#but didn’t have moth bodies to paint and had dishes

[hyydraworks]

Little Mothra dishes, absolutely going to be in the next Etsy update.

[smurphyse]

Loki is dating a young woman who is a fantastic cook and one day he realizes his pants are a tad tight. He’s gained some weight but doesn’t have the heart to stop eating her wonderful food

Southern Belle

Word Count: 1691 words

Tags: body issues (not like anything too triggering, I don’t think), mentions of sex

I always love feedback, but like, please be nice lol

Send me more Loki prompts! <3 I love doing oneshots!

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“Here we go,” she sing-songed, carrying a large baking dish over to the table, the little hand-painted ladybugs that decorated it’s sides seeming just as excited as she.

Loki sat patiently, smiling at her as she set it down on the blue checkered tablecloth next to a tub of ice cream. She set down a few brightly colored plates, all painted with various bugs and flowers, decorated by her own hand- which were still stained with paint, he noticed fondly. 

“Peach cobbler,” she grinned, shaking her shoulders in excitement, “Just like Mamaw used to make!”

She watched him closely as he took his first bite, giggling when his eyebrows knitted together in bliss. Fuck, everything she made seemed to come from Valhalla.

His girl, his Southern Belle. The two had been dating for only a few months, ever since Loki had come to San Francisco during his travels. She had been poking around an art fair, her long curls pulled up into two pigtails as she pulled out pieces to observe.

She’d been wearing a pair of dirt smeared overalls, detailed with little butterflies and flowers, obviously hand-embroidered. They were rolled up at the ankles, her neon Converse forcing his eye to her like a shining beacon in the night. 

He’d been drawn to her, like a moth to the flame, unable to control himself as he pushed past the crowds to meet her. As he came face-to-face with her she glanced up at him and flashed him a megawatt smile. He’d been speechless, utterly besotted. 

“Can I help you, darlin’? You look lost,” she drawled, and it took a moment for the Allspeak to translate her thick Southern accent. 

“I think I’ve just been found, actually,” he chuckled, finally finding his voice. 

Her smile seemed to grow brighter, the little crinkles around her eyes deepening as she flushed deeply. 

Loki had offered her a coffee, and she took it. He’d been living in bliss ever since.

She’d come to San Francisco to be an artist, picking up little commissions here and there, working in various galleries and zipping from place to place to help out her fellow creators. She was constantly buzzing around, full of excitement and energy about the whole world around her, ready to take it on day by day.

She gave Loki courage, made him see the little details of this Odin-forsaken planet that he had mostly overlooked. He loathed to admit it, but she had made him love Earth, so long as she was on it. 

One day he would take her to Asgard, and he would watch as she painted the skies in her excitement and ecstasy. His world would be born anew in his eyes, just from the little things she would point out, things he’d never seen. 

They found time for one another whenever they could. Loki had kept himself busy working in various art fairs, finding himself a good organizer for such events. One activity that they had found pulled them together, besides the lovely rapture that was their sex, was cooking. Loki had taken it up when he arrived on Earth, mostly enjoying food closer to Asgard’s cuisines. She was from the South, whatever that meant Loki was not sure, but she insisted it meant all things ‘comfort food’. 

And comfort it gave. She’d shown him Tennessee Barbeque, ‘Pop Pop’s Soaked Ribs’, a bunch of things having to do with cottage cheese, and of course, desserts. 

He was settling down. Norns, if Thor could see him now. He’d likely have a joke or two to make of his unattached, emotionally distant brother finding love in such a creature as her. 

Loki could hear her now, singing some country song in the shower, her deep twang echoing off the tiles and through her small apartment. 

He was getting ready for the day, pulling on a deep green undershirt as he stood in his boxers. He pulled a pair of black slacks out of his little designated area of the closet and pulled them up.

As he buttoned them, he noticed they felt a bit tighter than the last time he’d worn them a few weeks ago. They had one of her art events to go to for lunch, and he’d been wearing jeans mostly when he was working at the fairs. 

Turning, Loki checked out his ass in the mirror. He still looked fabulous if he had to say, but his pants were tighter. 

Could this be a trick? Had Thor tracked him down and performed some spell to throw Loki off his game? It certainly would not be the first time something similar had happened. 

He lifted the shirt, turning to the side as he patted his tummy, his finger pinching along his sides as he sighed heavily. He stepped closer to the mirror, pressing the back of his hand under his chin. His mouth dropped open in shock, and he glared at his reflection.

He’d gained weight.

“I wouldn’t have nothin’ if I didn’t have you,” she sang as she walked back into the bedroom in a fluffy pink towel. She came up behind him and wrapped her hands around his waist, giving him a squeeze as she placed a kiss between his shoulders.

“Hey, handsome.”

Loki scoffed, feeling quite uncomfortable suddenly. She frowned against his back, her hands squeezing his sides lightly, his love handles.

He pulled away from her with a groan, the air feeling heavy around him. He turned to look at her, her lip set in a pout on her concerned face.

“I’m not feeling very handsome today, kitten.”

“Oh,” her frown set deeper for a moment, but was quickly replaced by a mischievous smile, “Is there something I can do to make you feel handsome?”

She tucked her lip between her teeth as she sauntered back up to him, placing her hands on his chest. He smiled down at her, his heart bursting in his chest. 

Loki dipped his head, catching her lips with his own. Her hands tangled into his hair as her towel fell away, and Loki took the opportunity to lift her into his arms and carry her over to the bed.

“I think I have something in mind,” he grinned, pulling her under the covers as she giggled from his touch. 

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

They arrived at the event a little late. The only craft she was not talented in was the art of makeup, but luckily Loki was, and they’d had to spend a few extra minutes covering up some of the hickeys someone had left on her neck and chest.

They were at some vegan restaurant in town that doubled as an art studio. Loki would never understand it, all these hybrid businesses were too niche, they’d have a hard time lasting in this market. But, she liked going and supporting other artists and friends, enjoyed having her art displayed on the walls of local businesses, and who was he to deny her that fun?

The little buffet table was filled with all sorts of leafy greens and vegetables of all colors. It was a vibrant exhibit, accentuated greatly by her art that complimented the bright green and orange paint job of the establishment.

“How come you don’t make food like this?” he asked, waving a blackbean taquito toward her as she gazed at another artist’s work.

“I make vegetables all the time,” she shrugged, snagging the taquito out of his hand and taking a bite.

“You make vegetables with Crisco, which I believe is just butter and animal fat mixed together.”

“I thought you liked my food, honey,” her big eyes clouded with worry, and his chest crumbled in an instant. 

“Oh, my sweet,” Loki sighed, snaking one of his hands around her waist, the other moving to cup her chin, “I do, it’s just-”

“Just what? You’ve been acting weird all day, Loki. What’s going on?”

He felt the heat creep across his cheeks, embarrassment flooding his every vein as he looked down at her. He hated feeling like this, vulnerable, but he wanted to be honest with her, to invest in this relationship.

“I’ve gained some weight recently… and I think it’s from your cooking.”

Her eyes widened in shock, “I haven’t noticed.”

His head cocked to the side, his lips pursing in disbelief. She noticed everything, from the ants on the sidewalk to the stars in the sky, she saw it all. 

“Loki, if you want me to make healthier meals, I’m more than willing. You just seemed to like my comfort recipes so much, and I wanted to make you things you liked,” she wrapped her arms around his waist, tugging his hips tightly against hers. “I have lots of recipes in my book, darlin’.”

“I do love your cooking. I guess I just feel a little… insecure right now,” he admitted, his face starting to cramp from the blazing blush across his nose.

“I really didn’t notice anything, but,” her hands dragged back to his belly, patting it softly as she stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. “Now that you mention it, I do like the little bit of cushion I’m feelin’.”

“Wow,” he chuckled, kissing her again. He covered her hands with his, giving them a soft squeeze of thanks. 

Suddenly, he had an idea. He leaned in and whispered hotly against her ear, “Think you can help me work some of it off?”

“Oh,” she feigned innocence, her southern drawl coming out in full force, “what kind of exercises do you have in mind?”

“The kind that includes me, you, and a locked bathroom door fifteen feet away,” Loki smirked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. 

“Oh, I’m gonna be so sore in the mornin’,” she laughed as Loki dragged her to the other end of the restaurant, admiring his ass in his trousers unabashedly. 

Loki pulled her into the bathroom, locking the door behind them as he lifted her onto the sink. She grinned at him, her eyes full of light as he looked at her lovingly.

His girl, his Southern Belle.

His favorite thing to eat.

[ashes-and-ashes]

Something really quickly before I go to bed :)

~

The house looked exactly the same as it did the night he left. The same hallway - the cabinet pushed up against the right wall, the closet door with it’s floral screen, the paint dark and dull. There was a vase on top of the cabinet, full of some sort of faded silk flowers - Remus can’t tell what colour they originally were, can’t see past the thick layer of dust on top of the petals.

Memories. That’s what this house was full of, memories and ghosts and the whispered echoes of actions long done.

He hated himself for coming back, running to his parents like he was at their beck and call. He couldn’t stop himself though - it was ingrained in him, that fatal sort of loyalty that kept him coming back.

He closes his eyes. The house felt suffocating, the walls and the windows, drips of golden amber and he was the fly that was caught in it. Remus takes a deep breath, holds it, tries not to pass out.

There’s a warm presence at his side - he knows without looking that it’s Sirius. He loses a small breath, opening his eyes to stare into Sirius’.

“Hey,” Sirius says. “Listen to me. We can go home. We can go home right now if you want to.”

“This is home,” Remus whispers. Sirius’ face tightens.

“Back then. We can go back. Those pieces of shit don’t mean anything any more.”

Remus swallows hard. The message had come a few days ago, on that rose-scented paper that his mother had always used. He couldn’t even get past the first line, her handwriting so familiar it hurt.

Dear Re,

Would you like to come over for dinner...

He couldn’t. His parents were flames and he was a moth - no matter how hard he tried to escape he couldn’t. He envied Sirius sometimes, his utter lack of regard for his parents. He wished he could do the same.

Remus grits his teeth. He allows himself a moment, just a moment to catch his breath, to lean into Sirius’ side before opening his eyes. “I’m good. I’m fine.”

Sirius nods, stepping back. Beside him, James slings his coat over one arm, eyes unusually cold.

He couldn’t do it alone. Sirius and James had agreed to come with him at once, to this house of silence and memories. He didn’t think he could bear it otherwise.

With a sigh, Remus tugs at his hair. James at least had made an effort - he’d combed his hair, dressed in a nice sweater and a button down shirt. Remus wore something similar, his jumper too scratchy and his shirt too tight. Sirius though hadn’t bothered to do anything - he’s in his ever-present leather jacket, his hair pulled into a bun at the nape of his neck.

Remus had asked him about it, before they left. Sirius just gave hiom a vicious smile, one that let Remus know that tonight wasn’t going to be easy.

“I don’t actually give a shit about your parents,” Sirius scoffed and that was that.

Light filters in from the kitchen - Remus can smell things cooking. With a sigh, he pushes the door open revealing the dining room.

It was exactly how he remembered it - wallpaper and china cabinets and that glass chandelier. Remus swallows the lump in his throat, looks down at the floor.

When he sees it, he actually flinches, so hard that Sirius grabbed his wrist. He ignores it though, the pain shooting up his arm as he stares at the rug, the gold and the red, the flowers embroidered on the side.

For a moment he can hear his father, the whistling of the belt and the snap of impact. He can see the keys dangling in his hands, disappearing into his pocket, mockingly close and so far out of reach.

James shoots him a concerned look and Remus opens his mouth - to explain or to laugh or to scream he doesn’t know when -

Sirius goes tense, every muscle in his body going rigid. Remus lets out a slow breath, drags his gaze upwards reluctantly until he locked eyes with his father.

They stand like that for what feels like eternity - his father’s stony gaze, Remus’ empty one. For a brief moment, Remus wonders if he’ll ever end up like his father - stagnant and unrepentant, forever left longing the things he could never have.

Lyall looks awkward. He shifts his weight from one foot to another before finally coughing. “Remus.”

“Dad. Where’s mum.”

“Kitchen.” Lyall drags his gaze up, holding out his hand. “I see you’ve brought guests. I’m Lyall. Remus’ father.”

Sirius snorts, rolling his eyes. James quickly cuts in before Lyall can say anything. “Hi. I’m James. I go to Remus’ school.”

Lyall nods, turning to Sirius. “And you are?”

“Oh please.” Sirius’ voice is cold, utterly blank and full of rage. He doesn’t make an attempt to calm the fire in his eyes, the utter loathing coursing through his body like blood. “You know who I am.”

“Sirius.” Lyall’s voice is disapproving. “Remus’...friend.”

“Dad,” Remus says. Fear floods his body at the look Lyall gives him. He lifts his chin though, refuses to look down. Sirius is grinning at his side, a manic, emotionless smile, the kind of boy who delighted in tearing others down. “Dad, we’ve been over this.”

Lyall doesn’t say anything, just takes his seat. There’s a clattering in the kitchen - Remus’ eyes widen as a woman rushes into the room.

She’s wearing an apron, her hair styled in a careful bun. There’s a large covered dish in her hand - she sets it carefully down on the table before taking her seat. “Hi. I’m Hope. Remus’ mother.”

Sirius turns that manic grin on her as well and she flinches away.

“So,” Lyall says, clearly trying to cut some of the tension in the room. “How are you doing today?”

Sirius cuts in before Remus can say anything. “Absolutely horrible thanks. My day just got shittier and shittier when I found out I had to come here.”

“No one is forcing you,” Lyall says, his voice like ice. “In fact, I’m surprised Remus even approved, seeing his questionable group of friends.”

The barb hits home, sliding underneath his skin like a knife. Remus shakes his head, glaring at his father. “Lay off.”

“Don’t talk to your father that way,” Hope says. Remus ignores her.

“Don’t make comments like that. We’re not stupid. We know what you’re trying to do.”

“And what is that, Remus?”

Remus looks down, at the stone floors. He can feel the memories, barely submerged underneath him.

The whistling of the belt, the cold stare of his mother, the way he dug his fingers into the rug at his feet -

“Looks like you finally got all the blood out of the carpet then.”

Lyall whips around, eyes like ice. Remus holds his gaze, refuses to drop his glance. This only seems to infuriate Lyall more.

“What are you - “

“Blood?” Sirius throws back his head and laughs. “Try Utcunque. Great for those nasty stains.”

“Young man,” Hope says. “What exactly are you trying to - “

Sirius just snorts. He’d rolled the sleeves of his shirt up, exposing the scars carved into skin. “It looks like you and my mother would get along.”

Lyall stares at the scars for a bit then shakes his head. “I have no idea what you are talking abut.”

“Don’t you?”

Hope cuts in. She turns to James - perhaps thinking he was the least hostile in this explosive mix. “So. How did you and Remus meet?”

James glares back at her. Remus doesn’t think he’s ever seen him like this, all empty and cold, eyes like stones set into his face. “On the train. To Hogwarts.”

Hope waits but James doesn’t provide any more answers. With a sigh she turns to the covered dish in the center of the table. “Alright. Re...I cooked your favourite...”

Remus watches with a sinking feeling as she scoops out macaroni and cheese onto his plate. He glances around the table - everyone is sitting rigidly in his chair except for Sirius. Sirius is slouched, arms flung over the back, head tipped up towards the ceiling. Lyall clears his throat a few times to no avail.

“Stop,” Remus says. He realizes that his hand’s clenched firmly around the prongs of the fork, the metal cutting into his skin. “Stop this. Stop pretending everything is okay.”

Lyall and Hope exchange cautious looks. “Stop what, Remus?”

“This.” Remus waves his hand, indicating the House, the room, them. “This...subfuckery. This idea that we’re some perfect family.”

Lyall shakes his head. “Remus, look - “

“Dad.” Remus cuts him off. “You are - “

“Did you know,” Sirius cuts in, eyes flashing in the dim room, “That I’ve seen Remus’ back? It’s beautiful really, all threaded with scars and cuts. And you know what else? Some of those marks match the ones on my own back. And God, I do hope that’s not what’s happening. Still, I don’t know how a werewolf can leave a mark so clearly in the shape of a buckle in the middle of someone’s shoulder blades.”

Lyall is shocked into silence for 3 whole seconds before turning on Remus furiously. “You told - “

“Oh yes,” Sirius says. “Well. We figured it out.”

“You disrespectful - “

James shakes his head, setting his cutlery down. “Disrespectful? Us?”

“How dare you come into my family’s home - “

“Oh it’s not my home,” Sirius laughs. “And Remus ran? Remember?”

Dread floods through Remus’ gut. He reaches out - Sirius’ hands are balled into tight fists at his side, nails cutting into skin. “Father - “

“How. How could you let - let him know about - “

“That what?” He can feel the anger now, coloring his words, adrenaline pulling him up into the clouds. “That I’m a Werewolf?”

A clatter makes him jump - Lyall had knocked back his chair in fury, eyes bulging. “Shut your mouth. You - “

“And an example of the extreme anger demonstrated by Lyall Lupin,” Sirius says and James lets out a low laugh. “See Remus has told be quite a bit about you. Including your temper.”

“Until you become a parent - “

“My parents tortured me, Lyall. You think I can’t recognize another one in a heartbeat?”

Remus swallows hard. Lyall levels a hate-filled glade at him. “How could you tell this - this whore that - you’re - a “

“And who’s fault was that, Father?” The anger is coming now, in waves of white hot fury that made him want to puke. “If you hadn’t criticized Grayback - “

“He deserved it!”

“That’s what you said about me. I deserved it. Didn’t I?”

Lyall’s eyes burn a hole right through him. “You were always an ungrateful brat. Coming into my house with this - this fag - “

“Don’t,” James says quietly, “Ever call him that again.”

“How could you tell a random - “

“He’s not random!” Remus spits, his vocal cords so tight he thought he’d rip them to shreds. “I’m in love with him!”

Hope gives a faint faint of gasp. “A...it’s just a phase - “

“No.”

“Re.”’ Her gaze was pleading. “Pleas. You’re already making it so hard by being a...a werewolf. Why must you make it harder for yourself?”

Remus laughs, low and wicked and brutal. “Father stared it when he challenged Grayback to prove one thing he had that Father didn’t. I can’t, Mum. I can’t live in this lie.”

“You,” Lyall says, “Will come home. We will enroll you in summer programs - “

“Like what?” Sirius spits. “Conversion camps?”

Lyall’s gaze is steady. “If that’s what it takes.”

“No.” Remus stands, chucking his napkin on his untouched plate with the same motion. “No. We’re leaving.”

Lyall just points at the door. “Get out.”

Remus flips him off and stalks out of the dining room.

[steelwingsoffreedom]

Five Times Fucked {hit me with those less-than-tender moments, bro}

Send ‘Five Times Fucked” for a drabble about 5 times our muses fucked (not made love...fucked)

1.) Levi and Maries relationship was the worst kept secret in town. Everyone knew they were related, everyone knew Kenny treated them like shit to ‘try and toughen them up’ and everyone knew they were fucking. It of course bugged Levi, but as long as it never got the in the way of his work, no one mentioned it to his face, and everyone left him alone, his lips were sealed on the matter. Also, of course, everyone knew despite his best efforts, and the occasional drop in from Kenny, they were both barely surviving, and Marie certainly wasn’t an eyesore, but the later fact of their illicit relation kept most curious minds at bay, even when Marie herself offered to stand at the corner Levi quickly shut it down. But when a new customer of the usual ladies started rolling into town early spotted the blonde, his ignorance of the fact meant he didn’t stop. Apparently someone pointed over to Levi when the old man began to do some digging; needless to say that man went home with less teeth than when he left. 

It was strange, it obviously wasn’t a shy subject of the household, his own mother being rather popular even, and Marie had mentioned trying it more than once, but today, for some reason that had pushed him over the edge. She was hers god damnit, and no one was aloud to take that away from him. When he got home, he found the smaller girl doing her normal tasks, throwing some damp wood on the stove trying to get the fire hot enough, a couple fruits, likely stolen from the vineyard a block away as they didn’t look that rotten on the counter, her blonde curls were held back by a hair band that was stained with oil and dirt, her dress, likewise was stained, but from a distance could pass as simply well used, but even in their squalor, her presence was usually a calming one, but now the sight of her sent something in him over the boiling point.

He stormed over to her, and before she could even get a greeting out, he pushed his lips to hers. It didn’t linger to long though, he had already grabbed her arm with one hand, and the hems of her dress in another. He pushed her over the counter and began to roll up her dress, she was his, she was not for sale, she never will be, and he will not allow any different. He took her then and there on the counter, no fear of the surprise visit of their uncle, no further thoughts were in his mind, not the normal profound sense of worth she granted him, or the deepest most pure form of love, just possession, she was his and that evening he marked her as such.

2.) Being as together as they were, for pretty much as long as either the pair could remember, they were relatively close, which goes without saying. But they were also struggling to survive, which meant that, usually, there wasn’t much spare energy. Which was great for getting along, when either got aggravated with the other, it was typically resolved nearly before it started as one couldn’t survive without the other and accepting that their life was shit and that can come with a shitty attitude sometimes was just part of the territory. Today was a day of shitty attitudes. It was raining, for the fourth day in a row, the creek behind the house was to polluted with mud to get water, the only food they had were apples so rotten the skin peeled off without a knife, and to top it off, Kenny had just visited the day prior, offered Levi a job, which only lead to getting the shit beat out of him followed by a verbal lashing as apparently Kenny had money in that fight.

So it was a quite dinner, both knew life really had just gotten the others skin as of late, and neither of them wanted to be the one to light the fuse of the other. When they had finally slunked off to bed, they made themselves comfortable under the blanket they had to share, not quite in the mood to snuggle apparently as the blanket was pulled taught in its effort to cover both bodies. They hadn’t slept to long, maybe a couple hours, when Levi felt a chill run up his arm, a quick survey showed that he was laying there with no blanket, Marie had apparently pulled the entire thing over for herself. He yanked at it first, but with a calming breath switched to more gently coxing some of the cover over for himself, gaining a sliver and deciding it enough, he covered himself once more. It didn’t last long he had barely closed his eyes until it was yanked from him again. This time he wasn’t able to calm himself and grabbed the cover to forcefully take back his half.

It wasn’t exactly clear who said something first, or if anything was actually said to justify the screaming match that followed. But voiced were certainly raised as they argued less about the blanket, and less with each other, but mostly to release all the pent up frustration. But the poor blanket was still receiving the full abuse as both parties pulled at it corners, the yelling only stopping at the sound of fabric ripping, a moth hole in the center ripping wide open. Then began the blaming, until the blanket was tossed aside and replaced with Maries body being pushed down against the sad mattress. Her hands pushed against his chest, pulling his lips from hers, and nearly pushing him off, but she climbed on top of him with the same force, yanking the old stained shirt he wore to bed up with shaking hands. The position of power switched over many times all the energy saved from not arguing early used for very sinful actions, and the poor blanket, the catalyst of all of this was ruined that night with more than a hole, but was blessed with a stain as well, a shameful reminder to the couple, on top of the bruises and sore muscles the next day. 

3.)They made a life for themselves in a new town, the escaped the hell hole that robbed them of so much, gotten their own flat, their own bed, with a boxspring, furniture, dishes, everything. They owned it all, and none of it was stolen, well, most of it, both of them at times discovered old habits die hard and found themselves walking away with the odd thing or two on the occasion, but it was never anything major. But made Levi most happy, was Marie was free to be a girl, do girl things like dress up, wear makeup, go shopping, it usually meant he had to work harder for a bit to indulge like that, but compared to what he had to do before? it was nothing. His boss actually told him he worked to much, and sent him home with pay, he was actually afraid he got fired at first. But he gladly took the sentiment and headed home.

Marie wasn’t there when he arrived, he actually didn’t expect her to be, her and the landlady had grown quite close and she mentioned going to the shops with her. So instead he relaxed by himself, he couldn’t even remember the last time he had an opportunity to do that with nearly no stress. His shower lasted so long, the hot water had started to run cold, he didn’t even know that was possible, figured a city like this had unlimited hot water. He was standing in the bedroom when he heard the front door open, he smiled when he saw familiar blonde curls as she walked into the bedroom. But, she just stood wordlessly in front of him, he tilted his head to try and peak at her face as her head was downcast, instead her hands slammed against his chest and pushed him back against the bed.

The edge of the bed was at the back of his knees causing him to fall back, he went to sit up and ask what the hell was going on, she was already pulling his pants down. Propping himself up on his elbows asking her what was wrong, didn’t help, she was already in the process of straddling his lap and pulling her dress up over her head and tossing it aside. Her lips collided with his and her hips gyrated against him. When he lifted her up and flipped them over, giving up on figuring anything out just yet, she didn’t lay there long, as she hooked her leg around him and flipped them over. Sliding him inside her, she clearly had something to work out, or prove, as not once did she let him have control for a long while. 

4.) It was odd being invited to a party. They were used to everyone keeping to themselves, hording their positions for themselves and not willing to let go of single grain. But Levi’s new job apparently held parties for everyone and their families every holiday season. Marie had to drag Levi out to a tailor and get a suit, a luxury he didn’t expect himself to have in his wildest dreams, and of course Marie had the best dress they could get on their budget, the landlady coming over hours in advance with a suitcase of makeup and hair product, her effort earning more than a couple glances.

The party lasted longer than Levi would’ve liked, it was well into the evening, and many of the guests are making themselves rather merry on the free drinks going around. He made his way back to the table with a plate of miniature versions of food on them, and set it front of his partner before plopped back down in his own chair, glaring at a man that had been staring at the blondes chest a little longer than he deemed acceptable. Though the worst was yet revelated to him, when he looked up, he saw Maries cheeks were rather flushed, and two empty long neck glasses on the table already. He let out a long sigh and massaged the bridge of his nose, they had to get out of here.

That was when he felt a pressure on his knee, like something had falling on it, he looked down, the only thing that had falling in his lap was a small pale hand with decoratively painted nails, and it was slowly sliding up his thigh. Soon she leaned in and began whispering in his ear, the free drinks gentlemen brought her, the compliments she received, very clearly trying to stir him up. But he wasn’t going to let her win that easily, he was more tired than anything, but her hand didn’t stop like he thought it would, when she failed to get past his belt, she gave up and began rubbing him through the fabric of his pants, whispering things in his ear that made even him blush. With a growl he quickly stood up from the chair, her hand in his. They found their way to the coat closet, where, as soon as they were out of sight, she squat down with no prompting, his belt and pants unclasped practically faster than he could blink, his already erect member surrounded by her lips. They knew everything about each other, so they wanted to be quick, they could, she very clearly was not going for speed, she was still teasing him, keeping him on the edge but not allowing him to go any further. That was until he decided enough was enough and stopped her motions by holding her head and taking matters into his own hands, the sounds of her sucking and the occasional light gag were much to load for his liking, but she somehow had earned a rather large reward for it, to large it seemed as she wasn’t able to catch it all and it dripped down her chin. While he was in a slight panic, Marie, laughed and grabbed a handkerchief from a random coat pocket and wiped the sticky liquid from her chin and her exposed cleavage, tucking the used fabric back into the pocket it came from as she stood up, a little treat, she called it patting his chest as she sauntered out, apparently receiving what she desired.

5.) It had been a relatively normal work week, but the repetition, while at first an amazing convince and a godsend to both his physical and mental wellbeing, came with its own set of problems as well. He was pent up. It was as simple as that. 

When he got home Marie was relaxing next to a pot belly stove, well lit and warm, reading a book, she barely acknowledged him entering. He walked over and grabbed the book from her hands, setting it on the table next to her, he grabbed her arm and guided her to the bedroom. Of course this was meet with plenty of teasing as she allowed her self to be dragged away, but he tossed her onto the bed, his hand firmly connecting with her behind. Earning a yelp from her, and some light questioning, he only answered by dropping his pants to his ankles.

