I ... Can we please talk later?", he trails off, peering deeply into her eyes, desperation flooding his pupils. Its been some of the hardest couple weeks, distancing himself from her presence. Constantly imagine the heartbroken look on her face when he rejected jet.

Brigitte sighs and a tiny smile ghosts her lips, "I suppose we can do that". How can she say no to him and those puppy eyes? He lets out a relieved breath and grins at her.

"Great. I can't wait". Remus lifts her hand to his lips and places a lingering kiss on the side of her wrist.

Brigitte walks out the door with an elated smile. Remus sits down and picks up the paper, hoping some Rita Skeeter rubbish can distract him from their impending conversation, and the ache he feels from the approaching full moon.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Five minutes later, Brigitte meets Tonks outside of Auguste's flat. The plan is to meet Moody and Hestia Jones so that they can inspect a few Death Eater residences. They scurry into the narrow street beside his building, but before they can Disapparate, a strong hand grips both their arms. Their screams are cut off as they get sucked into the air.

"What the--"

They land in the middle of a wheat field. Moody is in front of them, leaning on his walking stick. "Constant Vigilance", he states, before pointing the staff at Brigitte. A ball of fire shoots straight at her head, but the elemental witch protects herself, destroying it with a larger flame. A two-on-one duel ensues, with Moody effortlessly blocking both witches attacks. Brigitte tries to weaponize her magic by sending strong gusts of wind, shards of ice, and even using the wheat to tangle up the veteran Wizard.

Tonks uses the skills she's acquired as an Auror, but to little avail. Moody taught her everything she knows and he's using it against her. It doesn't take long for him to outsmart them, sending spells as a distraction so that he can Levicorpus both women at the same time, making them land hard on their backs.

"Hmm. Y' doing alright, but there's always room for improvement", Moody assesses.

"We can go back to our old stomping grounds in the woods. I loved those practices", Tonks says, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

"We will after I determine no one else is using the area. It's a good hiding spot, that's the last place we want to encounter those retched dark Wizards. Or even Muggles".

"Oh, Mad-Eye, don't be so paranoid! And hell, I thought we did pretty damn good. That was impressive, Britt!".

"Thanks, Dora. I didn't know I could do that stuff". Brigitte smiles proudly at herself. She knew her magic could do great things, but she's never displayed it to that extent. It makes her feel more confident if she were to encounter an enemy.

"Now, come. Hestia Jones has already snooped around a couple properties. Still nothing. That's what we want, those Death Eaters cowering, hiding together and staying away from the general population", Moody says, mostly to himself. He takes Tonks' shoulder, who hastily grabs Brigitte's hand before Apparating.

Hestia Jones is standing on the street corner waiting for them. It's not London. They're in the country. The streets are lined with tall trees and ivy-covered brick privacy walls. Their goal is to get into the mansion on the other side. The property is an alleged hiding spot.

With Snape only present for certain Death Eater meetings, his knowledge is limited. He hears bits and pieces of information that is relayed to Dumbledore, who informs Kingsley and Moody. From there, they have to guess where Voldemort's loyalists are hiding and what they are plotting.

There's no one else around, which isn't uncommon in this elite area. People keep to themselves, but that also makes it easy for these villains to fly under the radar. Moody is able to get them passed the surrounding protection charms, and after muttered spells, the giant front door creaks open to allow them full access.

It's dark and abandoned looking. White sheets cover the furniture and the drapes block out the sunlight. Hestia Jones preforms Homenum Revelio, which shows there is no one else in the home. Moody and Tonks throw out counter-spells incase there are any traps, and once it's clear they take a step over the threshold.

Immediately, a shrieking comes from the top of the stairs in front of them. They all hold their wands up, watching as a large, blurring ball rolls down the stairs. It's an odd sight, with contorted faces, spider legs, and giant skeleton-like hands trying to form out of the mass.

"I hate these damn Boggarts. Too many of us, it can't decide what to turn into", Moody says, before destroying the unformed creature. They wait, but the commotion doesn't prompt any more surprises.

"Alright, you two go off that way. Jones and I will go upstairs first", Moody whispers. Brigitte and Tonks set off to the left wing, inspecting for any signs of life or clues as to where the homeowners may have fled to.