Lifting her skirt up, the sound of his palm connecting with skin made a much louder satisfying clap. Both of Maries round cheeks a stinging red by the time Levi finally felt that coiled spring of tension in his chest loosen, knowing his partner wouldn’t allow him such a simple victory such as this, neither of them rested that night.

[almondharry]

you look so good : one

you look so good [5.6k]

“You must think you’re so hilarious, don’t you?”

A charming smile crept on his face slowly. “It is why you married me, isn’t it?”

“I am beginning to rethink that decision. Not one of my finest moments.”

“You’re thirty years too late for that, love.”

There was a pause, then a loud scoff. Her jaw hung open in disbelief. The napkin that laid on her lap was flung towards his chest with a soft thump. “We’ve been married for 32 years, you wanker! Don’t tell me you forgot!”

Alexander and his Algebraic K Theory

September 2, 2019

It was a slow night. There was not a single car found between the thick yellow lines freshly painted in the lot. A flickering lamp post finally gave out. The moths previously circling it floated to the next one. Besides the elderly couple arguing over a crossword puzzle in their booth, there were crickets in the diner.

The checkered floors were swept and each table was found crumbless. With a broom in hand, she would pretend that she was a chess piece being moved strategically. Genevieve sat behind the counter with her chin in her palm, textbooks in front of her, and a highlighter in hand. With the cap caught between her teeth, Genevieve dragged the yellow ink over the numbers she found important. The mint green coloured plastic stool did little to relieve the ache at the bottom of her spine. Occasionally she would hum in tune with the soft melodies the local radio decided to play– the songs were interrupted by cracks after every three songs, a pattern she had observed. She preferred night shifts over day ones. When the diner was close to deserted, it gave her the perfect opportunity to crack open her books and get started on her coursework that she was weeks behind on.

Flo’s Diner was a well known spot for people to grab their fix of greasy comfort food. It was sandwiched between a laundromat and a music shop. Red leather booths lined the perimeter and mismatched frames of posters and photographs hung on the walls. There was even a twenty year old menu, slightly browning and curving in at the corners, behind protected glass. 

“Excuse me! Dear!” 

Genevieve abandoned her work, her fingers expertly gripped the neck of a steel teapot before carrying it over to the booth the voice came from.

“More tea?” she offered with the raised pot.

“Oh no, darling, I just called you over so you can tell Eugene that cholesterol is the word he is looking for in the across.” The man sitting across from her had grey hair that was combed neatly to one side. He wore a deeply indented frown on his face. He grumbled something under his breath as he kept his eyes glued to the newspaper in front of him. “I tried telling him, but he has suddenly decided to ignore my existence. Couldn’t watch him struggle like that. It’s painful, really.”

“Well.” Eugene squinted his eyes behind his glasses to read the name tag on the left pocket. “Genevieve, maybe you can help me to find a four letter word that is a synonym for annoying.” Eugene crumpled his face in thought, his eyes brightened a moment later. “Nevermind I’ve got it! It’s W-I-F-E.”

A chuckle scratched the back of Genevieve’s throat. She tried to distract herself by tipping the pot to refill their cups with pursed lips, but it tumbled out and Eugene grinned. This only prompted his wife to cross her arms and narrow her eyes at him across the table. 

“You must think you’re so hilarious, don’t you?”

A charming smile crept on his face slowly. “It is why you married me, isn’t it?” 

“I am beginning to rethink that decision. Not one of my finest moments.”

“You’re thirty years too late for that, love.”

There was a pause, then a loud scoff. Her jaw hung open in disbelief. The napkin that laid on her lap was flung towards his chest with a soft thump. “We’ve been married for 32 years, you wanker! Don’t tell me you forgot!”

His face stretched into a wide smile, the corner of his eyes crinkling upwards. “Of course I knew, Maggie. Just keeping you on your toes.” His left eye dropped in a quick wink. “Genevieve, can we have the bill, please?”

“I’m on it.” She nodded and headed towards the register to print out their receipt. Genevieve exchanged their dirty plates with a credit card machine, not forgetting to include a few chocolates that are kept in a jar by the register. On her way back, she heard Maggie smack Eugene's hand away from the sweets. 

“No chocolates for you.”

“One won’t knock me dead,” Eugene counters with a huff. 

“Tell that to your diabetes specialist next time, won’t you? I’m sure he’d love to hear all about that.”

By the time Genevieve returned from the kitchen, Eugene and Maggie had gotten up. He was helping Maggie with her walker by the front door. They would be bundled in scarves and hats in no time. 

“Have a great night!” Genevieve called out with a smile and a wave. Similar goodbyes were echoed back, and Genevieve went back to their booth.

The clanking of the bell–much like one that would be strapped around a cow’s neck– above the door signified that she was the only one left in the diner other than Walter, who was prepping in the kitchen for breakfast meals. Walter was quiet as a mouse, making a noise only when absolutely necessary, so it was her and her books for the rest of the night.

Genevieve cleared the table of the machine and she swept up the small crumbs left behind with a dishrag. She folded the discarded crossword and the flimsy paper crumpled under her hold. She rearranged the condiments into their set spot. As she fiddled with the jam holders, the bell above the door chimed once again. 

Without turning towards the door, she called out, “Forget something?” She scanned the table for keys, wallets, anything of importance. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for customers to rush back in for their valuables a minute or two after leaving the diner—but Genevieve didn’t see anything left behind. 

Her brows furrowed when no one responded, and she turned around to discover Maggie and Eugene were long gone.

The lanky figure that stood across from her was disgustingly familiar. His jeans had rips at the knees and his boots were on the brink of falling apart. The wind outside had coloured his cheeks and thrown his hair in a way that veiled his eyes. It was shorter now, more blunt than she recalled. The longest strand–that once would hit his chin–sat at the tip of his nose. 

Genevieve was the first to grasp a handle on the situation, as he was too busy struggling to remove a folded book from the pocket of his denim jacket to notice the scene.

He hadn’t seen her yet.

She still had time to get away.

The impulse thought was to plan an exit. There was a back door on the other side of the restaurant. Too far. She could grab a seat at any booth and stay out of sight. Or– the kitchen door was only a couple of steps away. If she acted fast enough, maybe even ducked her head down, she would go unnoticed. She could beg Walter to take his order and hide in the back until he got up and left.

In the midst of her plotting her exit, her body betrayed her. Her feet felt like heavy frozen blocks, cemented to the tiles beneath. Somehow her throat became wrapped with spiky barbed wire. Her hands were damp and fingers pruned as if she had just wiped them with a rag after drying wet dishes. 

A hand swept his hair back to clear his sight, and Genevieve wanted to become as invisible as the crumbs lodged between the tiny cracks of the tables.

His lips parted and his eyes blinked quickly, the urgency reminding her of flapping butterfly wings. He swallowed a lump in his throat as his green eyes widened, becoming more awake and alert. 

Genevieve was very familiar with his eyes, a shade of green like the plush moss that stuck to tree barks and abandoned stones. The corners of his eyes flicked up when he focused them in on her. There was no denying how beautiful he was. With his strong jaw and sharply contoured face, he turned heads immediately, he was something to be awed at. A sprinkling of colour dotted the high points of his face, meaning he had recently gotten some sun. But Genevieve paid close attention to his soft features, unable to tear her eyes from the slope of his neck and the dips of his bitten lips.

He was a bit too much at times. His presence could overwhelm and suffocate you. His shy smirks and beaming smiles and obnoxious laughter. He took up space and his beauty was borderline interrupting. Uninvited. 

Despite it all, Genevieve despised how good he looked. 

There are countless things in the world that sting. A sharp needle to a finger, a flat iron on high heat and of course, and, the worst of them all, Harry Styles walking in at Flo’s Diner. 

“Genny?” Harry breathed out, his bottom lip curved into a perfectly cut slice of peach, and Genevieve almost winces in pain. 

His voice is like sugar being melted over a pot set on high heat—sweet, caramelized, and could burn you if you let it. 

There were sleepless nights where Genevieve had given a thought to this situation. What would happen if Harry stood in front of her? The scenarios she had concocted in her brain closely resembled hell freezing over. She was sure time would stop and the Earth would split open. But when she looked down at the floor, there were no cracks. It stayed intact. The needles on the clock continued to turn without a pause. 

Harry Styles stood in front of Genevieve, and she felt nothing. 

“It's been too long.” 

When Harry took two steps closer and positioned his arms for what Genevieve knew too well to be a warm hug, she quickly retreated towards the pile of laminated menus. 

Struggling to make her stale smile as welcoming as possible, she looked him in the eye. “Booth or table?”

Genevieve swallowed pennies as the silence prolonged, while Harry’s brows were curled in confusion from the formality. His arms held their place for a moment too long—awkward, expecting—but dropped them at the clanking of the bells above the door. Her chest visabily deflated, as if she was pricked with a sharp sewing needle, and her lips parted to sigh a breath of relief now that she and Harry were no longer alone. Somehow having others around steadied Genevieve’s heart rate. 

A group of three came staggering in the diner with loud laughter and limbs intertwined from holding each other up. Their cheeks flushed and they wore matching grins. 

“Harry! You didn’t even wait for us, tosser!”

“He went so fast! Did you see him? I did—” hiccup “—not.”

“It must be the long legs. How do you not get dizzy?”

Genevieve blinked back to Harry. His eyes were the clearest of the bunch, the supposed designated driver of the night. She tried to manage what one can only call a subpar attempt at a smile. It was plastic and stretched her face in a way that hurt. “I’ll get you a booth.” She nodded.

Harry noticed it didn’t reach her eyes. If this was a different time, he would’ve made it painstakingly obvious to her that she wasn’t fooling anyone. Instead, he let her turn away.

“At least his bum looked super cute.” A voice, Genevieve presumed to belong to Harry’s friend, giggled. “Have you been doing squats or some shit, because you were flat as a board!”

“Now that’s progress!”

“Must be those nasty green drinks.”

“Oi!” Harry interrupted their banter. “That’s enough from you lot.” The mischievous laughter subdued to amused snickers as the group struggled with their coats by the rack. 

Genevieve busied herself with placing the menus on the table of the empty booth. The first one of the bunch to reach the booth was a pint sized girl. Her face was covered with orange freckles and her chopped hair sat below her chin. Her steps were a bit muddled in her short walk to the table, but she managed just fine to her seat. A strong scent of American Spirits followed her like a cloud heavy with rain. With heavy limbs, she plopped down and her face instantly laid on the cool surface. She let out a dreamy sigh and closed her eyes.

Harry took a seat across from the sleeping girl in the booth, and Genevieve scampered towards the kitchen. She went with the intention to let Walter know that orders will be coming up soon, even though she knew he didn’t need the heads up.

Harry used his index finger to poke at the flesh of the girl across him, but her arm didn’t move at all. This action was repeated twice and the same result was given. “Angie’s down, guys,” Harry called out to the rest of the group. 

This caused the two vacant seats in the booth to be filled.

“Fuck, not again.”

“I’m not carrying her this time, I did twice before.”

“Zayn, she puked on me last time. I reckon you can carry her once more.” 

“Oh sod off, Liza. She gets cranky and pulls out my hair, no bleeding way.”

“What if we just…” Liza leaned forward on her elbows that were supported by the table. She dropped her voice a couple octaves lower. Her eyes blinked from Harry’s sober ones to Zayn’s clouded. “Left her here? It would stop her from pulling this again.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger, his head shaking at their drunkenness. The fact that this was an actual topic of conversation and it was actually happening was insane, but nothing out of fashion. 

Zayn tilted his chin, as if the possibility was a film tape reeling in his head.

“I am still very much conscious, thanks for your concern.” On cue, Angie raised her head up from her quick snooze. Her hair was tied in knots and a line of saliva connected her back to the table. “I love knowing I can depend on my lovely friends to look after me. What’s next? Leaving me an abandoned alley? Leaving me locked out? Oh wait, you lot have done that already! Cheers!”

“Oh stop exaggerating, Angie.” Liza rolled her eyes. The paper napkin was scrunched up and dragged over Angie’s mouth as she grimaced. “You are no angel here, you had your fair share of responsibility in that.”

“Let’s talk about how you guys wouldn’t be having this conversation if you left me with that fit bloke at—”

“Jesus, Angie,” Zayn groaned. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “We’ve talked about you using your shit coping mechanism to get over—”

The temperature in the room dropped by a few degrees. Icicles hung in the air. “If you utter her name, you are dead to me.”

Zayn sighed deeply at the hardened glare the messy girl shot his way. “Just saying you can do much better, yeah?” His words were soft, tender, and just what Angie needed to hear for the night.

“Yeah, Z.” Angie sighed, her shoulders dropping. She shifted in her seat and laid her head on the wall. “It’s just hard at first.”

Liza and Harry sat beside each other with their menus in hand. 

“I say do whatever to get over that bitch, really. Sleep with whoever you want. I’m pretty sure that waitress was cute, get her number,” Liza suggested with a loose shrug of her shoulders. Harry’s knee jerked up and collided with the underside of the table. This caused the salt and pepper shakers to almost tip over.

Zayn shot a funny look, his brows drew together. “You alright, H?”

“Great, should we order now? I’m starved,” Harry prompted. “I have an early morning, so I need some food in me.”

When met with collective nods, Liza signalled Genevieve, who had just come out from behind the swinging kitchen doors. Genevieve plucked out a pen and a pad of paper that was stored in the front pocket of her apron. Each step she took towards their group made her want to take two back.

Liza was first up to order. She went for the scrambled eggs and avocado toast. Zayn ordered his black coffee and eggy bread. Genevieve tried to make eye contact with Angie, but she was still browsing the menu. She wanted to prolong avoiding a specific awaited conversation for as long as possible.

“I’ll have the number two special, but no eggs,” Harry spoke up. 

“‘Course, will that be all?”

“I’ll get a tea.”

“How do you take it?” The question was simple, but to Harry it manifested a slap to the face. Genevieve knew well how he took his tea. He had taken it the same way for years on end. But the thing about people is that they change and grow apart. Harry’s lips parted slightly and the downward tilt to his brows deepened as he looked at Genevieve with a dumbfounded look that said really? 

“Harry, mate, you done?” Zayn said, looking from Harry to Genevieve. 

Harry cleared his throat quickly. 

“Milk, two sugars.” 

“Yeah.” Genevieve gave a nod and looked away. 

Harry ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. His shoulders dropped as he sighed. “Thanks, Genny,” said Harry. A drunken giggle followed right afterwards from the girl seated across from him. Angie cupped one side of her face as she stared at Harry with a dopey grin. “What’s so funny?”

“Even I’m not drunk enough to read her name tag wrong, you numpty.” Angie found the white tag pinned on the left of Genevieve’s chest and all eyes squinted to read the somewhat broken letters. “It’s Genevieve. That’s pretty.”

Genevieve cleared her throat. “Um, Gen is just fine.”

“Alright, Gen, can I please have some banana pancakes with extra syrup?” Angie asked. Genevieve nodded and scratched her pen against the miniature pad of paper. After she had written down all the orders, she began passing the pen between her fingers. “What else do you recommend here?”

“The eggs and bacon are really popular, I always go for the traditional English.”

“You see, I’m not really the traditional type, you know?”  

This prompted Liza to terribly disguise her bubbling chuckle behind her pursed lips. The shifting pen in Genevieve’s hand halted. It also caused Harry’s boot to meet Angie’s shin. 

“Bloody hell, Harry.” Angie scowled as she jumped further back into the plush cushion of the booth. “Are your legs fucking spazzing tonight? Do we need to take you to an A&E?” 

“That’ll be all,” he interrupted. After he saw Genevieve’s back disappear into the kitchen, he narrowed his eyes at his scowling friend. “You’re ridiculous, Angie.”

“Loosen up, H. I was so close to getting her number, but I reckon you need it more. Why are you always so wound up?” Angie spat. “Live a little. You didn’t even have one drink tonight.”

“I have work tomorrow morning and I’d rather not show up half intoxicated.” Harry shot her a knowing look to which she responded by rolling her eyes.

“Alright, that was one time, okay!” 

“One too many.” Harry smirked. “You know she tipped over a whole shelf of books on herself.”

“Did not.”

“Bloody hilarious.” Harry shook his head and smiled widely. 

There was loud chatter, drunken mumbles, and bickering. Angie was complaining about an overdue assignment, Zayn had just came off the waitlist for his stats courses, Liza’s thumbs were typing away at her cell phone screen, and Harry was trying not to look at the swinging doors one too many times.

When Liza’s phone met the table and she leaned forward towards Harry, he sunk in his seat. He had been caught.

“You have the look,” Liza whispered, brown eyes narrowing at his green ones.

“Do I?”

“Hmm.” Liza was observant. She picked and prodded and critiqued until she would dig deep enough to find her pot of gold. She liked knowing things about people and places, she wasn’t afraid to get personal and into uncomfortable territory.

Harry found her nosiness particularly amusing when other people were under her investigation lamp. Especially when Zayn would bring girls home and they would be scampering in the morning. When the light was aimed at him, however, he froze, and sweat formed above his brow. “You’re jittery, your eyes are bouncing off the walls, and you’re calling girls by different names. Wanna tell me what it is now?”

“Just hungry is all, Liz.”

“Sure. I’ll just find out when I do.”

Angie and Zayn were preoccupied with their little side conversation to pay them any attention. Zayn had mentioned he had her professor before, so he knew the marking structure. Angie was bribing him into finishing her assignment.

“I’m not hiding anything.” Harry shrugged.

“I believe you.” Liz nodded, her back resting on the cushioned fabric. “For now, at least.”

Angie groaned dramatically, drawing everyone’s attention to her. “It's all numbers, Z, you know I can’t count above fifty. Whose brilliant idea was it to stick a maths course in an arts degree, anyway? What genius thought that the people who—”

“Angie—”

“Do me this one, and I’ll owe you.”

Zayn didn’t have a chance to answer since plates of warm food hit the table. Cheers from the group erupted. The heavenly smell was enough to quiet down any discussion. 

Instead of Genevieve delivering the food, it was an older man with buzzed hair. He smiled, his eyes crinkling, and asked if there was anything else they needed. He filled their drinks and let them devour the greasy comfort. 

“So good,” Liz moaned. Angie nodded and mumbled an incoherent agreement. 

The three were too busy shoving forkfuls of food into their mouths to notice the missing waitress. Harry chewed his food slowly. Maybe it was a misunderstanding on his end. Did he really expect to hit play on something that had been paused for so long and watch things go back to his parameters of normal?

Change was unavoidable, and it was evident even in the small things. He noticed she preferred to leave her hair down now, instead of her previous pony tails. She wanted to be called Gen. Her eyes, once full of fight, were now barren, almost bleak. Harry wondered what else had changed as his fork scratched his plate. Did she really forget how he takes his tea? Or did she not want him around? He frowned at the thought. 

Harry knew that Genevieve didn’t owe him warmth and comfort, besides, he got enough of that from the friends surrounding him. What Harry needed was to look in her eyes and not see vacancy. 

***

October 25, 2019

“Jesus.” Liam shook his head when he spotted Genevieve by the tree across the street. Its roots ran deep, the width of the trunk was more than the length of her arms. There were framed pictures, a few candles and wilted flowers laid against it. 

They both had matching stacks of photocopied paper. Each one identical.

Flatmate wanted. 3212 Ashford Street, Apt number 12. One bedroom. Parking available. On campus location. Utilities included. Call below for more details. 

“I know I told you to put the fliers in prime locations, but I reckon above a student memorial isn’t the best of places. That’s poor marketing,” Liam whispered harshly as he jogged over.  

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut your gob.” 

Liam and Genevieve both knew she wasn’t here to stick a thumbtack onto the tree. 

She squinted her eyes and crouched forward to get a better look at the framed picture. Gravel crunched loudly under the soles of her boots as her knees sunk into the dirt. The girl in the pictures was around her age. She was pale with short, dark brown hair and front bangs. The backdrop was a classic blue, the ones used for high school graduation photos. She had a thin smile and her eyes crinkled in the corners. Her name was written with neat swirly letters: Jenny Wu. There were notes about her being a loving sister, a daughter and a dedicated church volunteer.

“When was this?” Genevieve inquired, looking down at the handmade cards that had the weight of stones to keep from flying away. 

She looked up at Liam. Behind him dark clouds were floating in. The wind had picked up and dimmed some of the flames. Genevieve pulled at her jumper to trap heat. 

Liam scratched the back of his neck. “Almost two weeks? Maybe three.”

“Shit.” Genevieve breathed out.

“Drunk driver hit her when she was on her way home. Can you believe that? Some people can be so fucking reckless.” Liam scoffed as he crouched down beside her. He fixed some of the tiny frames that had toppled over. “She died on the scene before the ambulance arrived so they couldn’t do much, but the bloody tosser made it to the ICU.”

“That must be so hard for the family.” Genevieve reached in her pocket to pick out her cigarette lighter after spotting a few unlit candles. Her thumb helped to ignite a spark and she cupped the glass jars with her palm. She repeated this until there were a couple steady dancing flames.

“I saw them on the telly. The mother said something about forgiveness and not letting her grief turn into hatred of him.” Liam shifted to lean on the trunk, his arms folded as he looked down at her. “Like, that sounds like a terrific thing to actually do, but I can’t imagine myself especially in that situation. I would be up in flames.”

There was a moment when Genevieve saw snippets of what she assumed to be Jenny’s life. In her head, Jenny was a brazen girl with a sharp wit. She was studying politics and international relations and juggled a part-time job as a cashier. She was the head of the debate team and won their last championship. She had a younger brother who got on her every last nerve. She was learning to play the piano. 

She liked to think each person had a well crafted formula to model their life. Each one unique and distinct from the other. Everyone was working towards balancing their equations. Some were lengthy and angry looking and some were simple and short. Essentially what mattered was that they always tended to work out.

Genevieve knew first hand that solving one of these formulas was like maneuvering a spider’s web. It could get messy, tangly and dizzy. Often times there were just too many unknown variables and sticky irrationals that needed to be ironed out. And on rare occasions, webs would seem to stretch out across empty fields.

“Yeah, me neither.” Genevieve stood up quickly. Her palms patted at her knee caps. “Let’s go? We still have a few.” She waved the stack of A4 papers.

Genevieve was halfway down the street when she realized there weren’t matching steps following her. She turned around and saw the curve of Liam’s back still slumped by the tree.  

“C’mon, let's get you a flatmate! Sitting on your arse won’t make rent any cheaper!”

Liam sighed but got up with a low grunt. 

Genevieve smiled. “Last one to the car gets dinner!”

***

“Oi!” Liam hissed. “You’re a bloody cheat!”

Genevieve looked over her shoulder and raised a brow. “How so?”

The sidewalk was a narrow strip with small potholes that held bowls of rainwater. Liam lagged behind, muttering under his breath. The glowing neon open sign of Peter’s was only a short distance away. Genevieve inhaled a breath and the aroma of gooey cheese and tomato sauce danced about. She glanced above just as the streetlights were beginning to flicker on.

“You were already ten steps ahead from me. Practically two away from the car.”

She grinned. “All I am hearing are excuses.”

“You’re making me buy you a pizza after knowing I can’t make rent and you cheated.”

“It would be the polite thing to do after your friend spent relentless hours across campus for your service.”

“It was hardly twenty minutes.”

Genevieve scoffed. “I still haven’t heard a thank you.”

Liam rolled his eyes at her dramatics. “You’ll get it when I find a decent flat mate.”

They were in front of the heavy door. Liam had picked up some speed and was closer to the door. His hand pulled at the handle, and a bell above sounded loudly. A comforting heatwave greeted them. 

“After you.” Liam points his chin towards the inside. The shop was nothing fancy, it was owned by a family and had promising specials. Genevieve eyed the awaiting door. She blinked from his grasp to his eyes with brows shot up. “It’s just a door,” Liam chuckled. “You can hold it when we leave.”

As she placed their order of half cheese and half pineapple, Liam slipped out his phone. His thumb hurriedly typing over the keys. He craned his neck towards the door.

“Alright?” Genevieve raised a brow.

“Yeah, I have a friend from the radio coming by to drop a USB key for tonight’s show. Is that okay?”

Liam had gotten a new gig. Two students had got together to launch a student lead radio show on campus. Liam’s curiosity started a couple months earlier and the fliers across campus advertised they were looking to take on more people. 

“‘Course! How is that coming along so far? You liking it?”

“Absolutely loving it, it’s fucking sick. Sometimes I think no one is actually listening, but then I get a call or a request to replay a certain track or talk more about a topic. It’s fun, keeps me on my toes.” He grinned, his teeth on display. “You should drop by, see the workings. It’s much more thrilling when you’re actually on air.” 

“If my arse is ever up at 2 a.m on a Wednesday, Thursday or Monday, you’ll have my company.”

“We both know you, of all people, are,” Liam emphasized. Genevieve was notorious for her review and course work schedule that didn’t seem to have a beginning or an end. It lead to sleepless nights and cramped shoulders. “Doors are always open. It’s a dodgy basement, quite small, but there’s a couch that has your name on it. Smells like piss, so come at your own risk.”

“Creepy basements and pissed on couches, you’re really selling this to me, huh?” Genevieve raised a brow with a crooked smile. The door opened with a quiet jingling of the bells, bringing in a gust of cold air and a set of heavy doc marten boots. 

“Promise it isn’t as bad as it sounds—” 

“Don’t listen to him, its absolute shit with next to nothing funding.” A hand slaps the back of Liam’s back. “But beggars can’t be choosers, so we’re working with what we have. I’m Liza, by the way.”

She had full, tightly coiled curls that sat on her shoulders. They bounced as she looked from Liam to Genevieve. Her eyes were perfectly almond and a colour of honey that was only seen in magazines. 

“I’m Gen.” She offered her a smile.

Liza’s lips puckered in thought for a moment, her index finger lightly tapping them.  “Gen, Gen, sounds awfully familiar.” 

“I’ve talked about her before in passing. She’s the one studying Maths.”

“Brave one, you are,” Liza hums, a sympathetic glaze washed her features. “Isn’t it one of the toughest courses? That’s all I’ve heard at least.”

“It’s not too bad.” Genevieve shrugged. “I’m keeping afloat.”

“Have you got the USB?” Liam implored. 

Liza’s fingers dipped into the front pocket of her skinny jeans, presenting a stick the size of her thumb. “Oh, you’ll also be needing the keys to the panel, just make sure the grid is okay. I know the computer is freezing, Zayn will pop in to take a look at it.”

Genevieve had stepped aside quickly when her order was placed on the counter, leaving Liam and Liza to their conversation. There was a lot of nodding and a couple chuckles. She came back shortly with a medium sized white box. 

“What are you two doing Thursday night?” Liza prompted with hopeful eyes. “I know it might be short notice, but I’m playing with my band at this pub. Both of you are expected.”

“You got the gig? That’s insane!” Liam gasped, his smile bearing teeth. 

“We did!” Liza chuckled at his excitement. “It’s nothing fancy, and it’s one of our firsts, but gotta make it count. Bring your mates. The more the better.” The beeping of a car horn from outside, impatient and loud, made Liza shut her eyes tightly. “Fucking Angie has the patience of a two year old.” 

“We will be there.” Liam nods, and Genevieve smiled. 

“Cheers–” Another set of honks followed. “Fucking hell! I’ve got to run, text me if you’ve got any questions with that.” She pointed at the USB key in Liam’s hand while taking backward steps towards the door. 

“Will do!” Liam waved dismissively. 

She was gone as fast as she came. The doors swing shut, leaving Liam and Genevieve with another gust of cold air. She turned to Liam with a small smile. “She’s nice, I like her.”

“Yeah? She—” Before Liam could finish his thought, the door swung open again, this time with a bit more urgency. Heads snapped to the ringing of the bells. It was Liza, her eyes wide and a knowing gleam shining bright. An animated light bulb hovered over her head.

A loud snap. “Gen! From the Diner!” 

“That’s me.” Genevieve shook her head with a laugh tumbling out from her lips. With another wave goodbye, she was gone.

“—Great.” Liam finished.

***

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[applsauss]

Mors Ab Alto [7/8] - Terra Firma

Description: One year before the armed interventions. Union Zone, Rural Washington State.

Fandom: 
Gundam 00

Pairing: 
Tieria Erde/Reader

Word Count: 2.3k+


Warning(s): 
None

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

One year before the armed interventions. Union Zone, Rural Washington State.

      The sun is a violent red; It simmers in the chalky air. The grass is yellow and crisp around the uneven walkway, and in the bed of yellow flowers flanking the front door, there’s a pinwheel. It spins lazily in the breeze, unconcerned with the comings and goings of the seasons, with the smokey forest fires glaring from across the river. 

As you make your way up the front steps, the house looms, foreboding in its warmth. You’ve only returned a handful of times after selling it in the months following your mother’s passing, and your absence has made it all the more tall. 

Your apprehension is only counterweighted by the fact that, at least, you know the family you sold it to. They were neighbors from down the road and good people, hit the trails on Sundays with their two children and dog - though you don’t know how old the kids are anymore, or if there’s still a dog to hike with. 

You ring the doorbell. A voice shouts, muffled through the door, and then it swings open.

“Oh!” You’re greeted by a woman, Elizabeth. She follows her exclamation with the crisp syllables of your given name, and it makes your heart squeeze. After going so long by an alias, it feels unbearably intimate, and makes you painfully aware of Tieria, who’s standing just a few steps behind you, watching. “You cut your hair! How are you?” she tries to usher you inside, “come in, come in, we’re just about to have dinner. Who’s your friend?”

“Hi!” you bite off the rest of your greeting. “Elizabeth,” you say, stalling at the door, maybe a bit less excited than she is, “sorry, I’m in a bit of a rush. I just gotta get into the shed real fast.” Peering past her into your childhood home, you notice the paint in the hallway is smoother, and a different color. 

“Oh, no problem! We haven’t touched it,” she says, and she slaps a hand over her forehead, “Wow. It’s been years. You look so grown up - I mean, you look good.”

You huff quietly. “Thanks,” you smile, and she reminds you of Linda. “You look good, too - and the house,” you let out a puff of air, “the house looks great.” You give her a weak smile, “sorry, I’d stay to talk more but-”

“Oh, no.” She waves you off. “Go, go. Just stop by again before you leave, I’ll save you two a plate.”

The house behind her looks like a home, and she disappears back into its belly. She closes the door behind her quietly, leaving you and Tieria on the steps. You stare at the front of the house for a couple seconds, deliberately facing away from Tieria to gather your wits, and suck in a smoky breath.

“What are we doing here?” Tieria asks as soon as you exhale. There are geese flying overhead, honking, but neither of you pay them any attention.

You let out a disaffected laugh, then say, “stop asking. You’re the one who insisted on coming.” He takes a step back as you turn around, then follows as you hop down the front steps and begin picking your way across the yard to the shed.

“I didn’t agree to come here. I told you that it would be inefficient for us to split up, seeing as we’re supposed to take the same transport back to Krung Thep,” Tieria says as he follows you towards the shed.

Your response is a vague “hmm”, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with his complaint.

“Wait out here,” You say as you unlock the shed, and with some difficulty, manage to yank the door open. It drags on the gravel, then gets stuck. 

It doesn’t budge when you pull, so you huff and move to pull harder at the same time Tieria reaches to help. It unexpectedly jerks free, and you step backwards into him, shoulder colliding with his chest and the heel of your shoe coming down on his toe. “Oh, sorry,” you jump away, and when you look up at him, he’s frowning at you.

You leave him out in the dying sunlight, then flip your phone open to illuminate the dark space.

“What is this?” He asks, peering into the darkness after you. He’s still in the light, the sun playing on his hair, and his sweater is thin and open, billowing as the trees whisper. It’s all coming on too thick, too familiar.

“Again, Tieria, for someone who’s hell-bent on following protocol, you seem to be asking me an alarming amount of personal questions.”

“You’re the one who dragged me out here.”

“You’re the one who told me that either I take you or forget about it.”

There’s a car parked in the shed, an old model, though not old enough to be a classic, just run down. You tug the tarp covering the car over a wheel well where it blew away, and tuck it more securely under the tire, but otherwise walk past it, leaving it forgotten.

The shed is mostly empty, you’d gotten rid of most of your stuff, though there are a few things you couldn’t bear to part with. You’d never been materialistic, but when you said goodbye to your mom, you couldn’t bring yourself to say goodbye to the reminders of her. A dresser in the corner, covered in a picnic blanket. A few of your mother’s favourite ceramic dishes. A glass from a brewery down the road. Hiking boots, a snow bib and sleeping bag eaten through by moths.

“There you are…” you mutter under your breath as you find the crate you’re looking for. Bending at the knees, you pull up the box of records with you and drop it on top of the dresser to rifle through its contents. When you’re satisfied that you’ve got the right box, you pull a drawer open and toss a box of matches on top of the box before picking everything up and turning towards the door. 

You carry the box out into the fresh air, then join Tieria, who’s wandered off to the remains of a fire pit: Concrete bricks lining a faintly dug-out hole, still charred white and grey. 

Tieria gives you a careful look, but keeps his mouth shut, refraining from asking any questions as you drop the box on the ground heavily, kicking up some dust. You flip the lid of the box open, revealing a mess of paperwork, and he clicks his tongue in distaste.

He crosses his arms, and taps his foot when you begin lighting the papers on fire by hand, then dropping them into the pit. Soon, the fire is strong enough, and you begin just tossing paper into the pit rather than light it beforehand.

“Can you finish this box up?”

“It wouldn’t be a breach of protocol, would it?”

“I dunno, you’re the one who knows about all that.” You hold out a handful of papers for him to take, and he takes them without another comment. Sometimes, his attitude is so… aggravating, and still… You notice how his eyes change colors in the firelight, or how the fire dances across his glasses. 

He pushes the sleeves of his sweater up to his forearms, and pretends to not look at the documents he’s diligently burning. And there’s some sort of deepset elegance in his form that you can’t help but admire. You turn away quickly, something undefined swirling in your chest. Sometimes, the best way to deal with thoughts like these are to just not think them.

The sun is set when you walk back to the shed. The sky’s lost its color, just a night, the stars like freckles at the end of summer, the moon a dirty orange, reflecting the smoky wildfire you’d passed on the way up the gorge.

Honestly, this work should have been done years ago, when you first joined Celestial Being. They’d asked you to get rid of unnecessary records, minimize potential damages and information leaks, but it was all too fresh and you couldn’t come back to just destroy all of this: Medical records, bills, college transcripts, bank statements, proof you had a life, family. Your mother kept records diligently, and you tossed them all in boxes when you left.

You pull a drawer out, and begin walking back to Tieria. The lights in the house are on, and you see Elizabeth and her family moving about like shadows puppets, Two parents, two children, a boy and a girl, sitting around the dinner table. You wonder if they have as many memories of this place as you do, if their bones consider this their home also. If the kids will grow up climbing out of their bedroom windows and meeting friends in swimming holes.

You join Tieria once again at the fire pit, set the drawer down next to the original box, and he’s staring down at something. It casts a shadow over his face, and then he hands whatever he’s got to you.

It’s a photograph – the child obviously you, and the woman your mother. You’re eight, maybe nine, sitting on her lap as you beam at the camera. She’s smiling, hair tucked behind her ears, and the neckline her tank top hanging low as she bends over to hug you. Pressing the side of her face to yours.

You never knew your father. You never needed to.

She reminds you of Linda, kind eyes framed by glasses, delicate hands – she’s always got her nails painted, but the polish is always chipped – and a strength under her skin, such a shock when most of what you remember of her is a tired soldier’s smile and a body riddled with cancer – the cancer she suffered through at the hands of radiation exposure – exposure that happened while she was serving her government, exposure that the government refused to treat on the grounds that there’s no proof they’re at fault - and so they just let her slip instead, refused to pull the plug out of the drain when you both were drowning in the bathtub. 

Fuck wars, fuck The Union, fuck the people who let the world be this way. Nothing means anything anymore.

You fold the picture in half and shove it in your back pocket, afraid to meet Tieria’s gaze – and you look back to Elizabeth’s silhouette and you’re struck by the urge to keep burning everything - to finally get rid of everything you were too weak to before. It would be too easy, to just keep going. 

Your chest burns, your eyes burn, the forest burns. You want to make it all disappear, like if you can get rid of the evidence, then it never happened in the first place, then you never had a life, never had a family before Celestial Being. You could forget about all of this, just let yourself be swept up by the tide of a new era, a new world, Celestial Being is a new beginning, and they’ve given you something to believe in, given your life a direction for the last couple of years.

You’re shaking as begin ferrying boxes back and forth. You watch a teddy bear dissolve into nothing. Tieria swells with quiet contempt. 

The night isn’t nearly dark enough, the air is choked by a smokey haze, and all you can see is the fire as the wood of a jewelry box warps, then crackles. 

Your high school diploma catches wonderfully, so do the binders full of notes from university. The blankets take longer. The heat of the fire is sweltering, and it makes you sweat.

You return with a stack of photo albums. The faux-leather melts off a front. The cover photo, a family portrait, bubbles and melts into nothing. Your throat tightens, but you don’t stop.

Family recipes become lost, notes left in lunch boxes float away as ash under the stars. A picture drawn for you by your cousin, cards spelling I-heart-you, your mother’s face, your mother’s face, your mother’s face.

Finally, you go back into the shed, and find nothing left but the car and the dresser, both gutted, the drawers tossed and turned over. You return empty handed to the bonfire, staring into the flames like it holds the answer, and watch the last of the plastic toys melt, the faces of heroes shifting into nightmares to mirror the family mementos, your life, and then you remember the photo in your pocket.

You pull it out, unfold it with your thumb and stare at your mother’s face, and you find kindness there, but it makes you feel weak, and you cannot be weak, so you hold the photograph out, towards the flames, ready to let it go, let everything burn, and fade into something new when Tieria reaches out and places his hand over yours. He doesn’t pry the photo from your hands, but doesn’t let it fall.

You stare at your hands, joined - His hand is warm, soft, his nails are manicured and his grip is gentle; you could have told him to wait for you, if you really wanted. You could have thrown a bigger fit, there really isn’t a reason for him to be here, every word out of his mouth is just thinly veiled justifications, so weak you doubt he believes them himself. 

You stare at your mother’s face, and can’t help but feel like there is all the reason in the world for her to be here, standing next to you, but she’s not. It’s unfair, like most things.

You pull your hand towards you, fold the photo and tuck it in your back pocket, afraid to meet Tieria’s gaze, and regret swells as you watch everything else dissolve and leave you alone in the dust. 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: Ketchum, ID, Boygenius. This is just self-indulgence. I’m not sorry.

Masterlist in desc.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @Princessabitchessa!

To my giftee, @Princessabitchessa, this is a round-about way of delivering on some of your favorite troupes, and I hope you enjoy the ride. Happy Holidays!!

Read on AO3

*****

Count your Blessings (instead of sheep)

John

Judge John Stilinski doesn’t intend to eavesdrop, but his robes are hanging from a hook on the back of his office door, and the hushed, heated whispers in the corridor draw his ear like a moth to a flame.  

“I can’t let you do this, Derek,” says a soft voice edged with ivory and steel.  “I won’t let you do this.  You could go to jail.”

“Then I go to jail.  We’ve talked about this, Laura, and you know it’s the only way.  Peter promised to check himself into a treatment facility, and we’re going to hold him to it.  After today, no matter what the verdict, it will all be over.”

John flips open the file folder of documents in his hand, thumbing through the records until he sees the case titled Hale, Derek (DES alpha) vs Argent, Katherine (DES alpha).  He’d only breezed over the case before lunch.  Something about an assault at a bar; two alpha’s fighting over an omega.  John had reviewed the arresting officer’s statements, but hadn’t read the omega’s deposition.  He flips to it now, sees the name Lahey, Isaac.

John should open the door, make his presence known, but the girl, Laura, laments, “This is all my fault.” Tears threaten her voice.  “If I hadn’t asked you to keep an eye on Peter, you’d never have been at the club in the first place. And it will never be over, Derek.  You’ll be forever labeled as a violent alpha. Your chances of finding a mate will be—“

“Stop.”  He doesn’t raise his volume, but the alpha command is evident.  “My mate is dead, Laura. I don’t want or need another. If my going to jail ends this insanity, it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

��Even though you’re innocent?”

The blood freezes in John’s veins, the papers between his fingers crunching like ice when he squeezes his fist.  

“I may not have committed this crime,” the man called Derek says, “but I’m far from innocent.”

__________

Hale v. Argent is the sixth hearing on his docket, after two drunk driving cases, an arson, a petty theft and, finally, a flasher.  John bangs his gavel, nicking the varnished wood and causing half the courtroom to startle in their uncomfortable chairs.  

At the defendants table sits Derek Hale, one of the two whispered voices from the corridor.  The young alpha can’t be a day over thirty, with piercing eyes and jet black hair. He wears a look of hopeless determination that, for some reason, makes John think of his deceased wife, Claudia.  Behind him sits his sister, Laura, the second voice from the hallway. David Whittemore lords over the prosecution table, slick and smarmy as usual.

“Counsel and parties in the case of Hale versus Argent, approach the bench.”  John takes great satisfaction in the furrow of confusion carving across David’s brow.  Laura, hands white-knuckling the railing separating the gallery from the court, looks like she will be sick all over the floor.  

“I’ll cut straight to the point,” he says, once David and Derek stand before the podium.  “Derek Hale did not commit this crime.”

Whittemore and Hale start speaking at once, trying to talk over each other.

“Be quiet,” Judge Stilinski demands, and he’s no alpha, but every mouth in the room snaps shut.  “For whatever reason, Mr. Hale seems determined to take the fall for the assault of the alpha, Katherine Argent.  But witness testimony is telling a much different story.” He turns to Derek. “Care to shed some light on what happened last month?”

“I’m an alpha. Ms. Argent is an alpha.  We were out at a bar, both perused the same omega, and got into a fight over him.  The witnesses were drunk. They don’t know what they saw.”

“Your Honor, this man is—“

“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet, Mr. Whittemore?” John’s voice cracks like a whip.  “Don’t make me hold you in contempt.”

John Stilinski scrutinizes Derek’s face.  The alpha stares back, green eyes desolate and challenging.  “Nope. I don’t buy it. I’m a father, Mr. Hale. When he was young, my son and his best friend found themselves involved in all manners of mischief, and whenever something bad happened, my son Stiles would always take the fall for his friend Scott.  Even when he was blameless. That’s exactly what is happening in this situation.”

Derek’s face is a stoic mask, but there’s panic seeping out from underneath. “I’m pleading guilty.  How much jail time do I need to serve?”

Judge Stilinski shakes his head.  He opens the case folder and flips over a document so it faces Derek.  It’s an intake form for the regional food pantry. “No jail time. But after you’ve served some time here, you might wish I’d locked you up.”

Whittemore squeaks in protest.  “Community service?! My client was in the hospital!  The Hale’s are vicious animals and—“

“Your client was in the hospital for eight hours.  Most of that time was spent sitting in a chair in the emergency waiting room.  And, Mr. Hale,” the judge continues as if the Argent lawyer never spoke, “you will attend mandatory counseling sessions and, in addition to that, one year’s probation.  If you fail to serve at the food pantry three evenings a week for six months, you’ll be back in front of this bench before you can blink. And trust me, I’ll find out if you step even one toe out of line.”  Judge Stilinski leans forward, mock whispers to Derek. “I’ve got a very dependable man on the inside.”

He smashes a stamp dripping red ink onto several pages of paper. He hands over the first paper to a slack-jawed David Whittemore.  “Give this to Pamela at the front desk.” The second paper he hands to Derek. “Have the therapist sign this form and return it to the courthouse at the end of your sessions.”  And the third. “Here is your work order at the food pantry. Give this to the director. I’ll let him know you’ll be coming. Everyone settled?” Stilinski clutches the gavel, eyeing the mumbling Argent lawyer like his fantasy is clobbering him over the head.

“My client will be extremely dissatisfied with this verdict, your Honor.  My office—“

“Your client is a liar,” Judge Stilinski proclaims.  “You’re all liars. Get out of my courthouse.”

The courtroom is a blur of bewildered faces and astonished rumbles, none more confounded than Derek Hale himself.  But that’s not who John’s looking at. Even the ugly scowl slashing across David Whittemore’s face is ignored.

John focuses instead on the tears of relief in Laura Hale’s eyes.

__________

Later, after he’s eaten a salad he wishes was a steak, and the dishes have been washed and left to drip in the drying rack, John sits in his ancient recliner, and thinks about the mischievous son he’d mentioned to Derek in court.

When the prenatal blood tests had come back showing the rare omega designation, there’d been no one more shocked than John Stilinski.  Not a single omega graced the branches of his family tree. Hell, he’d never spoken to one until he’d sat next to Claudia his first day of college.  “It’s a blessing,” his wife whispers, skin and smile radiant despite the nurse lecturing them on the fragile health of some omegas, their predisposition to diseases.

“A blessing is not what I’d call him,” John jokes, when his wild boy comes home day after day covered in dirt, when he bounces off the walls, radiating energy.  “I thought omegas were naturally demure?”

Claudia smacks him on the arm.  “That’s a bunch of sexist hogwash.  It’s not about being reserved or shy or meek.  Omegas are fierce, curious, intelligent and loyal.  They’re strong.”  Then she smiles, the same smile that enraptured him in sociology 101 on his first day of college.  “Besides, I’m an omega. Have I ever been demure a day in my life?”

“It’s a blessing,” John chokes out, day after day as his son grows angry and distant, unable to process his grief over the loss of his mother.

“It’s a curse,” Stiles spits back.  “It makes me weak.  My body isn’t my own.  It’ll betray me, like it did mom.”

“No, son” John moans.  “I was married to an omega for twelve years, and she was the strongest person I’ve ever known.  One day… one day you’ll see.”

Tonight, John picks up the phone, dials Stiles’ number.

“What’s up, daddy-o?” he answers.  John closes his eyes, sees Laura Hale’s tears of relief painted on the inside of his eyelids, hears the desperate self-sacrifice in Derek Hale’s voice.  His son’s not a typical omega, but he is a ley line, attracting lost souls, and Derek Hale has ghosts. John sees the same haunted look in his son’s face whenever he visits.  He prays he’s making the right choice.

“Stiles,” he greets, all business.  “I’m sending someone your way.”

Erica

Erica’s walking to the break room when she sees the new guy—Dustin? Darren? David?  It’s on the tip of her tongue…Oh yeah, Derek!—holding a mop and bucket, standing stock still in the doorway of the community gymnasium.  She swivels, her gut telling her to change direction, march over and confront the rumored-to-be-violent alpha and ask why he’s just standing there staring at a bunch of kids.  Is he a predator, too?

The halogen bulb above Derek is flickering on and off as she stomps over in righteous fury.  She’s been nagging Stiles to fix it for weeks. Erica is ten feet away from him when the bulb flashes back on, light glinting off the wetness at the corners of Derek’s eyes.  Erica stops short.

His face as he looks at the kids running around the basketball court begrudgingly reminds her of her fiancé, Vernon Boyd.  It had taken her six months to work up the courage to talk to Boyd, the quiet, standoffish chef Stiles had hired for the pantry cafeteria.  Boyd is huge and gruff, and it took three dates before he cracked a genuine smile for her. At first she’d had some doubts whether they were compatible, but on the fourth date he brought Erica home to meet his grandmother, the woman who’d raised him and his little sister.  The moment Boyd leaned over to scoop his grandmother out of her wheelchair to place her tenderly into bed, Erica looked at his face and knew.  He was the man she wanted to marry.  The brusqueness had been hiding someone gentle, thoughtful, and intelligent.  Derek is looking at the children the same way Boyd looked at his grandmother; with a little bit of longing for better days, and a lot of love.

She shows up in Stiles’ office doorway.  “You need to come see this,” she hisses, motioning him to hurry out from behind his precarious stack of paperwork.

“What, exactly, am I looking at?” Stiles asks, as she bodily pulls him into the hallway.  The light is flickering again. “Damn it Erica, I’ll fix the stupid lamp, I promise.”

“Not the light bulb, dumb-ass,” she murmurs.  “Him.”        

“Oh,” Stiles says, when he sees Derek watching the children.  “Oh.”

“I guess you can never know someone, or what they’ve gone through to get here,” she muses.  “I would have pegged him as allergic to children as you.” Stiles is suspiciously silent. She glances over, and he’s watching Derek with the same open yearning.  

Oh, she thinks.  Oh.

Derek

“Anger is a perfectly normal, healthy human emotion.  We’ve all felt it. But when it becomes too powerful, and we allow it to get out of control, it can be destructive.  We can’t always remove the things that anger us, but we can learn to control our reactions to it,” Dr. Morrell informs Derek.

“I don’t have anger issues,” Derek tells her again, rubbing his eyes.  He’s been saying it since their therapy session started almost an hour ago.  “I saw a situation that needed to be handled, and I handled it. It was a one time thing.  I’ll never do it again.”

“You handled it with violence,” Morrell stresses, as if he needs reminding of his Uncle’s face contorted in rage, more animal than human.  “A level of extreme violence, to say the least. Aggressive external reactions are a result of internal events. I strongly believe your anger with Kate Argent was fueled by something.”

Yeah, it was fueled by her setting fire to my family, Derek thinks, and Peter being too drunk to bottle up his hatred.  He can feel the ire creeping up his neck, but is desperately trying to maintain control in front of Dr. Morrell.  She sees right through him.

“During your mandated therapy sessions with me, we’ll get to the root cause of your anger, Derek. Sometimes patients have no idea what is causing their heightened emotional responses but, more often, patients already have some idea of what lies at the heart of the matter.  It could be emotional trauma or grief.” Dr. Morrell levels a searching look at him. “What about you, Derek? Do you already know what it could be?”

A wisp of slick black hair and thin, translucent skin flitter across his vision. Red flames lick the night sky.  Derek blinks and the images disappear.

“No,” he lies.  “I have no idea.”  

_________  

Derek is certain he was never meant to be an alpha.  He really sucks at it. “You’re so lucky,” his big sister Laura, a beta, used to grumble.  “Alpha’s have it so easy.”  And at first, Derek thought that was true.  His mother was an alpha, and instilled in him pride at being part of only fifteen percent of the population with that designation.  Being an alpha meant strength, stamina, good health and good looks. Alpha’s were charismatic, got high paying jobs—they were sought after.  It meant he was capable of soul-bonding, while the majority of the population was not. Only omegas could soul-bond as well, but they were even more rare than alpha’s, making up only four percent of the population.

But being an alpha had its downside, which Derek learned at the age of fifteen when a jealous alpha set fire to his family home, killing his parents.  Being an alpha meant he was constantly challenged, assumed to be a violent meathead, only capable of thinking with his cock.

When Laura calls him to say Uncle Peter headed to the local bar, Derek knows there will be trouble.  For a beta, Peter has somehow made replicating every awful alpha stereotype an art: he’s brash, violent, and angry.  Derek has had to pull him out of bar brawls too many times to count in the last year, and tonight Derek’s had enough.  Peter needs help, more help than Laura and Derek can provide.

When he walks into the bar, Peter is trying to steal a young omega from Kate Argent, whose red eyes flash as she grabs the omega’s arm.  Derek doubts Peter has any interest in the curly-haired young man at all, but Peter would like nothing more than to start shit with the Argents, who they know—but can’t prove—set their house fire.  

“Let go,” Derek commands, stepping up to the threesome.  The omega’s eyes go round as dinner plates. Kate Argent snarls.  Peter looks at Derek like he’s a piece of shit stuck to the bottom of his shoe.  

“You’re a pathetic excuse for an alpha,” Peter sneers, then launches himself at Kate, the omega trapped in the middle be damned.

__________

He shows up at the community center at four in the afternoon on Monday, flashes his work order and is directed down the hall to the food pantry and kitchen.  A guy named Scott, also an alpha, greets him. He’s weary, but friendly enough, and directs him to the rooftop garden, where their director is pulling vegetables for the upcoming dinner rush.

He steps onto the sun-baked roof through a steel door, and is immediately assaulted with the scent of an unbonded omega.  There’s a young man bent over a raised garden bed, plucking lettuce leaves and herbs with his ass in the air like he’s presenting.  Derek’s salivating, going hard inside his briefs in seconds.  What the hell is happening? It’s the kind of ludicrous, knee-jerk reaction seen in sappy romantic comedies (or more aptly, pornography), and he’s never had this strong of a response to an omega before, not even to Paige.

This man is the director of the food pantry?  Why on earth would Judge Stilinski send him here, to work under an omega, when he’d been accused of a violent crime?  He tries to back away, crashes into the rooftop door, and the omega glances over his shoulder with big brown doe eyes.

The omega stands, wiping his dirty hands on the back of his jeans.  The action does not go unnoticed by Derek.  As he moves closer, the man’s scent gets stronger; sweat, gingerbread, pine and sugar.  He smells like Christmas morning, like everything good Derek can remember about his childhood, before it was all burned to ash.

Derek nods in greeting, but doesn’t stick out his hand because an unbonded alpha touching an unbonded omega is taboo.  “I’m Derek. Derek Hale.” He pulls the work order from the pocket of his leather jacket, the corners crinkled and worn from being shoved angrily inside the confined space, and thrusts the pages toward the omega. When the man reaches for the note, their fingers brush, and they both pull back fast, almost ripping the dog-eared document.          

After a cursory glance, the omega’s pretty lips pull into a sarcastic smile.  “My name’s Stiles Stilinski. I’ve got one question for you, alpha.  Will you have trouble working for an omega?”

Derek bristles.  “My name’s Derek not al— wait.  Did you say Stilinski?  Like the judge?”

Stiles’ spine is now an iron rod, shoulders squaring for a fight, and Derek’s never met an omega with such a chip on his shoulder, or one so quick to physically challenge an alpha.  “He’s my father,” Stiles snaps. “And for some reason, he hand picked you to come work here.  But I’m the one who built this program; I may be the only omega here but I’m the person in charge.  So tell me, Derek, is taking orders from me going to offend your red-blooded alpha sensibilities?”

It’s Derek’s turn to straighten.  “I’ve no interest in causing problems. I’ll serve my time, do what you need me to do, and then you’ll never have to see me again.”

Stiles smiles and, though it’s sardonic, it still stalls the breath in Derek’s lungs.  This is the first day of the longest six months of Derek’s life. “That’s what I like to hear, dude.  Now come on.” He thrusts a bag of lettuce into Derek’s hands. “We have work to do.”

__________

A month and a half in, Stiles’ sarcastic smiles and comments turn genuine.  It’s like an icecap melting; Derek barely notices the trickle until he’s drowning in the flood.  Despite his gruff exterior, everyone at the community center decides he’s an ‘okay dude’, and pull him into the fold.  Scott is still a bit standoffish, but it’s natural since they are both alphas, and Derek knows Scott has Stiles’ best interest at heart.  

He’s helping Stiles in the garden again—his favorite project, if he’s honest— hands submerged in the cool, fragrant dirt, furtively sucking in deep lungfuls of Stiles’ baked gingerbread scent.  “Your uncle sounds awful,” Stiles comments on their conversation, placing a carrot in their basket.

Derek shrugs.  “He’s in pain, but doesn’t know how to handle it.  I’m glad he went to a facility that will help him with his anger.  He’s getting therapy, finally working through losing our family.”