The first room they come into is the dining room. It's a typical residence for a Voldemort lover: Black floors, black walls, and snake accents on the crown molding and furniture. The table is still perfectly set, with intricately folded napkins and polished silver. The wine decanters are still full, so that could mean someone plans on returning.

As Brigitte and Tonks carefully prowl, it becomes more obvious that this is a hunting lodge. Along with the heads of the ancestral House Elves, "trophies" of stuffed dead animals are mounted on the walls with their murder weapon, and a polar bear rug is sprawled out in the middle of the smoking room. Brigitte stares at it queasily.  

"These people are barbaric", she sighs. "Wanna destroy this room?".

"Gotta let them know one way or another that we were here... and not to be messed with", Tonks snickers. Brigitte engulfs the rug into flames, to give it a proper cremation, while Tonks knocks down the gold plaques and awards.

"Oops! Can't make too much noise or Moody'll here us. He'll say this is childish", Tonks shrugs. They scamper across a large, barren ballroom and into the library. Brigitte can't help but gasp at the volumes of books and Old World artifacts.

"I hate these people, but this is a nice damn collection", she admits. With their illuminated wands they examine the room: more weapons and unusual souvenirs. Unique treasures that it would be unwise to touch.

Moody sends a patronus "Downstairs clear! Going up!". The girls scan the shelves, tapping the artifacts with their wands for any traces of dark magic. After finding nothing they move onto the next room, the main study. They can hear Hestia and Moody scuffling around above them, most likely forcing open a door or pushing away bookcases.

"Not very light on their feet", Brigitte jokes. Tonks snickers as she scans more shelves and Brigitte wanders over to the grand mahogany desk.

"Maybe there's something that'll at least tell us when they were last in her-", she's cut off by a loud metal clamping sound. Brigitte yelps and collapses hard onto the floor.

Tonks whips her head around and watches the events unfold in slow motion. A bear trap is suddenly clenched around Brigitte's leg, causing her to topple over. The pain immediately sets in and she lets out blood-curdling shriek.

"AHHHH! THE FUCK- MERDE!", she sits up in a panic and attempts to pry the teeth open. The hunting tool is huge, so big it's a challenge for Brigitte to sit up as it twists her leg.

Tonks runs over, screaming hysterically as well. "Merlin! Britt! Shit... MOODY! MOODY!", she shouts desperately. He and Hestia appear seconds later. They're taken aback to see Brigitte hyperventilating on the floor as she and Tonks aggressively try to release her leg from an iron bear trap that's soaked with her blood.

"Merlin", Hestia gasps before rushing over to the scene.

"Get it off me! Get if the fuck off me!", Brigitte groans miserably as her hands become soaked in her blood. Sparks flutter from her fingertips as she begins freaking out, and the metal gets hot. The thick blood is making it harder to grip the teeth off the contraption. Brigitte thrashes her leg, further injuring herself.

"How the hell did this happen?!", Moody growls while examining the trap. Tonks tries to catch her breath to explain,

"I-- I don't know! There was nothing on the ground and all of a sudden she was screaming!".

Hestia points her wand at the trap but nothing happens. "Could've had an invisibility charm. Whoever set it out wanted someone to step into it- someone like us. I... can't... unlock it!".  She taps her wand on the trap a few times, but the sparks just fizzle without success.

Brigitte keeps tearing at the trap while crying and hyperventilating. Then she jerks her head up and looks around at the other's faces. She looks at their mouths and starts stuttering incoherently.

"I can't- I can't hear anything!", she screams. "Why?! Why?!".

Tonks grips Brigitte's face and tries to hold eye contact to calm her down. Brigitte scans her face, tears streaming down both their cheeks. Her eyes dart back and forth when she reaches up to Tonks, "FUCK! Fuck I can't see!", and she starts sobbing uncontrollably, her face contorted in anger and pain. She tries to grab at the bear trap, but Tonks holds her still.

"We have to get her out of here", Moody urges. "Tonks, send a patronus to Bill Weasley and tell him to meet us at Headquarters. Hestia and I will carry her". Tonks nods her head and tries to wipe her cheeks dry and ends up smearing Brigitte's blood across her face. She mumbles into her wand and sends off her jack rabbit patronus before disapparating.