Stiles clears his throat and wipes sweat off his brow, smearing it with dirt.  “And you’re in therapy too, right? As part of your sentence? Uh… how’s that going?”

“It’s going okay,” Derek says sheepishly.  “I’m not very good at therapy.”

Stiles laughs, all crinkled eyes and wide, generous mouth.  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize therapy was something you could be bad at.”  

“It’s difficult to talk, to share, especially when the memories are depressing.”  He places a potato in the basket, and Stiles places two fingers on his wrist, right over his scent gland.  Right over his pulse.

“You do just fine when you’re talking to me.”

__________

He’d tried therapy once before, about a year after the fire, but found he couldn’t talk.  Looking at the psychologist, every word flew out of his head. Not long after his failed attempt, Paige had come into his life, and her love temporarily patched over the gaping hole in his soul.  

“Do you think that’s why you felt like you couldn’t deny her?” Dr. Morrell asks, pen poised over her notepad.  “When you wanted to stop trying to have a child? You couldn’t say no because you didn’t want to lose her love?”

The fourth time it happened, it was so early the doctors informed them it was called a ‘missed miscarriage,’ and it was ended surgically before Paige’s body even detected the loss.  The time prior, she had required a blood transfusion, and the relief, guilt and shame Derek felt knowing it was all over practically before it began, was palpable. The same emotions wrap themselves agonizingly tight around his ribs as he sits in the therapist’s office years later, until he feels like his heart might collapse under the pressure.

“Why don’t we reconsider having a child?” Derek had broached before Paige’s next heat.  She gaped at him with wounded eyes.

“Don’t you want a baby, anymore?” She’d sobbed.

“Yes, yes, of course.”  The words stuck in his gullet.  “But how many times do we try before we stop?  It’s like a roulette wheel; we keep spinning but our number never comes up.”

Her eyes flashed like lightning, a wild summer storm full of heat.  “How dare you, Derek? This isn’t a game!”

“Isn’t it, though?  We are gambling with your health, and we’re losing everything.  You heard the doctor say this might be a genetic issue.  When do we say enough is enough?”

She’d grabbed his hands in hers and pleaded.  “Once more? Just one more time. I promise, if it doesn’t happen, then we will stop.”

A better man, a better alpha, would have implored Paige to be grateful for the blessings life had bestowed on them.  A better alpha would’ve refused. But in the face of her anguish, Derek learned he was not a better man.  

It’s been four months of therapy, and Derek knows he needs to start being honest if he wants to heal, if he wants a real chance at finding happiness again.  “I couldn’t tell her no because I wanted a baby.  I was desperate for a family, because of all I’d lost.”  He looks at Dr. Morrell, grimaces. “But instead, I turned my marriage bed into a graveyard, and I filled it with bodies.”

__________

Everyone is avoiding eye contact when Derek walks in Friday afternoon.  Erica is practically bouncing on her heels. “What the hell is going on?  Did we accidently get an extra shipment of cookie dough ice cream?” Chocolate chip cookie dough is Stiles and Erica’s favorite flavor.  Derek prefers cookies and cream.

Scott sticks his head around the corner.  “Stiles wants to see you in his office right away.”  Derek’s heart picks up speed.

He pauses outside the office door, hearing hushed voices and smelling something odd.  Stiles’ scent is still there, warm and inviting, but there is another smell, vaguely familiar; fresh grass and lavender, hints of apple.  Another omega is in the office.

“Come in,” Stiles calls when Derek knocks, and he pushes open the door.  He’s correct; two omegas turn to look at him. One is Stiles, and the other is Isaac Lahey, the omega who’d been caught between his uncle Peter and Kate Argent that fateful night in the bar.  

There’s new emotions darting across Stiles’ features, and Derek wants to chase them, but he can’t right now because Isaac smiles at him, shy and grateful, and says, “Hello, Derek.  I came by to thank you.”

__________

The calendar is calling out to Derek each morning, warning him he only has a few weeks left of community service.  Only a few more weeks with with Erica and Boyd, with Scott and everyone he’s come to care about at the community center.  Even worse, his days with Stiles have an expiration date.

He wants desperately to be brave, to punch out on his last day and turn to Stiles and say Let’s get coffee or Have dinner with me? But it’s been so long since Derek has connected with anyone; he’s terrified.  Six months ago this whole endeavor felt worse than a jail sentence, but now he thinks maybe Judge John Stilinski knew exactly what he was doing when he sent Derek here.  

He crosses off another day, heads out the door, and prays for a miracle.  

Scott

Kira, the world’s cutest barista, waves at him from the counter before the bell above the glass door finishes chiming.  “The usual?” she shouts, and the six people on line in front of him turn to scowl menacingly at Scott. The coffee shop is bustling during the lunch rush today and Scott, stepping over to the pick-up counter, is shamefaced.  But his guilt disappears when Kira skips over, huge, sunny smile on her lips, and hands over the recycled cardboard tray with four warm drinks nestled in the cup holders. There’s a wet cappuccino for Stiles, a mocha with extra whip cream that has Erica’s name doodled on the side, a large black coffee for Scott and Boyd’s caramel macchiato.

“You tell Stiles he shouldn’t be drinking this much caffeine.  Too much can trigger an early heat,” Kira scolds for the hundredth time.  She’s a gender studies major in her senior year, writing her thesis on environmental health risks to omegas, and Stiles had gotten so exasperated listing to her well-meaning lectures he started sending Scott on the daily coffee runs.    

“I want to enjoy my illicit addictions in peace,” Stiles told him, handing over a slip of notebook paper scribbled with everyone’s order.   “Besides,” he’d said with a grin, “she’s your type.”

Scott smiles at her, and it’s so sappy two people in line roll their eyes, and another mimes barfing all over the tile floor.  “Early heat, right, I’ll tell him.”

There’s way too many people trying to order, the baristas scurrying around behind the counter like chickens with their heads cut off, but Kira still leans over the counter, silky black hair falling out of her messy work bun.  “And how’s the new guy making out? Derek, the alpha?”

He’s been there three months, so he isn’t new anymore.  When Derek first started, Scott had bemoaned his presence loudly and repeatedly to Kira, who listened with a sympathetic ear but never failed to remind him everyone deserves a second chance.  Now he thinks of Boyd, slapping Derek on the back, and of Erica’s giggle when Derek grumbles about the broken dishwasher. He thinks of Lydia’s knowing smirk as they all notice Stiles stand taller when Derek walks into a room, smooth down his hair and tug at the wrinkles of his plaid shirts.  “Ah… he’s fitting in, I guess.”

Kira smiles, megawatt, and smacks Scott in the bicep.  “See? I told you it would all be okay.”

“Hey!  Buddy? Want to get your shit and go sometime this century?  Some of us don’t have all day to watch your piss-poor attempt at flirting,” a disgruntled customer growls.  Kira blushes, but the smile never slips from her lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you,” Scott mumbles, backing out of the café door.

He stops in front of the community center, stares at the cardboard cup bearing Stiles’ name.  He doesn’t see the black ink; instead, he sees the pink blush of Stiles’ cheeks when Derek is due to come in.  Omega’s only go into heat twice a year, and Stiles had barely been back to work a week when Derek started. He jerks the cup from the holder, and tosses in the trash can.  Too much caffeine can trigger an early heat.  He hears the words in Kira’s sweet, melodic voice.

“You can never be too careful,” Scott grumbles.    

Stiles

Thirty seconds after Claudia takes her last shuddering breath, the heart monitor flattens, and the nurse walks into the hospital room.  

“She’s gone,” the nurse says, and Stiles will never admit it, but mixed in with the grief is a weary sense of relief.  

The doctor patiently explains to Stiles and his father that frontotemporal dementia is genetic, and omega’s can be especially susceptible.  There’s no need to panic, but Stiles will need to be monitored closely his whole life. Without his mother there to run her fingers through his hair and remind him omega’s are exceptional, his designation becomes a death sentence.  “Any resulting children would also require monitoring.” The doctor’s words take root in Stiles’ eight-year-old heart, and grow thorns.

__________

The new guy is due this afternoon, the alpha his father asked him to take in.  “This isn’t a halfway house for all the criminals you want to rehabilitate,” Stiles had bemoaned, but of course he couldn’t deny his dad.  

He loses track of time up on the roof, the mindless, repetitive task of weeding and harvesting in the garden soothing him into complacency.  At first he doesn’t notice when the alpha steps out onto the roof, since he’s so focused and also upwind. But when he does notice…

Derek is nothing like any alpha Stiles has ever seen.  For one, there’s desire in his green eyes, but instead of the typical flaunting and posturing, it’s followed by a flash of fear.  He’s strong but gentle, thoughtful but quiet, and he pulls every long buried instinct in Stiles up from the roots.

And he’s attractive, gorgeous, the most beautiful man Stiles has ever seen.

Stiles is going to fucking kill his dad.

__________

Stiles falls into the staff room, dying of hunger, and throws open the refrigerator with a bang before promptly remembering he forgot to bring lunch today.  Shit.

“Ugghhhh why?” He laments, stomach rumbling.

“What’s your problem?” Lydia asks.  Stiles turns and sees she’s sitting next to Derek at the lunch table.  She’s picking at a leafy green salad topped with chicken, cranberries and walnuts.  Derek has a ham sandwich halfway to his mouth. Stiles salivates.

“I forgot my damn lunch.”

Without a word, Derek hands him half his sandwich.  Stiles should politely decline. He doesn’t need an alpha to take care of him, like he’s some damsel in distress.  Besides, he doesn’t even like ham. But before he can help himself, he snatches it from Derek’s grip, takes a huge bite and moans around the mouthful.  “Er ma ga, tha’s so goo!”

Derek’s ears turn a charming shade of red, and Stiles wants to bite theminstead.  Shit shit shit.

__________

Derek is scouring a piece of food caked on the stove top in the pantry kitchen, and Stiles is not admiring the play of back muscles shifting beneath his t-shirt as he scrubs.   He’s certainly not ogling the cut of Derek’s bicep. Nope. This is not what he’s doing.  He’s helping out Erica and Boyd, staying late to give them the night off together.

It’s so hot in the kitchen.

“So,” Derek say, and the word startles Stiles from his muscle watching stupor.  The conversation flows easily between them, but Derek is hardly ever the instigator.  “What led to you becoming the director of the food pantry? Was this something you always wanted to do?”

Stiles turns back to the dishes soaking in the sink.  “I wanted to do anything a typical omega wouldn’t, and running this center, being people’s boss, is anything but typical.”

“You’re certainly bossy.”  Stiles can hear the smile in his voice.

Maybe it’s the fact they’re facing away from each other, but it’s easy to throw the words over his shoulder, the pseudo-anonymity making him brave.  “After my mother died, I was angry. I spent years perfecting all the ways I could spit in the face of my designation. I can’t believe I didn’t give my father a heart attack.  Landing this gig killed two birds with one stone; my credentials beat two alpha candidates for the position, and to my father’s relief I’m doing something steady instead of rebelling.”  

“Do you still hate being an omega?” Derek asks.  His voice is louder, and Stiles swivels, see’s Derek is facing him now, soiled cloth flung over his shoulder.  

Stiles pivots back to the soapy silverware.  “Some days, yes. Others, no.” He plops a sparkling fork onto the drying rack.  “Fighting your instincts all the time is exhausting. I guess I’ve started to… reconsider some things.”  

“Like what?”

He dries his hand on a dish towel, and faces Derek.  “I’ve kept people at arms length, especially alphas. I’ve never even… but maybe I’d like a relationship.  A family.  I never wanted to have kids because I didn’t want to risk them being omegas too.”  He looks away, focusing on the digital display of the microwave, arms crossed and shoulders hunched around his ears.  “You must hate people like me, renouncing a family when you and your wife wanted a child so badly.”

Derek moves into his line of sight, forcing Stiles to look him in the eye.  It’s an alpha power play. Stiles should loathe it.  “I could never never hate you,” Derek whispers.  He reaches a tentative hand toward Stiles’ neck, broadcasting every move, allowing Stiles room to rebuff him.  When Stiles doesn’t flinch away, Derek slides his fingers over the gland behind Stiles’ ear, co-mingling their scents.  As soon as the alpha pheromones permeate Stiles’ senses, his whole body relaxes, a feeling of calm washing over him. It feels so good, so right, Stiles could cry.

He closes his eyes.  “Yeah, I could never hate you either.”

__________

Wednesday morning of Derek’s final week, Stiles wakes up feeling like he’s been hit by a bus.  His joints ache, he’s running a low grade fever and his head is pounding. But he doesn’t want to miss the last few precious hours with Derek, so he drags his ass out of bed and into work.  

“You look terrible,” Scott helpfully supplies when he stumbles in.

“If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all,” Stiles snarks.  “It’s the golden rule.”

“Last week you said the golden rule was anyone eating chicken nuggets had to give you half.  You haven’t been drinking extra coffee have you?”

Stiles slams the office door in Scott’s face.  Screw him.

But by lunchtime Stiles knows this isn’t the flu.  His stomach is cramping, he’s sweating profusely, and his hole is feeling suspiciously wet.  He’s going into heat almost a month early. He bangs his head down onto his desk. He needs to go home, now.  He’s going to miss Derek.  He isn’t going to get to say good-bye.  

When he stands up, slick trickles down his leg.  Fuck.  He gathers his belongings, knowing he’ll be out of work until Monday, and throws open the office door, only to find Scott and Derek standing on the other side.  One look at Derek, one lungful of his scent has Stiles weak-kneed, and only years of stubborn pride and practice keep Stiles from falling forward into Derek’s arms.

“I called him, Stiles,” Scott says, sheepish but determined.  “I could tell you were going into heat when you walked in.”

“I wanted…” Stiles’ mouth is so dry the words croak.  “I didn’t want to miss seeing you. I wanted you to know—“

“Derek, can you drive Stiles home?” Scott asks. “I don’t think he can drive himself, and I need to stay here, keep the pantry open and get ready for the dinner rush.”  It’s a bold-faced lie. Erica and Boyd could easily run the show. Scott winks at him. “Go home, Stiles. You stink.”

“Will you be okay in such a confined space?” Stiles asks Derek on their way to the parking lot.  

“I’ll be fine,” Derek says, sliding into the driver’s seat, “knowing you’re home safe.  Trust me. I’ll take care of you.” Six months ago, Stiles would have shanked an alpha who said those words to him, but he knows Derek means them.  He knows Derek will drop him at home, respect Stiles’ body and his wishes, and accept taking care might mean leaving him alone.

The ride is quiet except for Stiles’ directions and Derek’s shallow breathing.  When they pull into Stiles’ driveway, Derek shuts off the car, placing both hands tightly around the steering wheel.  “I’ll help you inside, get you set up, and I’ll go. Unless you don’t want me to come in? I can stay outside, if it makes you more comfortable.”

Stiles takes a deep breath.  Here it is, the moment of truth.  He doesn’t want Derek to think he’s a pathetic omega begging for a knot, but it’s a price Stiles is willing to pay. “I’d be comfortable with you coming in.  I’d be comfortable with you staying, too.”

Derek looks at him, and Stiles doesn’t see pity in his eyes. He doesn’t see conquest.  He doesn’t feel weak or out of control. He feels powerful and special.  He feels strong.  Derek makes him feel that way.  What he sees is mirrored sadness, hurt and fear, and more importantly, the dawning realization neither of them are in this alone.

Derek gets out of the car without a word, jumps across the hood and pulls open Stiles’ door.  “I’m warning you, I may never leave.”

“I may never let you go.”

“Bossy.”  Derek scoops Stiles up into his arms, and Stiles doesn’t even mind.

_________

Derek’s plastered to his back, a long line of heat, knot buried snuggly inside Stiles’ body.  His inhalations are wet and stuttering, and Stiles reaches back, awkwardly trying to pet him.

“What’s wrong?” He slurs, still cum-drunk and more sated than he’s ever been.    

“Nothing.  I just… I haven’t… it’s the first time since…”. Derek doesn’t finish.  He doesn’t need to.

“I’ve never,” Stiles admits into the cool, empty air of his bedroom.  

“Stiles, I’m so grateful it was you.”  Derek pulls him closer, nuzzles the juncture of his neck and shoulder blade, the spot where a bond bite belongs.

“Right back at you, big guy.”  He snuggles in and closes his eyes, protected and content, all the things an omega should be, all the things he’s fought for so long, trying to keep his heart safe.  

He can’t help but feel blessed.

Laura

She’s running late, and blows past the Welcome to Beacon Hills sign at a crisp sixty-eight miles an hour.  There’s a niggle of guilt at the back of her neck; she should know better and she’s taking advantage of the skeleton crew of cops out on patrol because it’s a holiday, but it’s Christmas Eve and Laura wants to get home to the family she hasn’t seen in five months.  

This time two years ago, with the stress of her Uncle’s growing violence and Derek’s approaching trial date, she couldn’t imagine such a rich, hopeful future.  After the fire, it seemed to be one calamity after another, the ground beneath her feet always unsteady. But now, her last paper is handed in, her first grueling semester of law school is officially complete, and Laura’s heart is flying as fast as her Camaro.  She’s found her calling, she’s meant for this, and owes her revelation to John Stilinski. She’ll never forget the feeling swelling in her chest that day in court as she sat behind Derek, watching deep lines of determination furrow John’s brow. I want that, she’d thought.  I want to help people, too.  With a bang of his gavel, Judge Stilinski had changed all their lives.  It brings her joy to know someday Laura will do the same for someone else.  

She parks the car on the street in front of the small cape, and pops the trunk to grab overflowing bags of presents.  As she cuts through the front yard, she sees a slim figure sitting on the wrought-iron bench Derek restored from their family garden.  When the fire had been extinguished, they’d found it covered in a layer of ash, paint blistered and peeling from the heat. Derek had come back the day he bought his new home, washed and sanded away the grime and painted it a vibrant white.  In the warm, soft glimmer of Christmas lights and the moon, it practically glows, illuminating Stiles, sitting peacefully in the flower bed.

“Merry Christmas, Stiles,” she says, plopping herself and the gift bags next to her brother’s mate.  Despite his over-sized winter jacket, she can see the blossom of pink on his cheeks from the cold, smell the spicy, gingerbread scent of his skin.

“Merry Christmas, Laura,” he says, grinning.  Stiles reaches over, grabs her hand. “Welcome home.  Derek’s missed you.”

“I’ve missed you both.”  He squeezes her fingers. Inside, she can hear the music change over to another jovial Christmas jingle.  “What are you doing out here by yourself, anyway? Usually it’s my brother brooding in the dark.”

Stiles laughs.  “I’m counting my blessings.”  There’s something funny about the way he says the word; there’s history there, but Laura doesn’t know it yet.  It’s okay. There’s plenty of time to learn. “Plus, it was hot and crowded inside. I came out to take a breather, but my ass is starting to go numb.  Can I help you carry in your packages?”

They stand, and Stiles picks one of the shiny wrapped boxes from the bag and shakes it a little.  Something tinkles merrily inside. “These better all be for me.”

Laura laughs, poking him the the shin with the toe of her black boot and gathering up one of the bags.  “Don’t make fun, Stiles. It’s been too long since I’ve had a family to shower with gifts. I couldn’t help but go overboard.  I got your dad a low-fat cookbook.”

“Oh man, he’ll totally hate it.”  They grin at each other, conspiratorially.  “I, uh…I hope you’re still feeling so generous next year.”  Stiles picks up a bag with one hand, and parts his jacket with the other, smile shy but joyous in the blinking green and red lights.  Where five months prior Stiles’ stomach was flat as a washboard, his abdomen is now a small, distended bump.

Laura drops all the presents to the ground, something shattering inside one of the boxes.  “Oh my god, Stiles!” she shrieks, eyes welling with tears. She throws herself into his arms, as Derek throws open the front door.

“Stiles!” her brother bemoans.  “We were going to tell her together.  You are the worst secret keeper ever.”

“Says the man who told the entire community center the day we hit the third trimester.” Stiles’ voice is pure joy, love radiating toward his mate, who steps forward to wrap warm arms around him, one hand softly massaging the small of Stiles’ back.

“Let’s go inside and celebrate,” Derek says, reaching out to Laura.

Looking at the domestic scene—one Stiles fought against his whole life, one Derek never thought he’d get to experience—Laura feels happiness welling up inside her, the way it does so frequently these days.  For the first time in years, an aching sense of loss isn’t her primary emotion. The future which, not long ago, had seemed so rocky and unsure, is a happy place now, steady as a heartbeat, full of promise.

Inside, she sees Erica and Boyd, Scott and Kira, John Stilinski, Isaac, Lydia and so many others, the faces of all the people she and Derek have come to call family.  It’s a blessing, she thinks, next year there will be a new person to love.

What a gift.  

[reignmyworld]

30 days and 30 nights - Roman Reigns x Reader

Summary: You and Roman decide to spend your vacation in a cabin in the middle of the woods to relax from your stressful life as WWE superstars. All could be so romantic if you hadn’t the feeling that he primarily brought you there, so the both of you could spend most of your time having sex without any interruption. As you confront him with that thought Roman denies your accusation and in order to prove you wrong he suggests to go 30 days and 30 nights without making love to you. You are certain that he can’t make it but you nevertheless agree. But who said that you would play fair? Of course he wants to win his challenge but so do you by making him lose. 

Warnings: smut

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Reader

Life on the road could be tough from time to time. You loved your job, of course you did, but stepping in a ring every evening could be rather challenging. But no matter how much of a challenge it could be some time, you nevertheless enjoyed it. Especially since you shared that adventure and that passion with your boyfriend. Roman and you had known each other since your NXT days and spending so much time together on the road somehow led to more between the two of you so that you had become a couple in the course of time. But no matter how great that experience was, sometimes this kind of lifestyle was pretty stressful. One would think that being together on the road day by day would make a relationship easier but you could feel that sometimes it just had the worst of you, just like it had the worst of him.

Especially throughout the last couple weeks you were constantly at each other’s throat, arguing about things you wouldn't have taken too serious in the past. Not having had a proper vacation for months already had not only gone on your nerves but Roman’s quite alike. You couldn’t believe your luck when Roman surprised you by telling you that he had talked to Vince and he had made sure that the both of you got unpaid vacation for almost a moth since they wanted to write you out as a part of a storyline so you could come back with full force. Since you were able to live from the money you had saved, this sounded like a beautiful dream, that would come true. And to make it even more perfect Roman had rented a beautiful cabin in the middle of the woods for the both of you with no other person around, making sure that you and him would be completely without any interruption.

As you entered the cabin after a three hour drive, you were taken by surprise of how beautiful it was here. You had to admit that you were looking forward to the vacation you would be spending with Roman here, since whenever you both were touring as part of the WWE your relationship was primarily dominated by stress as you were heading from town to town, standing in the ring in a different city every night. Therefore you were extremely grateful when Roman surprised you with a vacation to a cabin in a beautiful forest that he had rented for the both of you. Nevertheless no matter how cute the gesture was, there was one nagging thought, that didn’t let you enjoy this in peace. And the whole thing didn’t really get better as Roman was closing the door behind you, invading your private space while doing so.

Roman put his hands on your hips, trying to pull you closer to him. You were dating for quite a while now and this whole time was rather intense to put it PG rated. As you felt his hips against your body you could clearly tell that he wanted to have you moan out loud under him. But no matter how much you enjoyed having sex with him, it kind of set you off, thinking that this was the main thought occupying his mind. It made you feel insecure not knowing whether he just dated you for the awesome sex you had on a regular basis or whether he dated you because he truly loved you. And that insecurity kind of made you mad. So instead of going with the flow, you wanted to know quietly: „Are you only thinking about fucking? Because if you do, I’m not quite sure whether I like that kind of relationship.“ Roman frowned as he took a step back from you, answering. “Of course not. And you know that Y/N – don’t you?” You just shrugged your shoulders, not being to sure about that.

“Baby girl if you don’t believe me, I will gladly show you.” ,Roman said. It was no big secret that he was always up for a challenge, no matter how hard it might seem to be. „And how exactly do you want to show me?“, you wanted to know, crooking an eyebrow at him. “That’s actually pretty easy. 30 days and 30 nights no sex.”, Roman exclaimed victorious while giving you one of his devilish yet handsomest smirks. You were laughing out loud as you answered: “You want to go 30 days and 30 nights without sex? You know that you can never do that. You are going to fail so hard, Ro.”

“Tell yourself that baby girl, but I can assure you that I won’t.” he said with you smirking devilishly yourself this time as you said: “Fine, having no sex for 30 days and 30 nights. But that also means no other way to get some release. Masturbating is off the table as well.“ Roman shrugged his shoulders before he answered: “No problem babe, I can do that.“, before he wanted to know: „What about the non- sexual but nevertheless intimate stuff? Like cuddling or hugging?“ You smiled at him as you answered: „Both of that is allowed, just like kissing, but nothing else.“ Roman smirked down at you before he leaned in to kiss you gently, mumbling: „Good, because I think I can manage going 30 days and 30 nights without making love to you. But I’m not sure whether I can go 30 days and 30 nights without feeling your lips on mine.“ If he was honest to himself, he had no idea whether he could go indeed 30 days and 30 nights without loving you passionately, but if he had to in order to prove to you that he was not just dating you because he loved having sex with you but because he loved you from the bottom of his heart, he had to somehow make it, no matter how hard it would be. You smiled at him mischievously as you added: “Oh and to make I extra hard for you babe - no pun intended of course- I’m going to alter the rules a little bit.” He crooked an eyebrow at you as he wanted to know: “What exactly does that mean?” You gently cupped his cheek, placed a passionate kiss on his lips and whispered: “You won’t get the chance to fuck me for 30 days and 30 nights. And as we already had agreed, you won’t get the chance to release yourself either. Me on the other hand? Well if I feel the need to I am allowed to let my fingers do the talking because I don’t have to proof that I’m dating you in order to have sex with you because I love you as you already know.” You could see that he was gulping hard, but he was nevertheless willing to accept that challenge. 

Five days had already passed of Roman's and your vacation, that you both spent by heading out into the nature quite often. You were enjoying long walks around the lake or just sat on the porch while having a delicious barbecue, going for runs to stay in shape or just relaxing with a good book or listening to your favorite music while the sun was shining down on your faces.

Despite your agreement Roman had tried to seduce you from time to time but you strictly reminded him of his promise that he could go 30 days and 30 nights without making love to you. And you could tell that it was taking a toll on him. He was slightly grumpy and frustrated but he was not willing to give up his challenge that he had placed himself. Of course it was hard for you too, but you would have never admitted that, especially since you still had the option of helping yourself, an option that was off the limits for him. Besides that, you were also willing to make it through those 30 days and 30 nights not giving in, no matter how strong the seduction was. And sometimes it was enough to just watch him while he was working out, sending your thoughts on a journey of their own while you watched his muscles flexing, hearing him moan out in effort but nevertheless picturing him naked and sweaty over you while he was pushing in you, making you scream in pleasure. No it certainly was not easy for you either. 

As you wanted him to lose, you decided to play a little unfair to make it even harder for him while making the whole deal more amusing for yourself at the same time. It started with little things like running around without wearing a bra which Roman definitely recognized judging from the longing glances he was given you when your nipples became extremely visible whenever you were freezing as the nights could get really cold out here.  You also decided to skip on wearing panties at night causing Roman to almost loose his challenge when the both of you were lying on the bed one night, kissing each other passionately as Roman let his hands roam over your body only to find out for himself that you were completely naked under your night gown. He couldn’t help but groan against your neck: „Baby girl, you're a fucking monster, I hope you know that." You were smiling at him mischievously only to moan out in lust just seconds later when Roman bit your neck, sucking on that sensitive skin there.