Brigitte is curled up on the floor still trying to pry open the trap and blubbering incoherently, her tears, sweat and blood all mixed together. Hestia attempts to pick her up but, Brigitte fights her.

"No honey, no, I'm helping". The two struggle; Brigitte swings her fits frantically, obviously panicking at the darkened silence she's now trapped in.

Moody points his wand to levitate her body, keeping her still so she doesn't create more damage. Brigitte weeps pitifully as they Disapparate to 12 Grimmauld Place....

The house is quiet. Remus is sat in the drawing room reading The Picture of Dorian Gray while Sirius nurses a cup of tea and reads some nonsense article about himself, that quotes Cornelius Fudge about the whereabouts on the 'madman killer'.

"Say Moony, you hear that crazy Black made his way down to Mexico? According to Fudge... ha! I wish...", he says ruffling the paper.

"You mean you'd rather be on the beach with a margarita, instead of here?", Remus asks pointing around the room, "you are bloody mad".

"Ahhh, one day, I will be on a beach in Mexico with a margarita. Just wait, Moony", Sirius leans back and daydreams that reality. Remus smiles sadly at his friend before returning to his book...

The house is silent until the front door slams shut, and the men hear someone running up the stairs. The men jump up and stare at the doorway, wands in hand. A few seconds later Tonks appears with a dirty and disheveled appearance and out of breath.

"Is Britt's potion case still under her bed?!", she looks at them frantically before running off. Remus and Sirius look at each other before following after Tonks, who's stumbling out of Brigitte's room with a wooden box.

"Tonks, what's going on? What's wrong?!", Remus asks her desperately, examining her bloodied appearance. She looks at him painfully, hesitant to tell him about Brigitte. Before she can respond the door crashes open again, causing Mrs. Black to shriek profusely. The wicked witch is immediately drowned out by an ear-splitting cry.

Tonks races down the stairs, followed by a panicked Remus and Sirius. They follow a thin trail of blood down the hall, and open the kitchen door to see Hestia and Moody trying to place a wailing Brigitte down on the table.

"Come on Tonks, help me hold her! Apparating didn't do her well", Hestia huffs while Brigitte yanks on the bear trap. Tonks sets the potion box down and helps hold her still.

The horrific scene makes Remus' heart sink to his stomach and his throat go dry. Blood is steadily dripping from the bear trap that's hovering above the table. Brigitte's clothes and face are stained red and her hair is matted to her face.

"Wha-what happened to her?", he croaks out with watery eyes. He and Sirius step into the room as the other three continue to tend to the flailing woman and ignore his question. The candles flicker violently as Brigitte freaks out, and even a pitcher filled with water sitting on the counter shatters to bits.

She thrashes around uncontrollably, a chain of French curse words spilling from her mouth, while Tonks tries to hold her still so she doesn't hurt herself more. The weight of the trap pulling against her.

"Britt, love you've got to stop ripping at it, please", Tonks pleads despite her temporary deafness. Moody flicks his wand at the trap unsuccessfully while Hestia rummages through the potions box.

"How the fuck did this happen to her?!", Sirius demands.

Tonks looks up at him, her voice quivering, "bear trap... came out of nowhere... poisoned... she can't see or hear us", she starts sobbing while trying to grasp Brigitte's arm. She continues to scream incoherently in French.

"Aidez-moi! Aidez-moi! Maman! Quelqu'un! Merde! Fuck! AhhhHHH!".

"What's she saying?", Tonks shouts over her.

Sirius's lets out a pained sigh, "She's begging for her Mum, someone to get that thing the hell off her".

Remus is horror struck as he looks at Brigitte covered in her own blood. The usually delicate, yet powerful witch in the most heartbreaking scene. The sound of her gut-wrenching cries strains his ears and makes the pit in his stomach twist. He rushes to her side and takes Tonks' place.

"Brigitte, Britt stop! Darling it's okay," he pleads as she kicks around screaming. Remus gets ahold of her dainty hands; she desperately tries to fight him off but he's stronger. He places them on his cheeks so that she can feel the scruff and ridged scars. He lightly caresses her wrists as she feels his distinctive features.