With day seven of your challenge you decided to make it even harder for your boyfriend. You couldn't help but draw satisfaction from driving him nuts while knowing that he couldn't give in, shouldn't he want to lose. And you knew that he always was a fighter, achieving what he tried to achieve, no matter how high the costs might be. It was evening already with the sun having almost settled after a long day. The whole house was painted in a beautiful sunset as you were cleaning the dishes after the dinner you had with Roman just minutes before. As soon as you were done, you headed to your bedroom where you got out of your clothes and put a gown on only. You knew that Roman had mentioned that he wanted to relax in the pool on the porch for a little bit, so you decided that you might as well just join him.

As soon as you had arrived there, you carefully made sure that he was covered in boxers. Otherwise it might have been you that lost your challenge in the end - you were only human after all and no matter how annoyed you were at the beginning of the challenge, you nevertheless had to admit that you wouldn’t mind him fucking you nice and slow by now. You looked at him for quite a bit before you asked your boyfriend: "Mind if I join you?" Roman just grumbled something that you decided to interpret as his approval. Oh how underused and unsatisfied he was by now… You would rather bite off your own tongue than telling him that you almost were at the same state of mind. Instead, you  smirked to yourself. That was going to be fun, you were absolutely certain about that. You slowly got rid of your gown, noticing satisfied that you had Roman's full attention as he swallowed hard eyeing your naked body, that he instantly wanted to roam with his hands while sending shivers down your spine until you would beg him to fuck you.

"Anything wrong?", you innocently wanted to know from him while crooking an eyebrow at him. "You're a monster" ,he just groaned. "Care to explain that a little more?“, you pouted unimpressed. "You know that I have promised you no sex or jerking off for 30 days and 30 nights. And you know damn well that it's hard to pull that through. And yet here you are sitting completely naked in front of me, knowing exactly how much you turn me on and that right now I don't want to do anything else but take you hard baby girl while you scream my name, leaving visible marks on my back as you would dig your nails in it due to me fucking you until you would be way too sore to walk anymore." ,Roman groaned while trying to focus on something else, anything else but you. You would have never admitted it but this confession combined with his dirty talk turned you completely on. But you would not give in, quite the contrary. You planned on making him suffer, just for the pure joy of it.

You moved over to him slowly, whispering in his ear as soon as you had reached him: "Honey, I would never make it extra hard for you." With that you slowly started kissing his jawline until you captured his mouth in a passionate kiss. Roman responded immediately to your affection, pulling you closer to him. Things got more and more heated between the both of you and you smirked into the kiss when you sat down on his lap, the warm water surrounding you while Roman groaned into your mouth. You were gently tracing the tattoo on his arm with one of your hands while the other one was on its journey to roam his chest, feeling his muscles tense under your touch with every millimeter you were exploring.

"You're a real beast", he moaned into your mouth with you muffling his noises with another passionate kiss. "Oh don't say that honey, that's hurting my feelings" ,you purred while slightly grinding down on him, your breasts rubbing over his chest. "Fuck", Roman groaned and you could clearly feel how erected he already was.  "Don't even think about that, you know what you have promised. And don't you dare to cum. And whatever you are doing, don’t - under no circumstances - imagine how good it would feel right now if you could get rid of that fabric covering you, only to push yourself into me while my walls would tense around your dick, making it absolutely phenomenal to slide in and out while you set the pace of how fast or how slow you fuck me like you had done so many times before", you whispered in his ear while slowly continuing to  roam his chest with further gentle touches. You hated to admit it but you were close to giving in and let him win that stupid challenge. By now you didn’t even care whether you were right or not. You had to admit that you wanted him, wanted him bad and that your whole body was aching to be touched by him, to feel his tongue and teeth leaving their marks everywhere they could only to be filled up by him completely in the end.

Before things could get even more heated between you however, you heard your cell phone go off on the kitchen counter. You grinned at Roman and said: "You should really thank whomever is calling me for saving your butt. I'm pretty sure that you would have lost our little challenge otherwise." You kissed him gently one last time, before getting out of the tub, putting your gown back on and turning back to Roman. "Just remember that you have to go for another 23 days and nights without sex and I sure as hell won't make it any less hard for you, honey." With that you left in order to answer your phone.

Roman was groaning in frustration, covering his eyes with his arm: "Fuck, me and my big mouth. That means war, sweetheart, that means war.“ And with that he was left alone in the jacuzzi with a hard on, that he wasn’t allowed to do anything against, while you were talking to one of your best friends, watching him through one of the windows, enjoying the agony and frustration he was facing as it lightened your own.

The next evening Roman and you spent a beautiful dinner together. "So you're really having troubles resisting me, don't you?", you smirked at him. "Of course I do. I want you every damn minute of the day and you're not really helping me with putting up with the challenge  when you're acting like you had been doing recently. I can understand that you want to win that little challenge, but so do I." ,he confessed, before smirking at you: "How about I'll pay you back with your own means, getting you all hot and horny, just to leave you behind like a trembling mess?"

"Just try it and see what happens" , you smirked back at him before both of you continued with your dinner. You studied his face and you noticed how determined he was. You had no doubt that he would pay you back with your own weapons sooner or later. And you didn’t really have to wait long until he started running around shirtless the whole time as he knew how much you loved the sight of his chest as well as his huge tribal tattoo. In addition to that he did not really care anymore about putting a towel around his hips whenever he came out off the shower. And he knew damn well that you enjoyed what you saw, enjoyed it a lot. Whenever you thought that he wouldn’t notice, he could see the hunger in your eyes, causing him to react instantly. Of course it was challenging running around with an errection, not being allowed to do anything against it, but whenever he noticed that you had an extremely hard time yourself not to head over to him and beg him to fuck you hard, it was definitely worth it.

Nevertheless, day by day had passed with Roman turning more and more grumpy. You had listened to him, deciding not to play him like an instrument any longer or at least not to the full extent, just enough that you and him were equal. You of course had your fun with whispering all of those naughty things in his ear, touching him when he least expected it and making him rock hard during various occasions but you nevertheless felt sorry for him. The only thought that kept you going was that you - contrary to him - would be allowed to help yourself reaching a mind-blowing orgasm that at least would take away some of the friction you were feeling currently. Roman on the other hand, well if he wanted to win he had to suffer for several more days, thinking only about fucking you, not really making it any less challenging for him while doing so. 

You were not gonna lie, you wanted him, you wanted him bad, but you would make it through those 30 days and 30 nights even if it required your whole self-control. And you had to admit, that you really thought that it was flattering that Roman was trying so hard to suppress his own needs and desires to make it through his little challenge, to proof to you that he wasn't with you because of the sex but because he loved you. Of course you already knew that, how couldn't you? If you were honest to yourself you even knew it before he suggested that challenge. But you simply were way too annoyed and frustrated back then, your stress having the worst of you, to just take a step back and admit that your accusation was just mean.  But you nevertheless didn't want to break the challenge yourself and you didn't want to force him to give in. Okay that was a lie, you actually wanted him to give in, so you would be the winner of that little challenge and would finally be able to feel him inside of you again. But besides all of your mutual desires you knew that Roman was not the guy that would give up something easily if he wanted to hold on to it and somehow win it. Even if it was a stupid challenge.

As he was going for an extended run the next day, you had to confess that you had enough. Of course you would not ask him to skip the challenge but you felt that you were frustrated enough by now that you were willing to pull your joker. You definitely felt slightly bad that you could help yourself while Roman was not allowed to, but on the other hand, you didn’t really plan on telling him. You knew that he would probably be out there running out his frustration for the next hour at least. You headed for the bedroom and stripped out of your clothes, laying naked on the bed once you got there. As you lied there you thought about those countless times you had slept with Roman. To say that you had great sex with him was almost an understatement. He knew exactly how to push your buttons so you would turn into a trembling mess underneath him. You were thinking about how skillful he always licked you, circling his tongue around your clit before he would eat you out for what felt like hours. That - most of the time - was already enough to push you over the edge. Not to mention all of the different ways he was capable of fucking you just like you needed it in those various moments. He could be soft and gentle but he could also fuck you hard, leaving visible marks if you asked him to do so. Just thinking about all of this got you incredibly wet and you couldn’t really avoid the soft moan coming from you as you were tracing your fingers over your clit, gently rubbing it before you slipped your fingers between your wet folds, caressing the soft skin there, rubbing yourself in just the right rhythm you required in that moment. You dipped your middle finger into your dampness before returning back to your bud, gently massaging it before your rhythm increased. By now soft moans left your mouth as you imagined how it wouldn’t be your fingers but Roman’s tongue doing the work. You could feel your sensation slowly building up as you set your own pace, your fingers leaving your swollen clit just to return to your damp folds, circling your entrance before you slowly pushed one finger in, moving it just like you needed it in that moment. “Oh god”, you breathed, closing your eyes, imagining Roman’s fingers inside of you instead. It didn’t take you long adding a second one, fingering yourself just the right way so you reached that bundle of nerves that caused you to breathe harder and harder. As your fingers were moving in and out of you as if they had their own will, your free hand was grabbing your breasts, squeezing your already hard nipples, giving you sweet pleasure that you more than welcomed in that moment. You kept going at a steady pace, building the sensation in your body bit by bit while you were picturing Roman biting down on your breasts as he was fucking you in just the right mix of rough and pleasing while his rough fingers were teasing your throbbing pussy like he had done so often before. This thought alone was enough to send you over the edge and while screaming out his name your orgasm washed over you, leaving you trembling on the bed while your fingers continued their work. “Oh fuck”, you exclaimed while trying to catch your breath again, feeling how your juices were dripping along your thighs. 

While you were still making sure that you were experiencing your release to the fullest, you had no idea that Roman had returned in the meantime and he was quite aware of how you took advantage of the joker you had requested for yourself right at the beginning. 

As he had returned from his run, he was quite surprised that he couldn’t find you anywhere in the house. Before he could call your name ,however, he already heard your moans. He was walking up the stairs as quiet as he could and although he knew that it was wrong to spy on you, he simply couldn’t help as he was carefully opening the door to the bed room just to see you lying there completely naked while your fingers gently fucked yourself, your voice already hoarse by now as you moaned out his name again and again. He always loved watching you fucking yourself just as you loved watching him whenever he was stroking his dick before he would sink into you. Usually you were quite aware of his eyes on you, but not this time though. 

As he was watching you from the other side of the door he had to stop himself from just going in there and taking over, giving you the pleasure that you so obviously needed. And he even more had to stop himself respectively his hands from vanishing in his pants in order to grab his dick and help himself through his misery. He wanted you, he longed for you and he sure as hell wanted to fuck you in that very moment. But he knew that he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to win that stupid challenge he had suggested himself.

Roman held his breath as he realized that you had been shifting on the bed in order to get up and head for the bathroom. As you were doing so, he could see that you were licking your finger, tasting yourself while he wanted to scream out in frustration. He never made a big secret out of the fact that he loved your taste, that he loved to lick you for as long as you wanted him to because before his own pleasure there was always coming yours. He had to stop himself from cursing out loud as he was standing there fully aware that you were heading for the shower, probably in order to continue where you had just stopped, while he was standing outside of the room, completely hard by now, not being allowed to do anything against it. Of course he couldn’t help that the thought  of him going down on you automatically occupied his mind, replacing your fingers with his tongue just how he had done so many times before. 

Just seconds later he heard the water in the shower running and quietly he entered the bed room in order to head for the bath room. He knew that he shouldn’t spy on you but he enjoyed watching you fingering yourself while moaning his name way too much to stay away, even if it was absolute torture for himself right now. He tried to ignore his erection as best as he could as he moved over to the bath room door, that you haven’t even cared to close completely as you thought that you were still alone. 

As you felt the warm water caressing your skin you let out a small sigh. To say, that you helping yourself would have eased the tension somehow, would have been a lie. You really hated yourself for having agreed to that damn challenge and you hated yourself even more in this moment that you had voiced your concern that Roman would only be dating you in order to be able to sleep with you since you knew quite well that he loved you. If it wasn’t for your mood you could have had amazing sex with the man you loved since the start of your vacation already. Being quite aware of that fact absolutely frustrated you, especially since you could have ended it right away but you were too proud to give in. 

You were determined to beat him in this game and if it meant that you would have to help yourself for the next couple of days, so be it. At least you had the advantage of being allowed to, contrary to Roman. As you were standing under the shower your fingers slowly traced over your belly in order to return to your sensitive spot to continue their work there while you were already sighing in anticipation, knowing damn well how to touch yourself to stimulate your biggest satisfaction. Just as your fingers had reached their destination you thought that you had heard a noise outside, making you stop in your tracks. You opened the door to the shower, letting the water run and tiptoed over to the door, that you left ajar. 

As you slowly opened it, you were staring right at your boyfriend, who looked as if he had just been caught during shoplifting. You crooked your eyebrow as you wanted to know: “What are you doing here? I thought you would be going on an extended run?” You didn’t even care that you were naked as you almost instantly noticed the condition Roman was in. He cleared his throat while he answered - his deep voice slightly hoarse: “Yeah it wasn’t as extended as I hoped it would be. I guess you had some fun in the meantime?” You blushed slightly but this was soon replaced by a sly smirk as you answered amused: “You would know judging from the hard on you are spotting.” With that you moved closer although you knew that it would be anything but fair. As you were standing right in front of him, your breasts touching his sweaty t-shirt, you wanted to know while locking eyes with him: “So tell me babe, what erected you more? The fact that I was fingering myself or the fact, that I was imagining it would be you doing the dirty work while I was moaning your name?” You could see that your words had an enormous effect on him as he was shifting under your gaze. He knew that it was senseless to deny that watching you fucking yourself gave him this massive boner and he didn’t even care that you probably could see desire and longing on his face quite alike. To say that he was beyond frustrated by now was a major understatement when all he wanted was to have his way with you, paying you back for what you made him go through. “Both quite alike.”, he groaned before grabbing your neck, pulling you closer and crashing his lips on yours, kissing you passionately, making you feel how much he wanted you, making you shiver right away. 

You were slightly surprised at first that he would dare to take that step as you knew how hard it was for him to stop once he had started but instead of warning him that he might lose his challenge you responded to his kiss with the same passion. It felt good being that close to him. You wrapped your hands around his neck, deepening the kiss even more. As soon as you broke apart Roman mumbled, his voice even hoarser than just seconds before: "God, you have no idea how much I love you." With that he kissed you again, slowly tracing his hand over your belly, gently stroking the sensitive skin there, making you moan into his mouth. You slightly pushed him away while mumbling: "Stop it or you're going to lose your challenge. You still have several days ahead of you and the no sex sign is still up."

"How can you expect me to stay away from you after what I have just seen? I know how much you want me baby girl, don’t even try to deny it. I know that I can somehow make it, but the question is... Can you? Besides that, it's not about sex, sweetheart. It's about showing you how much I love you and I don't need sex for that.", he kissed you again, before whispering in your ear: "I just want you to know that I will have my way with you once that little challenge of ours is over. And then I will pay you back for every little thing you had done to me, meaning I will push you as closest to the edge as I somehow can by licking and fucking you and once you need that last little push to stumble over, I will leave you hanging, absolutely enjoying the frustration that you sure as hell will be feeling then." He didn't even give you a chance to respond to his words, since he was kissing you roughly right afterwards, pinning you against the wall next to the bath room door, with you being trapped between him and the wall, slightly moaning into his mouth. You just hoped that your self-control really was as strong as you wanted it to be. As he pinned you against the wall, he decided to use your own weapons against you. His hand slowly trailed over your skin, his rough palm sending sensations through your whole body while his erection pressed against you. As his fingers were slowly wandering towards your clit, he gently teased you, feeling quite well how aroused you still were. Knowing that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you, was at least a bit of a comfort in that freaking nerve-wrecking situation. 

You groaned as you did not want to give in but you would have given anything for those days to be over already. Roman captured your lips in a greedy kiss before he pushed his hand down completely and gently touched your moist folds, making you moan in pleasure just to pull his hand away seconds after, letting go of you and taking a step back from you while he looked down at you, a sly grin on his face as he wanted to know: “So baby girl, how does it feel getting all worked up just to be left alone right when it starts to feel good?” You shot him a deathly glare but you had to admit that you deserved that after all you had done to him.  

It took a few moments before your facial expression changed and you smiled up at him.  “You know what Ro? How about you go for another extended run of yours? By the look of it you definitely need it.”, you said with a knowing smile at his boner before you added: “I on the other hand... I have a shower waiting for me and if you would excuse me now, I would like to continue where I had stopped before.” With that you winked at him before you returned to the bath room, closing the door behind you and stepping back into the shower, a devilish smile on your face. 

Roman let out a frustrated curse before he rubbed his hand over his face, considering his options. If he was honest with himself, by now he was absolutely fine with accepting his defeat, with accepting that he had failed the challenge. He really wanted to make it through it but you just had shown him his limits. Of course you hadn’t made it easy, not at all, but standing here now, imagining how you would let your fingers go to places in just a few seconds where his own as well as his dick should be instead, was too much to deal with. He was quite aware that accepting his defeat would mean him accepting that he was weak, but who was he kidding? When it came to you, he was simply weak as he could not resist you. He not only loved you from the bottom of his heart but he also desired you that it physically pained him not being able to touch you, to feel you, to sink himself into you. It just took him a few more seconds before he decided to act on it. “Fuck it I’m done.”, he mumbled as he stripped out of his t-shirt and his shorts before he opened the door to the bath room.

As he saw you standing naked under the shower while your hand travelled down slowly, he didn’t know that he could grow even harder, but he was proven wrong. Roman noticed that you were way too trapped in your thoughts to even notice his presence hence why he smoothly stepped into the shower behind you, pressing his body against yours, drawing a surprised gasp from your mouth as he hugged you from behind, letting you feel clearly what reaction you had on him. “What are you doing here?”, you wanted to know, trying to ignore how close and hard he was. He leaned down in order to whisper into your ear, his breath hot against it: “Proclaiming my defeat baby girl. I have tried to stay away from you for those 30 days and 30 nights but I failed miserably. It was fine the first few days although the thought of making love to you had occupied my mind ever since. But it grew harder and harder as time went by - no pun intended. And when I saw you before all hot and trembling on the bed moaning my name, I had to accept that I failed. I even tried to stay outside of the bath room a couple of seconds ago, but it’s just not possible. I want you way too much to do so. The only thing I want to do right now is to fuck you, sweetheart, and you know, just as much as I do, that you don’t want anything else more in this moment than being fucked by me.” With that he started nibbling on your neck, making you moan as you had to admit that he was right with every single word. “Me winning under those conditions is absolutely fine with me.”, you breathed before you turned around in his arms, only to be pinned between the wall and his body. He gave you a little smirk before he leaned down in order to kiss you passionately while he held your arms over your head, pinning them to the wall as well.

As he kissed you passionately the warm water caressed your bodies. When he let go of your hands, you wrapped your them around his neck before they traveled up to the back of his head, searching for his hair tie that you removed in one swift move the moment you found it. Roman crooked an eyebrow at you as you smiled up at him, whispering: “Don’t blame me, you know how much I love it when you wear them open.” Before he could protest, you were pulling his head down to kiss him again, while pulling at his hair, making him groan. Bit by bit your kisses grew more passionately while your hand left his hair in order to reach out for his dick before you started to slowly stroke his thick shaft, paying some extra attention to the tip of his head that you gently caressed with your thumb. “God dammit Y/N”, he breathed heavily, his body slightly trembling. You knew damn well what you were doing to him and you also knew damn well how much he loved it whenever you rubbed him just the right way. 

As you slowly increased your pace, Roman decided to pay you back by not only biting in the sensitive skin in the crook of your neck, making you cry out in pleasure but also by attacking your swollen bud with his skillful fingers, rubbing you in the same pace you were working on him. You knew that it was just a matter of time until you would come all over his hand due to the sweet torture he was exposing you to. Before you could worry about that too much however, you heard your boyfriend groan: “I need to be in you, NOW. And there’s no discussion about that.” You had no problem with admitting that his demanding tone aroused you even more hence why you just nodded and let go of his dick before you mumbled: “This is something I certainly won’t discuss about. Just hurry up and fuck me Ro.” He didn’t really need to hear that twice. Although he actually was all in for foreplay and getting you set up nice and slow in advance, he had to admit that right now he absolutely had to skip on that as he was dying to finally be able to bury himself inside of you. 

He gave you another passionate kiss as he grabbed your ass, squeezing it tightly before his hands travelled to your thighs, holding them firmly just as he lifted you up, pressing you against his body and the wall. You wrapped one of your hands around his shoulder and grabbed his cock with the other one once again, guiding him to your entrance. As you could feel the tip of his dick caressing  your folds, you locked eyes with him, slowly nodding your head. This was signal enough for him to grab your thighs even harder before he pushed himself slowly into you, giving you time to adjust to his size like you always needed. You gasped out loud, absolutely enjoying the feeling of him filling you completely as you wrapped both your arms around his back, digging your nails into it, showing Roman that he was allowed to have his way with you just as he wanted to. That was all he needed as a reassurance before he lifted you up, bucking his hips to meet you halfway as he was lowering you again, fucking you slowly and gently while your nails scratched over his back. “God, baby you’re so fucking tight”, you heard him moan into your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he was pushing in and out of you, drawing soft moans from your lips as you crossed your legs over his butt, allowing him to push even deeper into you. “You like that baby girl?”, he asked you, a sly smirk on his face as you answered amused: “Like is an understatement. I love it. Just one thing Ro.”

“Anything baby.”

“Fuck me a little harder.”, you moaned and just as you had said it you were rewarded with rougher thrusts and an increased pace he was fucking you in. “Nothing easier than that, Y/N”, he smirked at you, biting into your neck while his hips moved harder and deeper into you than just seconds before. You were moaning out in pleasure as your nails scratched over his back before you digged them into his butt cheek, making him groan out in sweet agony as he was ponding into you, making your whole body tremble. “Fuck it, just like that”, you moaned, enjoying every thrust he was blessing you with while you covered his dick with your juices. You knew that pulling his hair while he was fucking you had the effect that he would get even a little rougher with you and you were fully willing to deal with those consequences as you lifted one of your hands, grabbing a handful of his long black locks and pulling on them forcefully, making him hiss out in pain and pleasure quite alike before he thrusted into you harder. 

As he realized that you were close to coming he gave you a devilish smirk and stopped immediately in his tracks. “What the fuck is wrong?”, you wanted to know frustrated as you were so close to your orgasm, only to feel it drift away again the moment he forcefully stopped fucking you. Roman leaned down and bit into your neck, sucking on your skin, making you whimper due to the mix of pain and pleasure. You were quite aware that he was marking you as his and just as he was done, he looked at you, a sadistic smile on his face as he stated: “You don’t really think that I’ll make it that easy for you after the last couple of days, do you? No sweetheart. You want to come, you will wait until I am willing to let you come.” With that he pulled out of you. You wanted to scream out in frustration due to the sudden emptiness you were experiencing. “Are you fucking kidding me?”, you groaned, not willing to accept this one bit. “Not at all baby girl”, he mumbled before he freed himself from your legs around his butt, making you stand on weak knees. Just as you wanted to make a big fuss about it, he was turning you around forcefully, pressing your front against the wall. You could barely move and your surprised “What the hell?” was simply ignored as Roman forcefully spread your legs before he entered you from behind, pushing himself deep into you, making you cry out in pleasure. 

You held on to the wall in front of you for dear life, while his tattooed arm held you up around your waist. His left hand was pulling on your hair this time, pulling your head behind as he was fucking you from behind, giving you a completely different sensation than just minutes before. You had the feeling as if he reached spots this way that he hadn’t reached before. His hips were moving in a steady pace and you decided to increase the sensation for the both of you by meeting his thrusts halfway. “Fuck baby girl you feel so good.”, he groaned while his arm left your waist, traveling up to your breasts to squeeze them before he pinched your nipples, causing you some sweet pain. 

As he was sliding in and out of you, he started kissing your neck before he turned your head so he could attack your lips in a passionate kiss. When you broke apart, he mumbled: “You like it when I fuck you like that?” You just nodded your head, breathing heavily: “Yes” He suddenly stopped in his tracks once again, making you scream out in frustration as you furiously wanted to know: “What is it this time?” You looked at him and saw the serious expression on his face as he answered: “You want to come, don’t you sweetheart?”

“You’re fucking the living shit out of me, of course I want to come.”, you groaned angrily. Roman was grabbing your neck, making you look at him as he dangerously replied: “In that case you should be a little more enthusiastic about it. I have asked you whether you like it when I fuck you like that and I want an answer. And by answer I don’t mean a fucking yes, but I want you to tell me that you love it when I take you hard. So be a good girl and go ahead, otherwise you can kiss your orgasm goodbye.” You knew that it was one of your usual games and like every time it angered and aroused you quite alike. You gulped hard as you whispered: “I love the way you are fucking me, babe. It’s just perfect.” He kissed you passionately again before he answered: “Good girl, it wasn’t so hard, was it?” And before you could react he shoved his dick back inside of you, picking up his pace once again while you cried out in pleasure with Roman grunting at the same time. 

As you felt his dick moving inside of you, you could tell that your orgasm was about to hit you with full force. You were breathing heavily as you mumbled: “Oh god I’m going to come.” with Roman answering: “Come for me baby girl.” It didn’t take you long until you orgasmed, screaming out Roman’s name while doing so, who kept on thrusting into you, expanding it while doing so. Just moments later you could feel how his thrusts became sloppier and sloppier before his dick started twitching inside of you. “Oh fuck.”, he groaned as he pressed himself closer to you, pushing hard into you another time before he shot his load into you, riding out his own orgasm while holding you close. He refused to pull out of you for quite some time, thrusting into you a few more times, so you and him could enjoy the aftermaths of your orgasms quite alike. Your own juices as well as his cum were running down your thighs but you didn’t care for one bit.

As Roman pulled out of you, he gently spun you around before kissing you, his tongue begging for entrance that you happily granted. While he was kissing you slowly and gently this time, it didn’t take long until you felt his hands roaming your thighs as he was cleaning up the results of your heated love session. As you broke apart he was smiling down at you while you returned his smile, wrapping your hands around his neck, gently caressing the back of his head while doing so. “I have never cared so little about losing a challenge as this time.”, Roman smirked at you while you replied amused: “You know what babe? Since I had my doubts that you could actually go without fucking me for just a couple of days, you had held up quite well. Therefore I will grant you that you won this challenge.” He laughed out loud as he said: “Thank you baby, you just have to promise me one thing.”

“And that is?”

“That we won’t repeat it.” You had to laugh as you gently cupped his cheek, whispering: “Nothing easier like that. I can’t go long without sleeping with you myself.” You placed a soft kiss on his lips, before you added: “We should really catch up on the last days we had missed out and should start round two, preferably on the bed this time.” He smirked down at you, answering: “Your wish is my command Y/N.” He engaged you in another passionate kiss as he lifted you up in order to carry you over to the bed to show you another time how much he loved you. 

Both of you mentally thanked Vince for those unpaid vacation he had granted you. The next days sure as hell would be spent useful, neither you nor Roman had any doubts about that. And you would start with it right away as he pushed himself into you another time, making you moan underneath him again. 

[praydastles]

Title: Jasmine tea and kisses Fandom: Monsta X Member: Wonho/Hoseok Genre/Warning: Soft smut Summary/Request: Some soft Hoseok smut for @wonheonie A/N: my lovely Jaz who advises and loves and makes her us all smile! She works too hard and needs some love returned, so this is dedicated to you <3 Word Count: 2455

Opening the door to your home felt like a much heavier task than it should have. You felt how tight your body was wound up, how your bones creaked from the invisible weight placed upon you, how your muscles were sore and on the verge of allowing you to collapse, yet wouldn’t allow you any feeling of relaxation. You were tired to the point you could feel the sag beneath your eyes, tiredness your new skin and even as you removed the shoes that you were in all day, on your feet non stop you still couldn’t relieve the tension. You sluggishly reached your hand up to place your coat on the hook next and then made you way, without much energy in your walk, toward the bathroom.