Her breath hitches when she realizes it's him, "Re-Remus?", Brigitte mumbles shakily. She opens her terror- filled eyes and looks blankly at him. His heart breaks seeing the tears as she looks around hopelessly. The tension in Brigitte's muscles somewhat subsides as she moves her hands to the back of his neck, clinging to him to find some comfort.

Remus sits on the edge of the table and holds her close as she buries her face in his chest, his scent calming her down enough to stop the constant screaming.

He caresses her back as she hiccups and whimpers, and takes slow, deep breaths to encourage her breathing to mimic his. Hestia finally finds something to help counteract the poison and injury. Sirius comes back into the kitchen with a confused Bill Weasley,

"What's going on- oh my Godric, Britt...", he gasps .

Moody grunts at him and sits to take pressure of his leg. "Hope your curse-breaking training has prepared you for this, we can't get the trap off her leg".

"Britt!? Mon dieu, non, Sissy!", Fleur appears from behind Bill and runs over to her friend. Tonks grabs her arms, pulling her to the side to explain the situation and keep her out of the way. Bill approaches Brigitte's clamped leg and assesses it, Remus still holding her tightly and caressing the back of her head.

Hestia comes over with a handful of viles and sets them down by Remus. "Here. Give her one drop of this and then this", she instructs as she hands him two eyedroppers.

He gently pulls Brigitte back a little to expose her face and lightly puts the dropper on her lips. She initially jerks her head away but Remus rubs her back encouragingly with the arm still holding her. She parts her lips and allows the liquid to spread across her tongue. Remus hands the droppers back to Hestia and soothingly scratches up and down Brigitte's arm.

In a matter of seconds, she goes limp in his hold and he panics, "wha- what did you make me give her!?".

"The first potion was for the poison, the second was to let her pass out. It's not going to feel good when Bill finally gets this off", Hestia explains gently.

Remus continues holding Brigitte and strokes her hair, her arms limply wrapped around his neck. Sirius has a twinge in his heart looking at the distraught expression on his friend's face as he desperately clings onto the girl who he's fallen so hard for.

Tonks is in the corner trying to console a hyper Fleur. "Help her, Bill! But don't hurt her, please don't hurt her!", she cries.

"I'm not going to hurt her, my flower", Bill says calmly. He bites his lip in concentration as everyone watches him flick his wand at the bear trap. About five minutes later it finally creaks open. Sirius and Moody remove it from Brigittes's leg and Moody promptly leaves with the weapon, presumably to show Dumbledore.

The lack of pressure on the deep wound allows blood to flow freely onto the table and waterfall onto the floor. Hestia grabs another vile and sprinkles its contents around Brigittes's calf, effectively stopping the bleeding and sealing the gash.

"She's lucky it didn't go through her bone, only scrapped it. It'll be a few days before she feels like walking too much. With the potion she took though she won't even be awake again until tomorrow", she explains as she uses her wand to remove the pant fabric from around the wound. Hestia removes Brigitte's combat boot and conjures up a bandage for the healing injury.

Everyone takes a collective sigh knowing that the stressful moment has passed. "That was fucking awful", Sirius breathes out. Everyone nods exhaustedly, except for Remus who's staring blankly at the floor with a clenched jaw. Hestia gently pats his arm and bids everyone a goodbye before she slips out of the kitchen. Bill gives Fleur a tight hug to help calm her down.

"I think we should get her cleaned up. How about it, Fleur?", Tonks suggests.

Fleur wipes away the last of her tears and agrees. Remus stands up and carefully hooks one arm under her legs while the other supports her shoulders. "I'll take her upstairs", he mumbles.

Although the nearing full moon has him weakened, he cannot break the physical contact with Brigitte just yet. His protective instincts have kicked in and he's hesitant of anyone else touching her. Tonks nods and gives him a small knowing smile.

Remus holds Brigitte close against his chest, followed closely by the girls, and gently places her in the bathtub. He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck and backs out of the room,

"I'll be right outside. Call me if you need any help", he tells the pair and closes the door behind him. With their heads hanging low they stare at Brigitte's bloodied figure as they assess a plan.

"So, I can Evanesco her clothes off and we'll get her cleaned up? I feel like she wouldn't mind that, yeah?", Tonks wonders. Fleur slowly nods with her face still masked with worry as she gazes down at her best friend.