You released a heavy sigh already listing the things that you needed to do around the house. Even if you had clocked out for the day at the office, doesn’t mean work had actually finished. Clothes had to be washed, dishes to be done, hoovering and wiping down the surfaces, preparing dinner, the list went on and on as you made your way to the kitchen with a noise of distress.

In between putting the washing to dry, preparing the veg that will be used for dinner amongst the rest of your tasks you barely register the sweet call of “love, I’m home.” an hour or so later. It wasn’t till the featherlight touch of thick lips pressed to the back of your neck and firm arms weaved its way around you like a vine that you realised he had come home. The way your body seemed to break away from the cemented state of wound up muscles, knot filled back as you relaxed against his chest was sign that only now were you truly home.

Your hands felt desperate to Hoseok when you were quick to latch onto his palm tightly, releasing a heavy sigh and letting your head fall back. Hoseok lowered his face till he rested in the crook made for him and pecked your skin lightly before asking softly, in a knowing voice. “Long day baby?” You loosened your hold so you could turn in his arms, his own hands melding into your skin, warming and comforting as leant your head against his chest and shut your eyes to take in the steady beat of his heart. “You have no idea…” You mumbled, feeling his fingers press to your tensed lower back. “Baby, go to bed, I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

You paused against him, thinking over the suggestion, how tempting it sounded before concluding that you could not simple just go to be with so much to do. “That’s okay baby, but I have so mu-” Hoseok lowered his head, quickly planting a sweet peck against your lips and pulled back with a cheeky smile. “You really need to learn how to relax. Come on.” He was so easy to get caught up in, his smile was big and warm and just drew you in like a moth to a flame, likewise his eyes that stared at you as if you were his whole world, as if you were the only thing he could see trapped you too him as he began to walk backward with that cheeky smile held on his face.

He led you to the bottom steps, removing your arms gently from around him and encouraged you up the steps after turning you around, fingers never letting go and steps never far behind yours. Your bedroom was welcoming; familiar items that spoke of both your personalities, photos of soft kisses on days out, sweater on the edge of the bed that you stole from Hoseok to wear during particularly cold nights when he wasn’t around, his aftershave lingering amongst your perfume in the air, a room that was a perfect combination of little things that were the both of you.

The bed was even more welcoming when he directed you to it. He didn’t allow you a moment to disagree, already pushing you to lay on the bed. He shuffled on the edge, his body against yours, heat passing through each other making you feel toasty and drowsy. “You’re overworking yourself again baby,” He admonished, voice soft and low as he pushed your hair back gently with his fingers. He sighed, fingers tracing the creased and dark skin beneath your eyes for a moment before leaning forward and laying gentle pecks beneath each of your eyes and then over your lids that fluttered to a close with him so near and soothing you with his presence everywhere.

His fingers trailed down your cheeks and then he sat up, taking you by your forearm. Hoseok pressed his fingers to the ball of your shoulder and motioned them in circles that made you sigh in relief. He went down gradually, fingers applying pressure into the plump flesh of your arm, his fingers rolling out the aches you felt as he lowered to your wrist, and then to massage your fingers right up to your nail beds.

You moaned softly, the sensation pushing out the tension that locked up your body. Hoseok reached over to repeat his gentle movements on your other arm before scooting a little lower down the bed. His fingers found the tops of your bottoms, slipping into the waistband he began to pull down allowing your legs to breathe. He let it drop to the floor and shifted onto the bed, going between your knees as he allowed both his hands to circle the expanse of your upper thigh, starting high up and squeezing down, lower and lower to your ankle where he massaged even your achilles heel. No part was left untouched, the balls of your feet, the arch and up. Hoseok looked down at your tired body, feeling his heart clench as he even felt the strain on your body as he massaged you. He leant forward and over your lips, letting his stroke against yours softly before whispering against you, “Can I make love to you baby? Can I worship you?” Your tired eyes lifted slowly, staring into his and feeling your heart suddenly violently thud seeing the look he gave you; concern, love, want and something much more powerful swirled in the pools of his brown eyes as you barely noticeably moved your head in a tiny nod.

The feel of Hoseok’s chest against yours, of his hips barely resting on you when he allowed himself to sink lower for his lips to capture yours has your heart beating harder and when he tilts his head in an angle that allows his lips more of you, a soft moan is pushing out of your painfully tight chest. I love you is on the tip of both of your tongues, the words being spelt out against each others lips in soft and slow movements that turn more passionate as you breathe in each other. His fingers trail down your neck and down your side to slip under your back. His hands mould with your skin, your back arching up into him allowing him to rub you. When he pulls back from your lips it’s to stare down at you in wonder almost before he’s soft smiling, lips pulled back to show teeth. “You’re lips feel right against mine,” He tells you, placing the lightest of kisses at the corner of your mouth, “I’m so thankful to be blessed with someone as hardworking as you,” He continues, lips pressing to the underside of your chin, “Someone who is so giving,” lips lower along your neck, “Someone who gives their all with nothing in return,” he finds your collarbones, tongue licking out to taste your skin, then lowering his lips as he unbuttons your shirt, “Someone who quietly suffers, but goes on,” your shirt is spread open and his mouth is leaving bruises sticky from his lips over your chest, his hands trailing over your stomach and down to your inner thighs, rounding to grasp one to his hip, “Someone selfless, not caring for their own pain if it means they can help someone else, even if it’s something little,” His thumb is rubbing slowly on your thigh and his words are choking you, making tears prick at your eyes as you become overwhelmed, “Someone who listens, someone who loves wholeheartedly, someone who can make you feel at home, who can make you smile, who makes you feel like your world would end without them… that’s you to me.” The tears pool and then overflow to stream down the corners of your eyes as you stare up and him and all his sincerity. “Let me take care of you a little baby, it won’t be anything compared to what you do for me, for us, but… Let me start here for you.” Free hand coming up to wipe away your tears. You make a small noise at the back of your throat, unable to speak and Hoseok leans up to kiss you again, slow and with his tongue dipping into your mouth before pulling back, shuffling onto his stomach so he lays between your legs.

His fingers hook into the band of your underwear, hips rising off the bed to allow his to pull them off. You’ve never felt more gentle, or as if you were delicate than when Hoseok handle’s your body, hands gentle in their motion when he pushes your spread legs up higher and allows them to rest on his broad shoulders. You’re exposed, vulnerable for him and in no way does this phase you, your mind, body and soul at complete comfort with Hoseok. He never let you feel uncomfortable or unsafe and so when his lips found your folds and allowed his tongue to stroke along them, you felt nothing but content, a sigh slipping past your lips. His tongue ran from the bottom up, courses of pleasure shooting through you with each nudge against your clit.

The strokes of his tongue caught your growing wetness, his face pressing more to you, nose nudging your clit when he found your hole and pushed inside with a desperate whimper, your hands shooting to the silk strands of hair that caught between your tight grip, hips gyrating against his face as the slow push and pulls of his tongue set you alight. You urged him to use his tongue faster, the room a musical of your moans and wet strokes, Hoseok pushing his own hips into the sheets as he became hard eating you. He hungrily groaned, turning his head to your inner thighs to leave sweet bites and licks that painted you prettily before he was sticking his tongue out to flick at your clit till you felt a pulsing sensation. His finger slid easily inside as his mouth closed around you, the pressure of his mouth making you moan louder, his finger slow, taking its time to stroke your walls to life. He added another, a burning coursing through you quicker as he remained locked to your clit. Your thighs squeezed around his head, hips stuttering against his mouth as you quickly drew to the edge, just needed a little push, and when he removed his fingers in place of his mouth and the pads of his fingers pressed down to your clit, his jaw tensing as his urged his tongue to bury deeply, quickly into you, you fell over the edge, from your toes, to your head blood rushed in an overwhelming wave, a lone long scream leaving your lips when finally you came undone.

You were on his tongue, more so as he never relented with his licks, swirling inside of you till you were twitching and overwhelmed. He left a lingering, sweet peck to your clit and then pushed up, crawling over you, to your dazed and flushed face to kiss you again, lightly biting your lower lip and letting his tongue play against your lips before slipping in and circling yours. “Go on your side for me please baby.”

You rolled over, facing the wall and waited, feeling Hoseok sidle up to you. He’d removed his close, bare skin even hotter against yours and then he hand was lifting your thigh, manoeuvring to line himself up to you and when the head brushed and pushed in you whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as Hoseok took controlling breathes, pushing in more till he was engulfed by your heat. He settled more behind you, sliding his arm under you and holding you close to his chest just as he dragged his hips back and began his slow thrusts. Your nails clawed at his arm, whines and desperate moans being pushed out of you with each of his languid strokes. You felt every part of him, his heart drumming wildly in his firm chest pressed to you, his thigh over yours as he pushed and pulled back his hips, his cock slow to fill you, slow to stretch you.

You’re acutely aware of everything, of the inches of his cock that fill you, the grooves that brush your walls with each slow stroke and Hoseok is panting in your ear, ‘Oh God’s’ leaving his mouth, ‘I love you’s’ being whispered against your neck as he speeds up and the sound of him slapping against your skin blends with the chorus of moans that leave the both of you and then he’s holding you tight, hips pressing hard, cock deeper as he releasing one long sweet melodic groan, his orgasm a mess inside of you, warm and thick and soon mixing with yours as his fingers quickly lower to your clit and rub till you're nearly rolling away from him, moans muffled in your mess of hair, against his arm, a final chorus of screams as you shudder and jerk around him.

Moments pass in blissful silence, heavy pants and his hands stroking your hair in comfort, still holding you close. He kisses the back of your head and instructs, “Stay awake for a moment.”

He leaves for your not sure how long as you try to gather yourself and fight the sleep that is more than ready to take over till the aroma of something sweet and soothing hits your nostrils. “Sit up a bit love.” He requests quietly, watching your tired muscles move slowly into a sitting position. He hands you a saucer with a small cup of tea atop of it and you’re grateful as you inhale deeply, the scent of jasmine washing over you and settling amongst the scents in your room, another thing that will remind you of what home means for you and your love Hoseok.

[artificialqueens]

Rupaul's Retirement Home ~ Hobnob

AN: I took some time off to defeat my inner saboteur, and visit my great Aunty Dorris. She just turned 100 so she’s basically crumbling away like an oaty biscuit. Her 100th bday bash was mental she was off her tits on meds. Before that she was in a temporary nursing home, and to be frank it was proper dodgy. This fic is a homage to my experience around old people, and how I don’t really like them too much because they remind me of death.

Beauty can come from unexpected places, but more often than not you’ll just see a pile of dog shit. ~Hobnob

The first thing you’ll notice about Rupaul’s retirement home is the smell. There’s no avoiding it. The second you walk in the stench of old moth balls and re-heated cottage pie makes your nose crinkle and your eyes water. It’s nothing if nostalgic of visiting your Nan’s house, but 100 times worse. As if a physical force were to greet you at the door.

The second thing you’ll notice is the horribly outdated decor. Floral wallpaper peeled by time, beige settees with ominous stains, and varnished tabletops plastered with finished Sudoku’s and the TV times. The room was neither here nor there. Too clean to host rats, too dirty to pass basic safety inspection.

Finally, you’ll notice the residents. Wrinkled, aching, and old. They litter the room. Some hunched over an outdated telly set, some sunk in armchairs with their eyes closed, possibly deep in thought, Possibly sleeping. Most likely the latter.

Overall most would find Rupaul’s retirement home to be a grim reminder of mortality. Of how our skin will wrinkle and crease as if to give up on itself. Of how our eyes will turn a milky white and sink into our skull. Of how our fingers will struggle to clasp at pens and keep still to endless frustration.

Raja exhaled slowly, the corners of her mouth dropping into a frown. For five years she’d been cooped up, destined to repeat the same routine over and over to the tick of an old grandfather clock gathering dust in the corner.

As far as retirement homes go, Rupaul’s was tolerable. The staff weren’t overly incompetent and the food was just about edible. But Raja was restless, and there wasn’t enough room in some stuffy little lounge on the coast of Yorkshire to stretch her legs.

She used to travel overseas, gliding across salt water with a smell in the air no Yankee candle could recreate. She used to go to places she couldn’t even pronounce, and eat foods that weren’t served in a tinfoil dish. She used to make friends, enemies and acquaintances on a daily basis.

But now, Raja was 80. Deemed too old by society to sail a boat, or bathe herself for that matter. All thanks to one silly fall she took 5 years ago. Maybe if her knee hadn’t popped, she’d be in Scotland sampling haggis, or Norway looking over a grassy creek between snowy mountains.

“Raja.”

Or maybe even grabbing a bite to eat in Liverpool, then catching the annual lights show.

“Raja…”

She was too old for abseiling but who knows, she could give hiking a go…

“RAJA!”

She snapped out of her daydreaming and rubbed her temple, turning her head to the source of the noise, slightly dazed.

“You just going to stand there with your eyes facing different directions?”

Sat beside her with a grin comprised of dentures was Charlie Hides, brandishing her familiar mess of grey hair in contrast to a red painted lip.

Raja promptly took a seat, sticking up her middle finger at Charlie mockingly.

“At least I don’t have Athletes foot. I could smell you from a mile away.”

Charlie chuckled, though it developed into a violent cough and she was forced to have a sip of water. The two had met after Charlie was thrown in by her family. They shared similar complaints with the home and bonded over their general hatred of coronation street that always seemed to permanently remain on the telly set.

“They have cream for athletes foot but you can’t cure delusion Raja Gemini.” She tutted, reaching over to grab a crossword off the table. Her hands were unsteady and held the paper a little too tight, causing it to crumple slightly. Raja decided to look away.

“Delusion? I was daydreaming bitch I’m too young to go crazy.” Raja said sinking her back into the settee, her bones creaking along with the worn springs.

Charlie smiled to herself, keeping her eyes on her crossword as she produced a black biro from behind her ear. “The fact you just called yourself young proves my poi-”

“Pill time ladies.”

Their banter was interrupted. Raja grimaced.

“Come on up up.” The carer repeated, patting them both on the backs as if they were some variation of untrained pet.

Raja hated the pills they shoved into her body. They tasted like rust and made her loose any appetite she may of had. Sometimes if she was lucky she could stuff them in her pockets and flush them down the toilet, like she used to do with broccoli as a child.

She exhaled slowly, gripping her yellowed nails into the edge of the settee, ready to hoist her weight up and shuffle up to the poor intern passing out small paper cups of drugs. Before she could go any further Raja felt Charlie grab her wrist.

“Do you know where Tempest is? She’s late for her pills today.”

Raja looked stunned for a moment. She was about to respond but her words were abruptly interrupted by an impatient voice.

“Ladies. Pills. Now.”

The pair rolled their eyes collectively and got up as fast as they could, which was fairly slow. Making their way over to the counter Raja thought over Charlie’s question repeatedly.

The line shuffled gradually with the sound of slippers chafing against the carpet until it was Raja’s turn to drug herself up. Accepting the pills graciously she decided it really wasn’t worth kicking up a fuss about taking them.

Before she could neck down the paper cups contents one of the newer workers, Serena, approached Raja with a quizzical look. She was petite, with a head of blonde hair and an expression of confusion constantly plastered on her round face.

“Wait-wait Raja, you are friends with Miss Hides aren’t you?”

Raja rolled her eyes slightly and nodded, tempted to respond with a sarcastic ’unfortunately’ but deciding it wasn’t worth her voice.

“Yes, well, we’ve been noticing some traits of early stage dementia and i was wondering whether you could shed some light on how her memory is doing.”

Raja froze, pursing her lips. She looked over to Charlie who was absent mindedly chatting to Mrs Kasha Davis. Probably about the state of the economy and how Teresa May was drunk on power.

Dementia?

A second wave of realisation washed over Raja as she recalled when Charlie asked where a former resident, Tempest Dujour was. To put it frankly, Tempest had been dead for a week after passing from heart failure, yet Charlie seemed to have no recollection of this.

“Yes.”

“Yes? Care to elaborate?” Serena Cha Cha said impatiently, quirking a brow.

Raja didn’t want to elaborate. She didn’t want to put any more energy into thinking about it. She didn’t want to think about how the mind just does that sometimes. It forgets.

Suddenly Raja was in the mood for her pills. “Can i get back to you on that later? We’re holding up the line here.” Raja said stoically, turning on her heel to avoid futher confrontation.

“Actually now would be a good time to-”

Her back was turned to Serena dismissively. This could all wait. She necked back her pills and cast another sideways glance at Charlie. She was sat down now with a new crossword, her feet on the table facing towards a small radiator, warming up her toes through the nippy winter evening.

Despite Serena beckoning Raja back, she made her way over to Charlie and took a seat. She was attempting to grab the pen she’d dropped on the floor as she cursed under her breath. It was almost painful to watch.

“This bloody place the seats are too high up. I can barely bend over as it is.”

Normally Raja would agree and go off on one about how shitty the furniture is, but instead she offered a sympathetic smile.

“Could be worse.” Raja sniffed, leaning over to pick up the pen for Charlie. “Appreciate that we weren’t put in a place with no central heating.”

Charlie took the pen from her hands gratefully, looking down to her unfinished crossword. “Part of appreciating something is not acknowledging you have it. Think about having it and you aren’t enjoying it.”

Raja didn’t exactly know how to respond to that. She looked over to the TV set. Red Dwarf is on much to the joy of the residents. The theme tune gets turned up to allow the more hard of hearing residents to listen in.

Think about having it and you aren’t enjoying it.

“Oh, Raja?”

Her train of thought is broken as she looks to Charlie.

“When’s it time for our pills?”

Raja placed a hand on Charlie’s hand and squeezed tight. She hadn’t the heart to answer that. She simply shrugged.

“Defiance…”

“What?” Charlie said confused, biting the end of her chewed pen. She made a mental reminder to never borrow a pen off her.

“open resistance; bold disobedience.” Raja repeated, poking a bony finger at the crossword proudly. “Defiance.”

The other woman let out a noise of joy before scrawling down words illegible to anyone else. Raja took the time to peer out the window. It was pitch black outside with frost creeping around the corners of the window. In summer the view would be that of a lovely garden, brimming with tulips and hanging plant baskets.

Raja had a feeling it was to keep the residents happier. Having such a wonderful view was a reminder that there was a world outside the home, and it was still growing and moving.

But she couldn’t see the garden. She could see the stained wall around it, and the flower patterned curtains that hadn’t been drawn in a long time, but no garden.

Raja wondered how many of her friends would stick around during the winter. Some would go back to see family, some would even give into age and pass on.

She leaned back in her chair and shut her eyes. Maybe she would think more, maybe she would go to sleep. It was yet to be decided.

Prehaps sleep.

[bunchamunchafaunus]

Peri Gaia

Peri and Roy Gaia. Twins of the Gaia family, children to Beof Gaia -their father- and Agua Fallon -their mother-. The two born mere minutes from each other, they grew up supporting one another entirely during their lives. Never leaving each other’s side if they could help it.

From Menagerie, the two grew up feeling rather happy and safe among others like them. Even if they were a little unusual being the specific Faunus that they were, they had plenty of support and comfort. Sadly though, they were all too aware of the history of Menagerie and how it came to be a land for Faunus. Thanks to knowing all too well what they did, they did grow up with one negative. Their disdain towards the dust company of the frozen north.

Fortunately enough, they didn’t have to worry about this through their childhoods. Their family being able to get by fine without the need of Dust to any degree. Even managing to be rather fortunate in a marketing front, as the Gaia family would often take fishing trips. Bringing their hauls back to sell either fresh, cut, or sometimes even cooked or made into various dishes.

The Gaia family’s fishing service was able to provide good enough financial stability to the family. Eventually even allowing them to save enough Lien to take a long planned family vacation to visit  Mistral. The family having been fascinated by plenty of various artistic creations, the stories of their plays, music, etcetera. It was something the entire family hoped to eventually see and learn more about.

Their visit to the new land, while odd compared to what they were used to, was enjoyable. The Twins had the time of their lives in Mistral! The various shows their family went to see, all the new foods they got to try, the exciting new toys and machines surrounding them, it was better than they had ever imagined.

And they never could have imagined what was about to happen.

It was getting dark, the family were passengers on a Mistrali airship flying back to the capital city itself from one of the surrounding villages.

Everything was fine, fantastic even.

Then came the bloodcurdling shriek.

Obsidian feathers shredding through the metal and the sails.

The rough impact into the side of the ship.

Glass shattering upon the floors.

Roaring flames.

Darkness.

When Peri came to, she had Roy in her embrace, her skin was stiff and rough, yet… wet…? It took her a moment to realize just why, but once she did, it horrified her. Crimson liquid splattered across her arm and shoulder, her eyes followed it to the sight of a large black feather embedded in her brother’s arm. The end of it protruding from the underside of it, almost pressing in against his torso.

Panic began setting in. The stone like form her skin had taken suddenly softening to that of her normal skin again as she began crying out her brother’s name. Desperate to know he was still alive, still with her in this horrid reality.

She was relieve when the coughing of her twin sounded from him.

Peri carefully readjusted herself with her brother, trying to readjust herself so that he could be more comfortable in his injured state. Or at least as comfortable as one could possibly be with a large sharp object punched through the flesh of their arm.

The pain finally registering in him, Roy’s breathing became sporadic, gasping and groaning, even going so far as to shout a few times upon seeing the feather embedded in his arm.

The two of them didn’t know what to do in this hell. Peri could only think to look around, to try and see if there was some way she could stop her brother’s arm from bleeding. Her eyes frantically darting about, taking in their surroundings in hopes of finding something. What she did find, however, forced her to scream. Almost forcing her brother from her embrace and onto his injured arm with how suddenly she jerked back.

Mother was nowhere to be found, but pressed to the dented wall of the ship lay their father, a large, thick shard of glass embedded in his chest. The body mere inches from a rock formation that had broken through the metal hull and through the top of the ship. Or at least they thought it was the top of the ship. They couldn’t tell with the seats torn from the walls and thrown about the ship interior.

Roy, even with his arm injured the way it had been, worked himself to his knees before his sister. Grabbing to her arm and shaking her gently while calling her name to get her attention. Eventually managing to pull Peri’s eyes from their father, though they came to a stop again at the object within Roy’s arm. By this point, the Komodo’s cheeks were drenched in tears. Her breathing spastic and uncontrollable amidst her sobbing.

Roy’s words weren’t registering in Peri’s ears. She couldn’t hear anything other than the roar of the flames burning outside their sight and her own sniffling crying. Though something did push through, for both of them.

An explosion.

It scared the twins, the two embracing each other, Peri’s skin stiffening again. The thunderous sound wasn’t from the wrecked ship they were in. It was a relief that it wasn’t. Then they heard another. Both had been father from them, but the second was closer, and followed closely after by the haunting shriek that neither would ever be able to forget. A third explosion, the monstrous shriek again, and then a heavy thud.

Aside from the flames still active from outside the crashed ship, everything else went silent. Twins shaking with only each other for support as they expected their demise. The two hardly even noticed the feather in Roy’s arm had begun dissolving before sudden voices somehow managed to drown out the fire to some degree.

Immediately the twins were shouting, calling for help from whomever was outside. The longer they called however, the more it seemed that they weren’t heard, nor would they be saved, Roy’s voice beginning to wane as his blood had been painting his arm and Peri’s with the newly emptied wound leaving it open.

Peri’s shouting, however, grew louder. Desperately trying to put pressure over the hole in her brother’s arm, as had been what she learned to do with worse cuts. She just hoped it would work for this.

The sudden shrieking of tearing metal caught her attention, two ends of some sort of tool forcing themselves into the wall of the ship  and moving closer together before shifting out again. The tips suddenly turning and folding, whatever was using this tool began pulling. The wall beginning to bend back and down, light shining through the new opening of the ship wall.

The figure that stepped through the new opening seemed to stare at the two a moment. Peri shouting to them for help before they suddenly ducked back out through the hole. They shouted for a medic. The person entered in again, rushing to the twins as fast as they could within the dented ship. Once out of the light, Peri could see it was an older woman. Her dress being that of a Huntress.

The woman questioned the Komodo for a shot moment. “What happened to him?”, “are you okay?”, “can you move?”

Once the questions had come and gone, the Hunter wasted no time in picking the boy from his sister’s embrace. Beckoning Peri to follow as she rushed out from the hole in the wrecked ship. The Komodo did as had been instructed, and soon was met with the sight of multiple new ships having landed around the wreckage. The Huntress was handing off the unconscious Moth to two other people, both dressed in a way that suggested they were the medical team that had been called.

Peri’s sight wandered across her surroundings a moment as she continued following after the medics. Taking in the sight of the dissolving black mass, the bright lively flames burning from the destroyed front of the ship she had been passenger on. The next thing she knew, she was on the ground, screaming all over again. Her vision becoming blurred from the tears flooding from her eyes.  

Their mother’s ringed hand lay on the ground by the wreckage, separated from the body, which Peri could only guess was under the crashed ship.

The Komodo’s sight went dark in this moment.

Peri’s eyes opened to a light over her head. The edge of a cloth just barely in her vision above her eyes. She could hear something. She wasn’t sure what it was she was hearing at first., but as she slowly awoke, it slowly cleared up. Her name was being called, a hand resting over her shoulder, just from the voice and the way they gave a gentle squeeze told her who it was.

She turned her head enough to look to her side to the older woman seated beside the bed she was in. Smiling some at the sight of her grandmother. A living familiar face after the hell she and her brother had gone through was ni-…

Her brother…

The Komodo sat herself up, questioning her grandmother of where her brother was and his condition. The older woman calmed the twin before answering her desperate questions. Hearing word that Roy was just in the room beside the one they were in informed her they were in a hospital. She would’ve been more relieved if it wasn’t for the fact she was informed that the boy, while stable and being cared for, was still unconscious.

Even still, it made her happy to know she hadn’t lost him.

A little dizzy as she got herself up from the bed, she was assisted by her grandmother until she had reoriented herself. Finally working her way out from her room and across to the next. Stepping in, Peri was met with the sight of her grandfather in a seat beside her unconscious brother’s bed. Wires were connected to Roy through various needles and patches, a cord under his nose for air, and his right arm wrapped in bandages. The white wrappings were a bit red.

Peri stepped over to sit on the end of the bed, watching her brother as his chest would slowly rise and fall in his subconscious breathing. Soon met with a nurse stepping in to change the bandages ‘round Roy’s arm.

A short chat revealed to the twin that her and her brother had been out for a day since Peri collapsed after seeing her mother’s hand. And during such chat, the moments she saw her brother’s arm without the wrapping, she could almost see the bone at a point.

She knew she couldn’t do anything but wait for him to recover over time. It hurt to know she couldn’t do anything to help him. It hurt even more knowing their parents were gone…

It hurt so much…

Days would pass, no improvements coming to Roy’s current state. Days soon turning to weeks, weeks to months, still nothing.

It had been declared that he had entered a coma after the first month.

Peri, during this time, had been taken in by their grandparents, whom thankfully had a friend living within Mistral that offered for them to stay in an apartment they owned. She didn’t enjoy Mistral as much as she did before the crash now. As much as she felt she should, it actually hurt more than anything to be so close to where the crash had happened.

In her free time, she began taking an interest in becoming a Hunter. Studying various different weapons, different fighting styles, all sorts of stuff about Grimm. She even began learning about her Semblance that had awoken that dreadful day. Training to be able to control it, learning what she could or couldn’t withstand with it, how long she could hold such form, etc.

She visited Roy in the hospital every day since she woke after the crash. Every day before she practiced with her semblance and in combat without fail. Checking on him, talking to him about what had happened since her last visit, wishing he would wake from his prolonged slumber.

The better part of a year came to pass when Peri finally got a call from the hospital.

The nurse on the other end informed the girl that her brother had finally awoken from his coma.

Before the man even finished talking on the other end, Peri was rushing out  the apartment and to the hospital. The minutes that passed as she made her way through Mistral were painful, but at the same time, each step closer she got to her destination filled her with happiness. It was overwhelming when she finally arrived, not even slowing down in the slightest almost tripping with each turn she took in the hospital halls.

Only when her red eyes met the multi-color orbs of her brother’s from the doorway of his room did she finally stop. Taking in the sight of him sitting upright within the bed, the antennae atop his head twitching and shifting about, and the gentle smile across his mouth.

In an instant she was at his side, her arms tight around him, head buried against his shoulder, tears streaming down her cheeks. Just feeling his form in her arms, his own returning the embrace. Just such a simple thing as his conscious touch made Peri so happy to know he was awake. That he was going to live. That she wasn’t going to loose him too.

She spent the rest of the entire day by Roy’s side. Telling him of everything that’s happened since he fell into his coma, of how they’re going to live with their grandparents, of the confirmation she eventually got of their parent’s condition…

The two of them were pained remembering what they had suffered.

Another month passed before Roy was allowed to leave the hospital. Finally getting to  go “home” with his sister and their grandparents. Though they stayed in Mistral for a while longer even after.

Peri, while they were still in Mistral, was looking forward to one thing outside of them being able to finally go back to Menagerie. Getting her weapon. Well, maybe weapon wasn’t exactly the best word for it since it was a large shield. Though if someone knew how dangerous this shield could be, calling it a weapon fit perfectly.

Aegis, she called it.

For the longest time Peri had felt lost. The combination of having loft her parents, her brother being in a coma, and her being unsure of what exactly to do with herself all got to her all too easily, and too many times to count. But now, with Aegis complete and in her possession, and with Roy’s consciousness having returned, it was like a storm had cleared from her mind.

As much as she seemed to strive to become a Hunter like the woman that had saved them, Peri had felt conflicted during the past months.

Was hunting what she really wanted to do with her life? Could she willingly really put herself anywhere near the Grimm? Would she even be able to bring herself to fight back against them? Why not just return to Menagerie? Just keep the Gaia Family Fishing business going and live a relatively safe life?

With her mind cleared as it felt it was now, she knew the answers to the questions that had plagued her mind. She knew what she really wanted to do.

Peri Gaia wanted to protect. To protect her brother as much as she could. To protect her grandparents for the rest of their lives. To protect the children of the world from having to suffer the same experience that she and her brother did.

Before she knew it, she was talking with her Grandparents. Talking about what she wanted to do with the rest of her life, of the requirements for her to enroll in a combat school. Eventually even talking about which of the four Academies across Remnant she wanted to attend.

The last bit took Peri a good while. She had begun attending a combat school to learn and train with her weapon a whole year before deciding on an Academy. After having looked over the information for all four of them countless times over, deciding on one only to change her mind the next day. She finally decided.

Beacon.

Vale’s Hunter Academy, not too far from their home of Menagerie, but far enough from Mistral that she hoped it could help her focus on getting better. That it would help her mind to not dwell too much on the crash.

Thankfully, it was exactly what she needed.

[vote-for-eggman]

Please read this short story for me.

It’s inspired by the premise for Shameless except not written to become tiresome after a while. Need responses. Submitting it for a “romantic evening” prompt. Other requirements were importance of setting and abstract description.

It’s like every breath I take in the house shudders the foundation.

Perhaps my ragged breaths only slipped out so irregularly in the moment due to Sophie’s reckless raking through my hair with the only comb we had. Or perhaps it was nerves for the date.

“Hold still, Rory!” Sophie hissed. Her little hands slipped on some more aged product into my hair; she was clearly struggling to spread it.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” I asked gruffly.

Another tug into my hair. “Yes, of course!” she claimed. Then she pushed my head down so I was staring at my bare chest. The chair swayed uneasily on its crooked legs.

Sophie’s young life probably would have granted her naivety if she, like the rest of us, were in a normal life. Therefore, I was musing on whether she was deliberately trying to mess up my hair or if she was genuinely trying her best. I didn’t have the heart to tell her to stop.

“You don’t think I’m old enough to do this, huh?” she teased.

“What? No!” I lied.

She crookedly pulled the comb through my hair again. “I’m mature,” she said. “I walk myself to school. AND I make my school lunches sometimes.”

I turned my head up slightly to make eye contact with the little girl standing over me. “Sometimes?” I questioned.

Her voice quieted. “When we have food at the house,” she said meekly.

The room submerged into a humid silence.

Suddenly, a rampaging and repeating thudding roared around the tight stairwell. “Rory! Rory!” followed the rolling noise descending down the stairs.

I pulled my head up. Callan was now at the foot of the stairwell, which was only feet away from my hair salon.

“What are you doing?” he asked. His eyes looked up and down, “Sophie’s doing your hair? In the kitchen?” Callan put a hand up to the back of his head, stroking through his hair as it traveled behind him.

Autumn, the quiet one in the house, piped up from her work of doing the dishes adjacent to the chair. “Rory has a date and Sophie offered to make him look ‘perfect.’”

“Huh,” he noted incredulously.

Callan shook the thought aside. He got closer to me and confidently smiled. “Guess who is officially in the running for class president in the upcoming semester at East Arm High School.” His voice was light and direct.

Callan didn’t wait for a response.

He pumped his fist into the air and announced, “Callan Renato! The one. And. Only!”

I leaped from the chair, sending the comb swinging into the dishwater. I grabbed him by the hands and instinctively beamed at him. “You did? You really did?”

“Yes!” Callan exclaimed. His face was ruby red. He freed his hands and rubbed one through his charcoal hair again. “I’m… I can’t believe I did it.”

“Not yet, you haven’t,” I pointed out. “But you will. Since when have you ever quit while you were ahead?”

His face hardened and his brow lowered. “Right. The race has just begun.” I could tell Callan was suppressing a smile, even if he was doing his best to portray his focus. Of the four of us, Callan clearly was the one who desired to fight for success and overcome our difficulties. Though, I’d argue we all had our ways of dealing with them.

My brother turned to Autumn, who was fishing out the comb from the dish water. He pointed at her with a confident smile. “You will see me. I’ll be the junior class president and you’ll see ME in the Student Council with you,” Callan declared.

Autumn softly cheered, “I’ll be happy to have you.”

He was about to go back up the stairs, but just as his hand gripped the banister, he said, “Autumn, you might want to help out with Rory’s… situation.” He moved his finger in a circular and pitiful fashion around my hair.

Sophie glanced mischievously up at me. “I think he looks perfect.”

I pulled my wallet out of my pants and grabbed a quarter. I handed it to her gingerly and snootily said, “Why thank you my good madam.” I set my wallet on the kitchen table next to my button-up.

She giggled, snatched the quarter like it were the last apple on earth, and followed Callan up the stairs.

The chair shifted again as I sat back down into it. “Would you mind fixing whatever Sophie did, Autumn?” I requested with a defeated shrug.

With the bent comb in hand, she drifted around the counter and towards me. Her crystalline brown eyes studied me. Autumn was wearing her signature smile: slight, barely-upturned, but replete with an aura of comfort. With her red hair up in a ponytail like it was, she in a complete look.

She looked like Mom.

“I think I can do something with this,” Autumn decided.

But she didn’t act like her.

My head was twisted and turned around the chair as she made quick work into styling my hair into something acceptable. All the while, she was silent, except for the occasional “Tck! No!” creeping out her lips.

A few times she held up a pan for me to check on how I liked it. I insisted it was flawless multiple times, but Autumn would silently continue her work until she was satisfied with the result.

It had been a while I was going out on the date.

When was that last? When Callan was thirteen? How old was he now? Sixteen? Yes! Sixteen.

Dear God, it's not been just a while. It’s been an era.

It isn’t like I’ve had the time to do so anyway. What, with all the meals to cook? Jobs to work? And-

HONK! HONK!

“What’s that?” Autumn asked.

“My date doesn’t start until 8:30,” I noted.

I felt Autumn shift to her left to check the oven clock. “Oh,” she breathed.

My voice went up a pitch. “‘Oh’? ‘Oh’ what?”

“It’s 8:45.”

I could sense my eyes trying to burst from my skull. “Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod,” I stammered. I launched off the chair and spun around the kitchen. I buttoned up the olive-colored shirt in a panic. Autumn was still picking at my hair as I tried to finger the buttons through the holes that I was sure kept moving as I tried to push the white buttons through them.

Without thinking, I burst out of the slanted front door.

“Good luck!” Autumn sheepishly chirped as I slammed the door behind me.

I felt the September chill of night tackle through the moth holes.

The Uber at the bottom of the brick stairs was a black so drastic, I was sure if it weren’t parked under the street light, it’d have been invisible.

The window rolled down and a greasy man with leathery skin greeted me callously. “Roark?”

I grunted out “It’s just Rory” and planted myself into the back seat of the car with a shaky sigh.

The back seat had a water bottle and a candy bar wrapper.

“The water bottle and candy bar are for you,” the Uber driver stated. “But you took so damn long, I ate the candy bar.”

“Thanks,” I said deadpanned.

And that was all we said. I relied on the window to keep me company.

Box houses and square porches painted in various shades of forget squeezed together along our street, as if on an execution line. The other street lights had long since been broken and their bulbs were never changed. But, because of this, the stars were clearly visible in this part of the city; they were vividly gleaming at the house. The Uber car picked up speed as we left, shivering from the potholed road and kicking up a little pool of stagnant rain water.

The ride greeted me to familiar trees in uncomfortable poses hanging over their darkened vermillion leaves. I steadily watched as yellowed windows passed by or bruised mailboxes jumped like bats through my view.

The driver took a sharp left onto the freeway to the central city. As we advanced to the city, the lights above us twinkled out of view. My thoughts distorted the closer we approached, but still, the driver and I shared no words.

I reflected on my family.

Was it the job as patriarch that held me back or my fear of living for myself stopping me from going on dates? Or did I just think too much about that sort of thing?

I imagined Sophie next to me.

She would have grabbed the water bottle in amazement. “Whoa! Free water? And we can keep it?” she would have exclaimed. Then she’d jerk up and down eagerly, maybe badger the driver into getting her in the driver’s seat.

Then Callan, if he were here, would say, “I’m sixteen AND I have a permit, so if anyone’s doing the driving, it’d be me.” He’d definitely try to get us there in one piece, but I’m not so sure if he could. The Renato car was beat up in the back from his failures at driving in reverse.

Of course, Autumn would try to keep the peace. She’d probably put a hand on one of their shoulders and gesture to the greasy guy, maybe even fake a smile to him. “We already have a driver,” she’d softly remark. “Why change things now when Rory has his big date?”

Oh yeah.

I was going on a date.

The car was lurching through traffic; its black body swam through a sea of screeching wheels with a worrying grace. I grabbed the underside of the seat, which was slightly torn and bleeding stuffing.

It halted. It sped up. It erratically jutted between lanes. My brain started to swirl.

Finally, the car shrieked and halted with a powerful tug.

I had stuffing in my fingernails.

“We’re here. Good night,” the driver flatly snapped.

“Oh… okay, thank you,” I began but before I could return the ‘good night’ as I got out of the car, he drove off. The back seat door was still slightly open.

I turned around to the restaurant.

The earthen-colored columns held up the building fortuitously. The building itself loomed over me. Unappetized, it looked at me

I uncomfortably slipped in.

The breeze swam again into the moth holes of my shirt as I opened the door. But the smell of baked bread overpowered the chilly feeling.

The hostess at the front looked at me through the sea of people waiting for seats.

“Roark?” she asked immediately.

I stumbled forward. Clumsily, I remarked, “It’s just Rory.”

The girl pulled her hair through her tight locks. “Whatever it is, I’ve been calling your name at each guy who came in for the past fifteen minutes,” she absentmindedly huffed. There were countless waiters bringing out meals much too large for me. I saw a lobster dish that I’m certain amounted to more than what I had in my savings.

The hostess dragged me into a booth seat where my date was.

He looked a little frazzled. Was it worry or frustration?

“Roark?”

“It’s just Rory,” I said for a third time.

He made a stern look towards me. The hostess scurried off.

“It doesn’t matter. I thought I’d been stood up.”

I looked down at the silverware roll, refusing to making eye contact. I picked at the seat. “Oh,” I slurred. “I wouldn’t have been surprised if you did. I was preoccupied.” Cautiously, I looked back up at him; my head was still down.

He put on a forgiving smile. “It’s okay. I’m happy I got to see you.”

I blushed. I turned my head to look out the window, nervously. He held out a tanned hand.

“Are you okay? You seem nervous.”

Nodding, I whimpered, “This is my first date in almost three years.” I looked back him. “And that date ended in a fountain at one in the morning with me finding him drunkenly chasing after another guy he met at the bar,” I bashfully said.

His eyes widened. All he said was a hesitant “O-oh.”

Why is he giving me that look? Does he want me to do something? I thought.

Suddenly, a tall man with mysterious eyes approached us. “Have you gentlemen decided on what you’ll have to drink?”

“The strongest and cheapest wine you have,” I blurted automatically.

My date gulped. “I’ll just have a martini,” he decided.

My fingers rolled along the table. Then again. Once mores.

Seconds dragged onward.

He looked at me with a slight tilt to his head, as if there were water in his right ear and it was just barely still in there. His lips were slightly jutted out but his brow was lowered. He gave the gaze a scientist would to a hyperactive particle.

“You look curious,” I remarked.

He put his head in one hand. With the other, he brushed out a long blonde hair resting on his nose. “I’m trying to understand,” he said, “why a guy as handsome as you hasn’t had a date in three years.”

I shifted my eyes from side to side.

“I’ve been… busy. And…” I paused, “Did you just say I’m handsome?”

The hand that brushed his hair from his face skulked towards mine still rolling its fingers along the table. His pressured expression warmed and a coy grin cracked through his face. “I absolutely did,” he crooned and placed his fingers over mine.

I blushed. I didn’t think of myself as anything special. He was really handsome, too.

“I-I-I…” I blubbered. I felt like I were going through a plight rather than a pleasure.

The waiter returned to us. I swiped my hand back. He brought our drinks on a pristine serving tray.

I looked up at him, screaming for an answer on what to say with my eyes. He stared down at me with a similar feeling of curiosity. But this one felt… cool. Like an autumn morning. We shared a beat of eye contact before he snapped back to the two of us.

“Your drinks,” he stated dryly. He placed the martini before my date. Then, he slowly placed the full wine glass in front of me. It was drearily black. The waiter held that look towards me as he set the drink down.

I hastily sipped at the wine. It tasted like discordance.

My date rolled his eyes.

Nice job, Rory.

“Have you two chosen what you’ll have?” the waiter asked with a fake smile. He was still looking at me.

My date stated plainly, “Well, while I was waiting for you Rory, I figured out that I’ll be getting the pan-seared salmon.”

My face flushed.

I feverishly flew along the menu.

29.99? 43.99?!

I couldn’t afford any of it.

I looked at the appetizers.

Avocado Cucumber bites?

It was the cheapest on the menu.

“The Avocado Cucumber bites?” I stated. Or asked.

I could feel sweat rushing to my armpits.

“You realize those are an appetizer?” the waiter asked. His face seemed half-heartedly agog for my response. The side of his lips twitched.

Was there something on my damn face and he just wasn’t telling me?

Sheepishly, I nodded.

A glint of amusement came through his amber eyes. “Okay then. I’ll have those right for you.”

I took another chug of wine.

Still, I couldn’t keep eye contact with my date.

Just as the waiter took the menus, I noticed something out the window.

No.

A familiar red-headed woman, black-haired man, and mischievous-looking girl were peeping through the window.

I felt sick.

How and more importantly WHY are Autumn, Callan, and Sophie here?

Sophie held up something. It was my wallet.

I had a quick flashback to earlier in the night. I had left it on the counter. My hands rushed to my pocket, feeling for it instinctively.

Callan rolled his eyes and dragged the girls towards the restaurant.

Another imbibe of wine.

“Is something wrong, Rory?” he said, clearly irritated. He followed my eyes but saw nothing. The three were already making their way to the door.

A frog leaped into my throat.

Then, speeding through the waiters pivoting around tables came three children. Sophie led the way, now, wallet in tow. Callan was pulling a hesitant Autumn behind the youngest.

“Oh my shit…” I sighed and finished the glass.

“We can’t let you go anywhere,” Callan jeered as Sophie slapped the wallet onto the table.

My date put a hand up. “E-excuse me?!” he stammered.

Sophie pointed to her brother and cried, “Callan insisted on HIM driving here.”

“Yeah,” he retorted, “because I’m the only one who knows how.”

“I beat you in Mario Kart.”

“When I had a broken arm!” he replied. He pointed to his right arm and squinted, as if to ridicule her.

My date turned to me, enraged. “Who the heck are these three?”

I put my hands to my temples. “These,” I moaned, “are my siblings.”

“Why the hell are they not at home with your parents?” he exasperatedly shouted.

A few heads turned.

My ears stung.

The world caged up around me. I was being watched.

“We…” I bit my lip. “We don’t have parents.”

He slammed his hands onto the table. His face was as red as a crabapple. “God! No wonder you haven’t had a date in three years!” he bellowed. “You haven’t shown a lick of interest in me all night,” he started to list, “you were late, you’ve been avoiding eye contact all night, and, top it all off… you have this freak show family life that you brought!” He pointed his hand towards my siblings.

“Don’t talk about my siblings like that,” I robotically countered.

He snarled and threw his hands up in the air. He pushed Autumn out of the way, then barreled out of the booth.

People were staring at us now.

I put my hands in my head.

“Why couldn’t you guys have just waited for me?” I groaned.

I heard a pathetic cello play out the night, echoing through my head like a concert hall. Empty and dimmed. My heart was painfully morose.

“Sounds like your date really wasn’t going great to begin with,” Callan countered.

I ignored him. “He had it all,” I remarked. I forced myself to compliment the man. “Tall, tan, hot, blonde…”

“Called Anya?” Sophie jested in a sing-song voice. She brushed her hair about as if it were long like a model’s.

Autumn put her hands on her sister’s shoulders.

To top of the night’s calamity, the waiter returned. “Alright, well I got the avocado bites but the salmon has yet to-” He halted.

He looked at the empty booth, then at the children beside me, and finally, into my eyes. “What happened to your date?” His face wasn’t cross. That same autumnal stare pooled through his own eyes.

“Cancel the salmon,” I simply said.

The cello boomed louder. My heart drowned further into it.

Autumn looked between the two of us and piped, “Callan, Sophie, let’s go wait in the car.”

Sophie protested at first but Callan happily took her away from me, probably sensing the tension.

Smart kids.

The waiter watched them leave.

Instead of just leaving, he placed the ridiculous appetizer before me.

He gave me half a smile and glanced to the wine glass. “Rough date, hm?” he sighed.

I only stared at the unfinished martini to respond.

He sat down where my date was and pushed the martini aside. He picked up an avocado bite and popped it in his mouth. I pulled my head up from my hands. I looked at him wildly and stammered, “A-aren’t you an employee here? Can you do that?”

“Did you know avocados are an aphrodisiac?” he dodged.

I turned around.

“Am I being pranked?” I nervously asked to no one in particular. I looked for a camera.

He put his hand on mine.

I froze.

He warmly smiled, “You look like you need a friend is all, man.”

I looked down at his hand. It was a clean white color with hair on each knuckle. The fingers were worn, almost like he punched a lot of things. The rest of his arm was hiding underneath a firmly pressed white shirt. I followed his arm back up to his face.

“I’m going to come back,” he affirmed to himself. “I’m going to take my break.”

The waiter flew away.

I picked up an avocado bite myself. I considered it for a moment and tried it out. It tasted strange. Savory and salty. I ate another.

He came back. His curly black hair was now a little out of its neat waiter-y look; there was a glint of fanaticism on his face. “I had to run and get this,” he whispered. From under his arm, he pulled out a small loaf of bread.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “A waiter stealing from his own job? That’s deducting from your tip,” I snickered and took it from his hands. I grazed his fingers. It was cool to the touch. I looked up at him, eyes wide open. He smiled from the corner of his mouth.

“Go on, take it,” he said.

I did. It smelled divine.

He moved his head closer towards me. His bearded face creased into that same curious look. “I’ve been trying to figure you out all night. Who were those kids?”

I exhaled heavily.

I was enjoying this moment, too.

“My siblings,” I explained and picked up my wallet. “They came to give me my whole,” I continued, combing through the wallet and expelling its content, “seven dollars and… twenty six cents to pay for dinner.” A quarter drearily rolled against the martini glass.

The waiter picked up the quarter.

“Neat. Nevada,” he said.

“Is that enough to even pay for the appetizer,” I sighed, forgetting the cost.

The waiter shook his head. “Not even close.”

I groaned and buried my face into the table.

I heard him put the quarter gently in front of the plate. “It’s on the house,” he decided.

Immediately, I snapped my head upward. I couldn’t believe someone was paying for my food. The last dinner someone had bought me was a beer a girl gave me before realizing I wasn’t interested around the last Thanksgiving.

“Really?” I gasped.

He snatched back the quarter. “If…” he slickly said, “you tell me what’s up with you.”

I looked down at the unopened silverware roll again.

“...but I really was liking where this was going,” I muttered.

“Well I am now,” he sweetly stated, equally as soft.

Those damn pools of amber.

Another exhale. “Those kids are my siblings even if I’m basically their dad now. Our father shot himself two Christmases ago…”

He put his hands up to his lips. He whispered, “Oh my god, dude, you d-”

I was on a roll.

“My mother was an addict and neglectful at best,” I painfully spat out. “She left us when I was eleven. My dad was never the same. He’d go to work but never speak to us. There was this… haunting sadness in his eyes. For seven years, we lived with that…” I wheezed. I bit my lip, “and then… bam.” My hand was in the shape of a finger gun and sadly kicked back against my temple.

The waiter gripped the quarter.

“I haven’t seen my mother since she left. And I hate her for that. She ruined us. Because of her, I’m now my sibling’s parent. At eighteen, I became a father of three,” I continued. I put up my hands and exhaled, “Don’t get me wrong, I love my siblings to death but… it sucks I’m just in this position.”

I blinked back tears.

“I just want them to be happy, now. My life is already in shambles… but they barely knew Mistral. And they had to grow up only with a distant father and me. They don’t… they don’t deserve this life. I’m no parent… I can’t even keep a date...”

I shook my frustration over the wallet away. I could hear Callan saying “It shouldn’t be your responsibility.” I could feel Sophie’s confused embrace, unsure of most of the situation. I could see Autumn’s knobby fingers pat my shoulder.

It wasn’t Autumn’s fingers, though.

It was the strong fingers of the waiter.

“I checked the reservations because I thought you were cute…” he sighed with a smile. “It’s Roark, right?”

I gulped.

“Yes,” I meekly responded.

The waiter shook his head and chided out, “You deserve happiness, too, Roark.” He firmed his grip on my shoulder.

My heart soared with felicity, but my brain felt crestfallen.

I ate another cucumber bite woefully. I stared at the dish.

“Look at me,” he said sternly.

I did.

I liked looking at him.

“You. Deserve. Happiness.” He said it with a great vigor. “Say it.”

I swallowed the appetizer.

“I… deserve… happiness…” I croaked.

He grabbed me by either side of the head and kissed me.

I nearly choked on the avocado.

He tasted like a cinnamon stick. Warm and enchanting. His dark stubbly beard poked at my chin, tickling my own little bit of facial hair. Then, it ceased. Ended like a fuse that wouldn’t finish.

My mouth was still agape as he pulled away.

“Are you happy?” he grinned.

I let out a faint sigh in response.

He pulled out a receipt. He wordlessly scratched something onto it. He got up from the booth and slid it forward to me. “Let me know if you need more help with your situation,” he said. Then he winked at me.

A guy. Winked. At me.

My mouth was still open.

He walked away.

I looked at the writing. It said, “Here’s my number. You better call it. -Jack.”

Below, his number was hastily scrawled out in blue ink. A smiley face with lines for eyes eagerly sat next to it.

I scrambled to parking lot and to the car, with the bread under my arm.

Callan was in the driver’s seat; Sophie was in the back with Autumn.

“Is that bread?” he only asked.

I slammed the car door, which shook the old car to its core. I leaned against the window and only said, “I got it from a hot waiter.”

Callan widened his eyes and pulled out of the parking space.

As we neared our home, stars blinked back into place. The beat up mailboxes leaped by the window like deer. The multicolored houses along the road stood in line, welcoming me home.

I just couldn’t stop smiling.

[turnupswritessometimes]

SoRiku - Hearts of Ice and Fire - Ch11

Title : Hearts of Ice and Fire

Word Count : 2570

Summary :  Prince Sora of the Destine Isles has been kidnapped by Maleficent. Held in a cell, he comes into contact with the Prince Maleficent has been training his whole life, Riku. As Sora unpicks Riku’s attitudes, Riku finds himself reconsidering everything he has been taught.

Home turned out to be pastel coloured beach houses lining up in spirals to a fort at the top of the cliff. The ‘castle’, Riku assumed, was small, with a crimson roof and more ivy growing up it than there were rocks. It was mostly wooden docks swarming with people, like a beehive.

Sora sharply turned the boat into the harbour, nearly capsizing them in the process, and was hopping off of the boat before Riku could even regain his balance.

“This is it, Riku,” Sora said, starting own the docks like one in a trance.

“It’s – nice,” Riku said. In truth – it was too loud. It was too bright. Everyone’s eyes – staring in astonishment at Sora – bulged grotesquely in his peripheral vision. Why were there so many people?

Ordinary people. A noisy kingdom. The sun prickling the back of his neck.

“Yeah, hi, everyone – I’m back,” Sora was grinning at everyone – his hand easily slipped into Riku’s as they headed through the masses of people. “And I’ve got a friend with me.”

Riku kept his head down. Counted how many planks he could pass with one step. His fingers twitched in Sora’s. How was this so easy for him?

Then again, he had lived here all his life.

This would have been where Riku would have lived.

He glanced up. The docks they were on now were bursting with stalls selling trinkets. Windchimes and shells and furniture made from driftwood. Painted shells, starfish, normal fish served up on the side and ready to be eaten.

Sora was pulling him past the stalls eagerly, but his interest was piqued now. Would he had grown up wearing shell necklaces and arguing about the crabs he’d caught like the children sat with their legs in the water?

Why was that idea both appealing and repulsive?

They reached the castle too quickly for Riku’s liking. Suddenly they were stood in front of the doors – it wasn’t guarded, of course, and Sora was still talking.

“-I can’t wait for you to meet Kairi – I’m sure you two will get on like a house on fire – and my parents-“

That’s when Sora skidded to a halt, and turned to Riku with wide eyes.

“My parents,” he breathed. “Should I introduce you as my boyfriend? Would that be okay?”

Riku’s stomach performed an intricate acrobatic routine.

“Maybe you should…think about putting on a shirt first?” he said instead, holding the said article of clothing out to Sora – who just laughed and slipped it on.

He pushed the doors open so wide that they crashed into the walls and servants turned to stare.

“I’m back,” Sora said simply.

The servants gave each other wide eyed looks for a moment, before they stumbled over each other as they said they would fetch the King and Queen. Sora asked them to prepare food and for them all to meet each other in the dining hall.

It was empty when they got there – but the room was warm. Sunlight cast perfect squares through the windows.

Sora squeezed Riku’s hand.

“You’re doing great,” he told him.

“I – don’t know what you’re talking about,” Riku stammered – with what little dignity he had left. He had so much of it barely more than a week ago. But then Sora had happened. And all of that ice melted.

Sora laughed. That uncaring laugh he’d been playing non-stop since Riku had got him out of the castle. That laugh that reassured Riku every decision he had made was the right one.

A red-headed girl appeared in the doorway. Her mouth dropped open when she saw Sora.