"Uh, yes she won't care. I've seen her naked hundreds of times. You get the water started and I'll get her fresh outfit", and she hurries out.

She nearly bumps into Remus who's leaning against the wall next to the door with his face buried in his hands. Fleur gives him a gentle squeeze on the arm as she scurries past. Tonks fills up the tub and they carefully dab off the blood and wash Brigitte's hair.

Once she's clean, they drain the dark pink water, dry her with a spell, and slip clean clothing onto her slack body. Tonks dumps the red-stained towel to the sink.

She gasps at the sight of herself in the mirror, "Merlin! I've been too busy worrying about Brigitte, I didn't even think about what I look like", she says while rinsing off her hands and face. "I'll shower at Auguste's later. I need to let him know what happened... REMUS! You can come in now!", she shouts, making Fleur cover her ears.

Remus does not hesitate to come rushing back in. He easily scoops up Brigitte and takes her into the bedroom. He gently places her on the bed, and then Fleur covers her with the satin bedding and kisses her cheek.

Tonks walks in after them with the pile of ruined clothes to discard, "I'm going to head out to tell Auguste what happened. We'll come over tomorrow... she's going to be fine, Remus", she says, seeing the look in his eyes. "It gave her a real fright but she's okay. Damn tough little witch". He just stares down at Brigitte's motionless body.

Fleur smiles softly and nods in agreement, "She will be fine. Take good care of her, Remus". She takes a deep sigh and walks out the room with Tonks. 

Remus stands at the side of Brigitte's bed and takes her hands in his. It's so small in comparison and fits perfectly in his palm. He draws little circles on her soft skin with his thumb as he admires her delicate features. Her now peaceful expression; the freckles scattered across her ivory skin; and her pink velvety lips that he was lucky enough to once experience all make his heart palpitate.

Then suddenly he imagines her blood-soaked and his breath hitches in his throat. Remus doesn't fight the tears that start to blur his vision any longer, not worried about Brigitte or anyone else seeing him finally crumble.

"You really scared me down there, ya know? I... I don't think I could handle seeing you in pain like that. That's what I'm afraid of– hurting you ... but, god dammit Britt, I don't want to stay away from this. I can't. I want to protect you ... I haven't stopped thinking about our day together, and how we could have more moments like those ... ", he whispers to her, his voice cracking as he speaks.

He quickly composes himself when he hears Sirius coming up the stairs. He peeks his onyx head into the room to check on them both, but mostly Remus.

"How's the patient?", he asks, keeping his voice cheery.

"She's better, now... I saw her this morning, y'know? She actually agreed to talk to me tonight... I'm just terrified of causing her pain, Pads. What can she possibly see in me?".

Sirius sighs at Remus' self-criticism, having heard it before. He gazes at Brigitte before turning to his friend. 

"She probably sees the amazing guy that you are, mate. You're the only one who doesn't... how can you worry about hurting her when you were the only one who made her feel okay downstairs?".

Remus simply shrugs in response. Sirius squeezes his shoulder and walks backwards to the door,

"Come on, want a drink? I could use one after that".

"No... no, I think I'll just stay here for a while. Just in case the potion wears off sooner, ya know? I don't want her to wake up by herself", he says pitifully. Sirius slowly nods and goes back downstairs.

Remus takes the chair from the corner next to Brigitte's bed and slides it closer to her. He makes himself comfortable and lets his eyes wander around the room, admiring her personal touches. He catches the painted couple on the mantlepiece gazing down upon him and Brigitte as they swing back and forth.

Remus notices her copy of A Picture of Dorian Gray sitting on her bedside table. He picks it up and scans the pages printed with the French translation. He places it back down and accios his own from his bedroom. It zooms into his hand and Remus reads the book to pass the evening. Sirius comes back after some time with a sandwich, which Remus reluctantly accepts after Sirius scolds him for not taking care of himself.

Eventually the combination of his adrenaline wearing off and the nearing full moon overwhelms Remus' body enough to let him drift off to sleep in the chair, and for the rest of the night long after he's fallen asleep, his grip on Brigitte's hand remains secure.

...

Let me know if you wanna be tagged! plz and thank u 

Masterlist

Taglist: @dontjudgemyobsessionpls​

[heartofspells]

Did someone say good godfather/dadfather Sirius and little Harry?

From that damning (lies, all lies. i love it) prompt list from Britt.

honey, that’s not how you make the bed

---

"Harry!"

There's no answer, and Sirius grumbles to himself. Harry never listens anymore. He's at that age, or that's what all the random women that seem to keep flocking to his side continuously say (mostly Molly Weasley). If he has to hear one more lecture about proper child-rearing from the likes of Minerva McGonagall or Andromeda, Sirius thinks he might actually rip his hair from his head.

"Harry, c'mon, mate!" shouts Sirius again. "Where are you?"

He still doesn't receive a response and he stops in the middle of the hallway, head falling forward as his shoulders slump. Sirius is just pulling his wand to make locating his godson easier when he hears the faintest of giggles from behind the cracked door to his right. He slowly steps in its direction, pushing it open carefully, aware that it creaks and whines when swung too forcefully.

Sirius glances around his bedroom, searching out the sound, finally spying a small, shuddering lump in the center of his bed, buried under sheets. He can't help the smile that pulls over his face as he leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Gotcha," he says clearly, and the quivering stops abruptly, silence falls.

And then, "No, you don't." Sirius' smile stretches to a wide grin as he moves forward into the room, hovering over the bed, staring down at the misshapen lump.

"Really? All right, then. If you say so." And then he's lunging, folding himself down around the bulge beneath his blankets, fingers quickly searching out ticklish sides in a practiced motion. The lump flails, a shriek emerging loudly and rattling off the walls around them, piercing Sirius' ears, but he doesn't cease his attack, eventually forcing Harry to unearth himself. "Aha!"

"Padfoot," whinges Harry, breathless and pouting, though it's broken by the flickering smile that keeps gracing his face. "You messed it up."

Sirius pulls back, studying him with exaggerated curiousness. "Messed what up?"

"The bed!" cries Harry desperately. "I was fixing it for you."

Sirius bites back on his immediate reaction to laugh, eyes shifting over his godson, warmth swelling in his chest at the devastation at being found out Harry is exuding.

"Tangling yourself in the sheets and hiding away?" remarks Sirius, teasing smile tugging into place. "I hate to tell you, sprog, but well…honey, that's not how you make the bed." Harry's face visibly falls, and he mumbles something Sirius doesn't catch. His fingers slot under the small boy's chin, lifting his head to look at him again. "But that was a very kind thought. I'm proud of you for wanting to help."

Harry mumbles again, and Sirius leans in closer. "What was that?" he queries.

"I got stuck," admits Harry, louder this time, and Sirius is once again forced to restrain his bubbling amusement.

"That's too bad," he murmurs, beaming at Harry. "How about we fix it together?"

"Can we?" gushes Harry in excitement, his misery instantly fading away. Sirius finally lets his laughter release, standing and sweeping Harry from the bed, much to the boys squealing delight.

[hevanderson]

talk about ur hyper specific pezberry au!!!!

THANK YOU. I WILL!

before i do though i Do want to say that this does kind of tap into anti brit/tana + st/b.erry stuff, and both santana and rachel do bad things that are framed as bad things. i don't condone cheating or infidelity, i just think it'd make for incredible yuri potential

im about to go on a ridiculously long rant so tldr; they cheat on their spouses with each other at a high school reunion and nothing good comes from it

so! the basis of the pezberry au (affectionately titled 'The Great Pezberry Affair' as of right now) is that its 2023 and rachel is incredibly dissatisfied with her life. this isn't what she wants, she's not feeling the same spark from jesse, she hasn't been able to act in a while due to having children, she's just kinda miserable but she's not fully aware of it. then she gets a text from brittany about a high school reunion and she's so happy like this is exactly what she needed. so she tells jesse she's going to ohio for a week, maybe two (he's a little pissed about it + decides to stay in ny). she goes to ohio and things go pretty smooth for a day or so and then the high school reunion night happens

the high school reunion is where things start to go down. so it's a good time like it's a fun party and stuff and then rachel sees santana and is like omg i haven't talked to her in a Bit i should go catch up so she does and she never realized how easy it was to talk to santana, she must've taken that for granted before. throughout the night rachel very slowly starts to dig up some old feelings about santana that quickly turn not platonic. when santana kisses her cheek for a picture (rachel can feel the wedding ring on santana's finger on her chin), she feels electricity she hasn't had in years and she knows she's screwed but she can't stop thinking about santana and how soft her lips were against her cheek