Then she was sprinting across the room towards Sora, her arms opening –

As she swung her fist in a left hook.

Sora’s head snapped around, but he was laughing and hugging the girl and she had tears in her eyes and she buried her face in his shoulder.

“You scared me half to death – you dozy, old-“ the girl released a string of good-natured swear words that Sora grinned at.

“I missed you too Kairi,” he said.

Kairi. The King’s Ward, Riku realised.

She pulled away and glared at him suspiciously.

“Kairi, this is Riku – he helped me escape from Maleficent’s castle,” Sora said.

Kairi continued to glare impassively at Riku, who couldn’t even muster an awkward ‘hi.’

He was saved, perhaps luckily or unluckily, by the arrival of Sora’s parents.

They both paused at the doors, staring at him as though they could not believe he was real.

He had the King’s pale skin, but his mother’s eyes. Dark blue eyes that filled with tears as she stared at him.

They rushed to him and asked desperate questions that Sora merely smiled at and raised his hands.

“I will explain everything after a nice, hot meal,” he said.

*

Sora gave Riku much too much credit in his version of the story. He left out the part about Riku punching him. He left out any parts that would show Riku in a bad light – even though they both knew he deserved it.

Sora made him sound like a hero.

“Riku…” the king said softly once Sora had finished and had his mouth full of several potato-based dishes. “So that’s what happened to you.”

“Is it really that hard to guess?”

Riku hadn’t meant to snap. Hadn’t meant to sound rude. But suddenly he despised the man in front of him.

“You’ve only really got one enemy, right? Why is it such a surprise that that was where I’d disappear to?”

“If I’m honest,” the King said, slowly. “I thought you were dead.”

“But it’s so wonderful to hear that you’re – alive – and –“ the queen gave a little shrug of her shoulders. She was smiling.

Riku felt slightly guilty for a moment.

“And - my[Sophie Tu1]  mother – my real mother…is she…?” he trailed off, already guessing the information from the way the Queen’s gaze swooped downwards and how the King’s moth tightened into a thin line.

“I’m sorry, Riku,” the King said.

Riku clenched his jaw. He didn’t trust his mouth. He wanted the imps back. To hurt one. To hurt several.

Not that he was grieving – he never knew the woman.

But it just wasn’t fair.

“Riku makes an interesting point,” Sora finally said. “You knew where I was, right? You had to have…so why didn’t you try and come get me?”

“Sora, son, you know we don’t have the resources to,” the King said.

Sora stood. He clenched his fists on the table.

“I’m sick of having no defence,” he said. He hadn’t raised his voice. Wasn’t angry. But there was a quiet thunderstorm underneath his words. A danger that Riku had never heard from him before. “This is why Maleficent is going to destroy us.”

“Sora, wait,” the queen stood too, but Sora was already storming from the room.

Riku took a last glance at his untouched food, then followed, fuming just as much.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said to Sora’s retreating back. “You knew, didn’t you? And you didn’t tell me?”

Sora paused on the flight of stairs, he unclenched and turned to Riku.

“I didn’t really have the opportunity,” he said.

He wasn’t meeting Riku’s eyes. He had a point – but it wasn’t shame that was gnawing at him.

“I’m sorry,” Riku said. “About…them.”

“Me too,” Sora said. He was high enough on the stairs to press his forehead against Riku’s. “I just feel like a trained dog, all the time – you know?”

“Yeah,” Riku said. He wrapped his arms around Sora’s waist, suddenly feeling very heavy.

It hit him all at once. The fatigue.

He could feel Sora’s breath on his face. Sora’s arms around his shoulders. Warmth. Warmth Riku felt he would never tire of.

“I didn’t want this to be sad,” Sora said. And swallowed heavily. “I wanted this to be happy – let’s make this happy – I’ll show you my room.”

He laced a hand into Riku’s and pulled him down the hallway. He was bobbing slightly. Making a deliberate effort to be happy. To make Riku happy.

To make this all work.

Sora’s door had a plaque on it. Not that it needed it – with the carved, golden archways all around it. But there was a plaque, all the same – Prince Sora, Red 4’s Pilot.

What a nerd, Riku thought as his heart skipped a beat.

“You can stay in here tonight, if you want,” Sora said. “I thought, you know…”

“Yeah,” Riku said. “I’d like to stay – in here.”

With you. The words had been on the tip of his tongue. Because it felt like they had been travelling across the sea forever. He wasn’t ready to think about Sora not being at his side

Because, truth be told, the room was –

Cluttered.

Sora had plasted paintings and pictures and tapestries over every inch of wall, let his clothes cover the floor and had so many knick-knacks they were piled on top of each other on every surface.

The bed was huge. A four poster.

Riku sat on it hesitantly – because there was even general junk on the sofas – and watched as Sora got the fireplace roaring to life.

A fireplace. When this place was already so warm.

A fireplace. That made Sora’s eyes glisten as he headed back towards Riku. Basically sat on top of him.

“Do you like it?” Sora asked. With a slightly bemused smile. A teasing smile.

A smile that made Riku want to kiss him.

“It’s very…you.” Riku said.

Sora tilted forward. Riku stopped him from getting closer by putting a finger to his lips.

“Aren’t you…still upset?” he asked.

Sora pouted up at him for a moment. Then pulled Riku’s finger away.

“Kinda…but I don’t want to think about that. I want to forget all about Maleficent and wars and…who knows when we’ll be alone together next?”

He had another point –

Riku hadn’t finished rationilising it before Sora’s lips were on his own and he couldn’t think clearly. He couldn’t think at all. All he could think about was how Sora’s mouth was moving against his own.

How Sora’s hand was in his hair. Almost tugging it.

How Riku’s hand seemed to fit perfectly around Sora’s cheek. And Sora’s cheek was soft. And warm.

Sora shuffled into Riku’s lap. To get closer. Closer.

It was hot. The fireplace made it hot. Their bodies and their breath and the sheer force of the kisses made it hot. Sora was missing RIku’s mouth – making his chin and cheeks damp.

Riku struggled with the laces on his doublet. Sora had it off in seconds.

Riku’s fingers felt ice cold against Sora’s bare waist. Bare back. The slight outline of his spine.

Sora helped free Riku from his shirt. Pressed against him with his complete body wait.

His fingers brushed against Riku’s back. The scars.

Again.

Sora pulled away, frowning.

The air was cold on Riku’s face. He paused, not registering what the problem was.

Sora crawled aound –

And gasped when he saw the lines and lines of scars.

“She…did this…?” Sora whispered.

“Not her – personally,” Riku pushed a clump of silver hair out of his face. “It was the imps.”

He heard Sora sniffing. Felt his forehead rest against his back. Wet eyelashes.

“She’s a monster.”

Sora’s voice broke. Riku had never heard it break like that. Like it was all too much for him.

He turned and took Sora’s wrists in his hands.

“Stop. Don’t worry about it. It’s in the past now,” he said. Because that was normal. It was normal then. And we wasn’t about to make it a thing now. “I have you now.”

Sora madde a small sobbing noise. And rested his head against Riku’s collarbone.

Riku hugged Sora to his chest. Closed his eyes.

No one should care this much. Not about me. I’m not worth it.

“What happened to being happy?” Riku asked. Sora’s hair was pricking him in the face.

Sora shook his head against Riku’s arms.

“I can’t,” he said. “Not now.”

“Okay,” Riku said. He kissed the crown of Sora’s head. “That’s fine.”

The fatigue was coming again.

When had Riku slept last?

He would just rest his eyes…just for a few moments…a few more…

*

Riku woke with a dead arm. Sora was still lying on top of it.

As if on cue, he rolled over-

And his elbow hit Riku in the face, making him cry out and scramble away from Sora.

Still half-asleep, Sora clung to Riku’s midriff like a monkey.

“I’m home,” Sora said.

“You’re home,” Riku confirmed. Not ‘we’ not ‘I’. This was not his home.

Would it ever be?

“How many days?” Sora murmured. His nose pressed against Riku’s collarbone. “Till Maleficent comes.”

Riku wasn’t sure. He had lost count.

“Not enough,” he replied. His fingers played with a tuft of hair at the nape of Sora’s neck. A baby curl.

Sora sighed.

“I kind of understand why she’d target us,” he said. “We’re pretty low-hanging fruit, huh?”

“Honestly? I don’t know how you’re still a country,” Riku said.

Sora chuckled.

“Because I’m an artful seducer,” Sora murmured, reaching up to kiss the tip of Riku’s nose.

He fel his face flame red and turned away as much as he could, muttering an unconvincing-

“Yeah, right.”

Which only made Sora laugh more. There was a moment when Riku couldn’t breathe – as Sora leant on his chest and clambered over him.

“Are you hungry? I’m hungry – I’m going to go get something to eat,” Sora was still talking as he was heading out of the room –

Before Riku could stop him.

He was left alone. For the first time in what seemed like years.

He closed his eyes. Pressed a hand over his eyes.

Jafar’s face flashed before his eyes. A dead face.

Blood. Everywhere. He felt sick all over again.

Something was wrong. He hadn’t lied convincingly. They had gotten away too easily.

The door re-opened.

“Maleficent knows that I killed Jafar,” he said.

“What?”

That wasn’t Sora’s voice. It was a girl’s voice.

Riku sat up to find Kairi standing in the doorway, half-staring and half-glaring at him.

She turned full glare when she saw that he was half-naked.

“What are you doing in Sora’s room?” she demanded. In the tone of a teacher trying to catch a student out.

“Uhhhh,” Riku said, eloquently, pulling the covers up to his chest.

“Kairi,” Sora stopped in the doorway, laden with a tray. “What are you doing in my room?”

Kairi just turned the questioning glare to Sora.

“You’re unbelievable,” she said. “The threat of impending war and you’re messing around-“ at this point she cracked a small smirk. “I would say good job, if I would have thought there would be any chance he’s not using you.”

And with that, she stormed out of the room.

Sora rolled his eyes, and placed the tray on the bed. It was full of orange fruit. Riku hadn’t seen fruit that vibrant before.

“She doesn’t know,” Sora said, and frowned slightly. “You…you’re not, right?”

Riku placed a hand over Sora’s.

“I’m not using you,” he said. And pressed his forehead against Sora’s. “I don’t know what Maleficent’s planning but she’ll want to kill me for this.”

Sora gave him one last look, then closed his eyes and nodded. He whispered-

“it was true love’s kiss,” under his breath. As though that would reassure him.

Riku swallowed.

And ate breakfast.

[makingabigdealoutofnothing]

CLEAN (part I)

I needed a place to live. Bad.

I was on the Craigslist housing hunt. Trying to find a place grand enough to fit my modest needs and cheap enough that I could still afford the occasional coke binge. And car payments.

Living downtown in a stretch of Skid Row for the past 2 years had started to grind on my love of life. Everyday a poignant questioning of existence and surreal lack of lust. A grandiose dose of ousted reality. And my roommates never charged my PS4 controllers.

There were fleas in my pad that had been brought in and bred by a mangy little mutt my roommate liked to keep around. My guests would always leave vehemently scratching infected skin.

There were roaches, too. Big ones and little ones. The little ones enjoyed trekking over your dishes; dirty or clean, it didn't matter to them. They were living fast and dying young. The big roaches were gluttons.

Moths lived in my wardrobe, and didn't help with rent. They were lost souls, I liked to imagine.

Along with the fleas and the moths and the roaches and the bed bugs, the multitudes of junkies and quasi-gang bangers dwelling the streets 'neath my Skid loft were bringing me closer and closer to the noose. I always kept one in my drawer next to my briefs.

In the beginning of my days in Skid Row, the homeless were benign in my mind. They inhibited my happiness very little. They're the same today as they were then- the ghetto blasters and rash nature and patronage to the overbearingly loud crack-selling ice cream trucks- only now I'm bit to shit by bugs and want a better job and am fighting for sanity through a month long dry spell. And my diet is shit.

So I responded to a Craigslist ad for a place in Hollywood. The price wasn't bad and it was closer to where I work and the homeless were less in volume and more docile.

I spoke to the proprietor over the phone and he had a wonderful East Coast accent.

“Yeah, yeah- it's a great spot, the spot's great and utilities included, good people- good people only, mind you- you're cool right?”

There was a pause as I wasn't sure if it was a question or rhetoric.

“… Yeah, I'm cool,” I responded.

“Great, great. 'Cause like I said: good vibes only. Good people. Good vibes. And you gotta be clean.”

“I'm a good guy, I promise. And I'm clean,” I purported. By my standards I'm clean as a Santa Monica coffee shop, but my entire adult life I've been scorned by roommates with varied standards of cleanliness.

“Alright. Be there in an hour,” the East Coaster requested. “And… You are clean, right?”

“Yeah, I'm clean.”

Stepping over a downed body outside my building, I walked down 6th towards the van that my ailing van was parked in. I was paying $150/month just to keep my whip off the precarious streets. Fuck downtown, I reaffirmed to myself.

Most of my fellow Skid Row residents didn't like me- because I'm white, I assumed. My daily walk to the parking garage included death threats and racial intolerance. The crooked police men and women used to ask me if I was lost. Perhaps I was.

I made it to my van and exited the garage. Rolling down the window I took a sturdy whiff of the urine stained stench of mental illness and drug abuse and incompetence. I drove off with gaiety.

Arriving in Hollywood outside of my potential new home, I was elated. It looked fantastic, and I was truly shocked that it was only $800/month, utilities incl. and dogs woof woof (though the East Coaster didn't sound like a dog type).

The guy met me downstairs and let me through the freshly painted red gate that served as barrier between the outside world and hopefully my new inside world.

“Come in, come in,” Jerry hastily gestured. He was a wiry curly-haired multi-ethnic looking type- perhaps half Jew, quarter Puerto Rican, and the last quarter a mix of Bronx and punk rock- he wore a black T-shirt with a gold chain and stood about 5'7”.

“So what's your situation? You been in town long? You work? You're cool? You look pretty clean.” His persistence on the importance of cleanliness was becoming a bit foreboding. He smelled like rose water.

“I work in film and am just looking for an affordable place to unwind when I'm not working.” I went on, with Jerry filling in my sentences with 'mhmm, mhmm'.

“Sounds like you're a decent guy. I've shown the place to some real deadbeats- you know, like they sound presentable over the phone but they get here smelling like the gym and asking for a cup of water. First impressions, right?”

“Right.”

“Now I've been living here for 9 years, had roommates come and go,” Jerry went on, “some people have vibed some people have not. I've had to kick some assholes out, some people have left on their own accord- you know, change in passion, want to move to the woods, you know the story.”

“Sure.”

“Now what I can't stand is people that are living under the...” he paused and gesticulated, searching for the right word, “...masquerade of being clean people- but they come in here and set me right the fuck off.”

“How so?” I bit.

“Come oooon, you know. Like putting a beer can down on the cawfee table without a coaster. Taking a shit and not cleaning the toilet after. Sliding the fucking chairs around and scratching the floors… FUCK I just get can't fucking stand that shit.”

“I hear you.”

“Like you can have 10 people over, you know, 15 people. I don't give a shit. Do your fucking coke, fuck your whores, talk shit on Catholicism and niggers… whatever,” Jerry was pacing, perspiring. “But if I go into your room when you're not home and your clothes aren't folded and bed isn't made, I SWEAR TO GOD, I'll fucking merc you!”

This is just an act, I figured. He can't THAT totalitarian. Every place I've moved into it's the same thing, whether it's with friends or strangers via the List: everyone says the importance of cleanliness like it's some sort of dogma. I always just nod, agree, and assure. Which is what I did.

“Dude, I understand. You don't have to worry about cleaning up after me. I'm as clean as a Santa Monica coffee shop.”

[Writer's note: I've repeated that comparison because I'm currently sitting in a very clean coffee shop in Santa Monica.]

Jerry relaxed a little bit. “Good. I'm glad we have an understanding.”

“Where do I sign?”

Jerry tightened back up. “Sign? I told you buddy, good vibes only. You're coming into my place, I'm doing you this favor, and you're asking me about signing? You're a good guy, I'm a good guy- we're vibing. And you're asking me about signing.”

“Sorry man, sorry,” I wasn't sorry. This guy clearly just had an abusive mother. “So what is the process then?”

“It's alright, it's alright. I just get a little worked up over that shit sometimes. Now that we've established that you're a clean, decent human, you just give me first and last and the room is yours. That's it.”

“Alright then- I can give you a money order today-”

“-money order? What the fuck?! I told you buddy, good vibes only.”

“How does a good guy pay a good guy and maintain good vibes?” I inquired.

“Cash buddy. That's the only way.”

The duckies were starting to line up here. Bad duckies. Perhaps I was mistaken, but now it seemed like this clean freak East Coast Puerto Jew was trying to scam me. I was still willing to talk business.

“I can give you cash today. No problem.” I was playing it cool, though I actually wanted to punch Jerry in the balls. “BUT, I need you to take a photo of your ID over your rent agreement and send it to me. Those are my conditions.”

Jerry put his index to his nose, thumb under chin, looked down to the ground and let out an exaggerated sigh.

“I'm trying to not kick you right the fuck off of this balcony,” Jerry said, and I looked down at the cars driving below on Sunset. “You're a clean guy, and decent. I would be fine with you living in my place. But if you want to get through this you're going to need to be more personable.”

“I told you what I need from you, and it's not that much.”

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE YOU FUCKING SWINE, YOU FUCKING SHIT-EATING LITTLE PARASITE, YOU WORM!”

I left without responding that swath of insults. I was still considering just giving him the cash. I needed a place to live. Bad.

The second half of this story is better than the first half. Continue reading next time.

[ecotone99]

[SP] Horrific

“This is absurd!” cried Emma.

“I agree, you should’ve been put down by now,” said the replacement.

The replacement had shown up unexpectedly, a sharp knock at the door, then they were sitting in Emma’s living room, drinking coffee and watching each other. The room itself was neither especially modern nor particularly Spartan; it consisted of fading blue paint, a worn-out sofa, and a bookcase full of old books. The replacement, in contrast to the room, looked fresh and original and exactly how Emma had looked some 20 years ago when she had painted the walls, bought the sofa, and read the then new books.

“There must be a mistake, they always send out notice beforehand, my friend Tully was given two weeks before he was replaced. I’ll go and talk to the supervisor in the morning,” said Emma.

“I’m afraid not. Since the people who would handle the practicalities of your transition haven’t visited you yet, I’ll do it now and save then them the time later,” said the replacement.

“No! I have to go in. I wasn’t given any notice,” said Emma.

“I’m sorry that you weren’t notified but in accordance with the protocol, protocol that you signed up for remember, when you aren’t able to continue with your work you are replaced, by me a clone of you,” said the replacement, then trying to take a more friendly tone, “But hey, I didn’t think that you’d be alive and here now so this is a surprise for me too.”

“This isn’t fair!” said Emma, standing up and pacing around the room.

“Come on, I think you’re getting quite hung up on this notice thing. Really, when I type this up for my report whoever reads it is sure to die of boredom, let’s move on to more interesting things,” said the replacement.

“Oh whatever then,” said Emma, opening the box where she had hidden her cigarettes and selecting an unopened pack, fumbling with the wrapping as she sat back down.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” asked the replacement, jumping up and quickly walking over to where Emma was sitting.

“A packet of cigarettes. Want one?” said Emma, looking up at the replacement.

“Cigarettes and all tobacco products are illegal! How did you get those?” the replacement said snatching the pack from Emma and sitting back down.

“Hey! Give those back you bastard!” yelled Emma.

“No. I’ll hand them in to the supervisor tomorrow when I bring your corpse back,” said the replacement.

“Fuck you then,” said Emma curling up into a ball.

A minute passed where neither Emma nor the replacement said anything. A moth was flickering against a window pane and the replacement was looking at it.

“I can still remember it. It was 13 years ago but I can still remember it,” said Emma softly, still quite ball like on the couch.

“Remember what?” said the replacement, in a bored tone still staring at the moth.

“I know that you don’t care about me but I have something to say. People have regrets, I don’t have that many, I haven’t really lived that much but I do have some. I suppose that it’s a cliché to be talking about it now but I don’t care I want to,” said Emma.

“Go on then,” said the replacement, still bored watching as the moth gave up, and stopped struggling against the window pane.

“When I was finishing University I had a friend, Kayla, and I was in love with her, just a bit. Strangely enough she felt the same way about me too,” said Emma.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” said the replacement, interrupting her and leaning forward, “Because that sort of thing is looked down on now by most experienced people. I know it was a matter of course for you degenerates back then, but still.”

“Shut the fuck up and let me finish!” said Emma, then after a pause she continued this time uninterrupted, “I don’t recall how it happened but she found out that I had feelings for her, maybe one of her friends figured it out, it’s not important. She got me to come and meet her at one of the University parks, it was nice. After talking a while we both confessed that we liked each other, rest assured it was very angst-ridden and teenagery. Then I, fuckwit I am, said no to going out with her when she asked me to dinner, as there was only a few weeks left on my degree after witch I’d be transferred here… I didn’t even try to kiss her.”

“That, well that’s something,” said the replacement nodding several times then making a face, “I’ll be sure to tell the supervisor and get that trait removed, it wouldn’t do for me to be acting like that.”

“Your loss.” said Emma, “What time is it anyway? I could go for something to eat.”

“No, no more of this! I’ve had quite enough of this charade I’ve tried humouring it but I’m not going to play about any longer,” said the replacement.

“Now? Prisoners get a last meal, don’t I deserve one?” Emma said jumping to her feet and looking around the room.

“No. I condemn you to death by drowning,” the replacement said also standing up, “There must be a kitchen sink here, take me to it! Unless, maybe you’d prefer to go out in a bath tub, more time to contemplate your friend?”

“Uh… I mean if we’re being pragmatic the kitchen sink would probably be quicker, at least I wouldn’t have to spend as much time listening to you,” said Emma.

“Lead the way then.”

Emma led the way into the kitchen on shaking legs followed by the replacement, the kitchen was a small yellowish room that stunk of week old garbage and stale Chinese food. Emma watched as the replacement put the plug in the sink and turned the tap on.

“Last words?” asked the replacement.

“I can’t think of anything to say right now… I don’t know try to enjoy yourself in the future maybe?” said Emma faintly staring at the ever increasing progress of the water as it filled up the sink.

“I suppose that there are worse last words,” the replacement muttered, turning the taps off and gesturing for Emma to get into position.

Emma lowered her head into the water with the hands of the replacement firmly pressing down on the back of her neck. After a few minutes wait the replacement pulled the body out of the sink and sat it down on the floor.

“That whore, I got water on me,” said the replacement, wiping her sleeve on a dish cloth and lighting a cigarette.

submitted by /u/Charles1123 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2XJfU5b

[ecotone99]

[SP] Horrific

“This is absurd!” cried Emma.

“I agree, you should’ve been put down by now,” said the replacement.

The replacement had shown up unexpectedly, a sharp knock at the door, then they were sitting in Emma’s living room, drinking coffee and watching each other. The room itself was neither especially modern nor particularly Spartan; it consisted of fading blue paint, a worn-out sofa, and a bookcase full of old books. The replacement, in contrast to the room, looked fresh and original and exactly how Emma had looked some 20 years ago when she had painted the walls, bought the sofa, and read the then new books.

“There must be a mistake, they always send out notice beforehand, my friend Tully was given two weeks before he was replaced. I’ll go and talk to the supervisor in the morning,” said Emma.

“I’m afraid not. Since the people who would handle the practicalities of your transition haven’t visited you yet, I’ll do it now and save then them the time later,” said the replacement.

“No! I have to go in. I wasn’t given any notice,” said Emma.

“I’m sorry that you weren’t notified but in accordance with the protocol, protocol that you signed up for remember, when you aren’t able to continue with your work you are replaced, by me a clone of you,” said the replacement, then trying to take a more friendly tone, “But hey, I didn’t think that you’d be alive and here now so this is a surprise for me too.”

“This isn’t fair!” said Emma, standing up and pacing around the room.

“Come on, I think you’re getting quite hung up on this notice thing. Really, when I type this up for my report whoever reads it is sure to die of boredom, let’s move on to more interesting things,” said the replacement.

“Oh whatever then,” said Emma, opening the box where she had hidden her cigarettes and selecting an unopened pack, fumbling with the wrapping as she sat back down.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” asked the replacement, jumping up and quickly walking over to where Emma was sitting.

“A packet of cigarettes. Want one?” said Emma, looking up at the replacement.

“Cigarettes and all tobacco products are illegal! How did you get those?” the replacement said snatching the pack from Emma and sitting back down.

“Hey! Give those back you bastard!” yelled Emma.

“No. I’ll hand them in to the supervisor tomorrow when I bring your corpse back,” said the replacement.

“Fuck you then,” said Emma curling up into a ball.

A minute passed where neither Emma nor the replacement said anything. A moth was flickering against a window pane and the replacement was looking at it.

“I can still remember it. It was 13 years ago but I can still remember it,” said Emma softly, still quite ball like on the couch.

“Remember what?” said the replacement, in a bored tone still staring at the moth.

“I know that you don’t care about me but I have something to say. People have regrets, I don’t have that many, I haven’t really lived that much but I do have some. I suppose that it’s a cliché to be talking about them now but I don’t care I want to,” said Emma.

“Go on then,” said the replacement, still bored watching as the moth gave up and stopped struggling against the window pane.

“When I was finishing University I had a friend, Kayla, and I was in love with her, just a bit. Strangely enough she felt the same way about me too,” said Emma.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” said the replacement, interrupting her and leaning forward, “Because that sort of thing is looked down on now by most experienced people. I know it was a matter of course for you degenerates back then, but still.”

“Shut the fuck up and let me finish!” said Emma, then after a pause she continued this time uninterrupted, “I don’t recall how it happened but she found out that I had feelings for her, maybe one of her friends figured it out, it’s not important. She got me to come and meet her at one of the University parks, it was nice. After talking a while we both confessed that we liked each other, rest assured it was very angst-ridden and teenagery. Then I, fuckwit I am, said no to going out with her when she asked me to dinner, as there was only a few weeks left on my degree after witch I’d be transferred here… I didn’t even try to kiss her.”

“That, well that’s something,” said the replacement nodding several times then making a face, “I’ll be sure to tell the supervisor and get that trait removed, it wouldn’t do for me to be acting like that.”

“Your loss.” said Emma, “What time is it anyway? I could go for something to eat.”

“No, no more of this! I’ve had quite enough of this charade I’ve tried humoring it but I’m not going to play about any longer,” said the replacement.

“Now? Prisoners get a last meal, don’t I deserve one?” Emma said jumping to her feet and looking around the room.

“No. I condemn you to death by drowning,” the replacement said also standing up, “There must be a kitchen sink here, take me to it! Unless, maybe you’d prefer to go out in a bath tub, more time to contemplate your friend?”

“Uh… I mean if we’re being pragmatic the kitchen sink would probably be quicker, at least I wouldn’t have to spend as much time listening to you,” said Emma.

“Lead the way then.”

Emma led the way into the kitchen on shaking legs followed by the replacement, the kitchen was a small yellowish room that stunk of week old garbage and stale Chinese food. Emma watched as the replacement put the plug in the sink and turned the tap on.

“Last words?” asked the replacement.

“I can’t think of anything to say right now… I don’t know try to enjoy yourself in the future maybe?” said Emma faintly staring at the ever increasing progress of the water as it filled up the sink.

“I suppose that there are worse last words,” the replacement muttered, turning the taps off and gesturing for Emma to get into position.

Emma lowered her head into the water with the hands of the replacement firmly pressing down on the back of her neck. After a few minutes wait the replacement pulled the body out of the sink and sat it down on the floor.

“That whore, I got water on me,” said the replacement, wiping her sleeve on a dish cloth and lighting a cigarette.

submitted by /u/Charles1123 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/34e7Wnk