more party shenanigans happen and then sam is like 'oh btw guys im going to have a little ex-nd after-party/hang out at my place" and naturally rachel goes (it isn't a coincidence she decides to go after santana + brittany decided to go). the party is going well but rachel is Still thinking about santana but nothing comes of it until rachel is sent to sams basement to get some more drinks and santana follows her. in the basement santana is like 'i noticed you staring at me berry you aren't subtle, but im into it and i'd love to be your first girl kiss' and rachels like Oh No I'm Married You're Married Let's Not but santanas like 'it doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you. besides, like i told britt all the time in school, it isn't cheating if we have the same plumbing– and despite your mannish hands, im pretty sure we do' and rachel kisses her. she doesn't wait for santana to make the first move, she just does it. and it's magic. it's like rachels first time being kissed. it's amazing. scene ends on them making out against a fridge or something lmfao

so more flirty very secretive stuff happens over the course of this week until it's time for both to fly back to their homes. rachel decides to call this off because it's already making her guilty and she can't continue this. santana agrees and says it's fun while it lasted but she does need to focus on brittany- plus it'd be a huge scandal if people found out broadway's golden child and this up and coming singer were having an affair. they say their goodbyes. but on the fly home santana still won't leave rachels head; even in new york she's all rachel can think about so she caves and texts her way too late at night and santana responds. theyre back on. they exchange flirty texts and pictures and call when they're positive nobody's around. it's all so wrong and so right and so addicting

then jesse finds out. jesse saw these texts because rachels phone kept buzzing while she was showering or something and he knows everything. cue huge fight that ends in jesse leaving. rachel immediately calls santana and is confrontational and blaming her for him leaving etc etc but santana isn't accepting this blame because she was going to leave her alone, it was rachel who came crawling back. they fight too and santana agrees to not talk to her like this ever again. and rachel is alone

[toi-monogatari]

The reason why a character becomes a comfort character / fan favorite pt3

The Narrator

This time I'll discuss my new fixation once again.

My take on this one is plain simple. It's trauma. Anyone kinning for him has had some form of trauma in form of not being listened to, being either abused or neglected.

People loving him feel like no one ever cares about their feelings. They feel out of control. Let others make choices for them, but then feel regret when it goes wrong.

They try to grasp any kind of control, but ultimately their lives are being forced into a direction by someone else.

I guess most were put down as gifted children. They were forced to do much more than their brains actually could, just because someone else decided they're smarter than the other children. And as soon as that stopped, when the pressure finally set in, they got diminished for it. They got put down for every mistake they made and now that makes them regret every decision, conscious or unconscious it be made by them.

All they want now is to be listened to. Someone to just be there for them, but that doesn't seem to happen often. And as soon as it does, they will cling to it.

Its trauma that binds us to the old Britt.

[thetimelordbatgirl]

Okay...does Lily want to really play that card? Does she really? Because fun fact for anyone reading this post: people HAVE tried to call the police on Lily! Because @britts-galaxy-brain literally confirmed they tried to report Lily for her Sankaku, but guess what? The person on the phone wasn’t interested and basically rushed Britts of the phone. 

“Don’t make attention seeking youtube videos about it.” as Lily put’s it, is literally at this rate the only way people have to make sure people KNOW Lily is dangerous, because the cops either don’t really care or just aren’t equipped to deal with the situation. And Lily is no idiot, because she knows this. She was among those calling out Troonkritic when he was being rightfully exposed and called out, but sadly, nothing was done about him when it came to the law outside of the internet, because even with evidence when he was reported, he’s still out there free as a bird. Fucking hell, as Britts pointed out on this reblog, Mamamax is a big example of someone who literally finds evidence of pedo’s and takes all of it to the police, only for nothing to be done cause its online. 

So to anyone reading this post: don’t let Lily play this card. She’s not stupid. She knows exactly why a police visit won’t be coming to her any time soon. But still doesn’t stop her from trying to do this GOTCHA to people to try and make them look like liars. And if you try to say she’s right, know your playing right into her hands here.